“CC?”
“Yeah. In case, you know, you want to scream it out a lot tonight.”
His grin widens. “I’ll definitely make sure to do that. Often.”
Goodbye dry spell… and good riddance.
“Did you enjoy your weekend off?” Jackson asks.
Jackson is my main man at the garage. The two of us do everything. We could use someone else working with us, but there never seems to be enough money to stretch. I pay Jackson really good though—probably double what anyone else would cost me. He’s worth it, though. He’s the best there is… next to me. Banger told me that, and it is something I always remember with pride. Banger always taught me that if you were going to do anything, you had to give a hundred and fifty percent. Him saying I was the best at something means I did something to make him proud. Jackson has a similar code to Banger, and that reason alone makes him worth the money.
I think back over my wicked weekend with Grayson and can’t stop the grin that blooms on my face nor the way my body heats up with the memory.
“I’d say that was a yes,” Jackson says.
“Bite me,” I tell him. Shit, I’m still grinning.
“I am hungry,” Jackson says, “but you’re way too salty for my tastes. Speaking of which, what are we doing for lunch?”
“Well, I need to drop the oil pan off that baby there,” I tell him, pointing to the old Ford that’s in bay number one.
“That means I’m going to be delivery boy today?” Jackson asks.
“Like every other day. You know you only do it so you can go flirt with Mary Ann at the diner.”
“That woman can bake a mighty fine apple pie,” he says, already walking towards the door.
I drop down on the creeper. “I doubt it’s the pie you’re interested in.”
“Being around us men your whole life has destroyed you.”
“Whatever. It’s Monday, so make sure you bring me back the meatloaf platter.”
“Got it. Be back shortly,” he calls, but I can barely hear him over the loud roar of the air compressor and impact wrench in my hand.
Another day, another dollar.
“Will you give it a rest, Seth? I told you I’m here. I’ll play nice. I’ll even put up with Cammie.”
“You need Riverton Metals on board for this tour, Grayson—especially since Raver Athletics pulled out.”
“They’re idiots.”
“No, they’re a multimillion-dollar company that can’t afford to have their name linked with a golf pro who is more famous for his hard drive into a tour official’s daughter than driving the ball into the hole.”
“Whatever. They’d be crazy to keep me out of the tour over that shit and you know it. My name brings in the fans.”
“So do others. You’re cutting your own throat here, Gray.”
“Driving into Rachelle’s hole was more fun.”
“Her name was Michelle.”
“Close enough.” Honestly, I barely remember the girl. I was drunk as a skunk and the only brain working at the time was the one in my dick—a dick that got the workout of its dreams this past weekend, a dick that misses a certain redhead today. It was a damn good weekend, and if CC hadn’t been gone when I woke up Sunday morning, I would have tried my best to make it last for another couple of days. Cammie Riverton and her father could wait for all I care. I get that Seth is trying to help me out here, but I could give a damn. I might need Riverton's name to get me back on the good side of the officials, but unlike other sports, as a member of the league, I'm an independent contractor. I decide what matches I want to do and where I will appear. I oversee my own damn self. And that would be great, except being blackballed by the higher-ups means they push my entry into tournaments below everyone else, which in short results in filled-up courses and me out in the cold. So I'm trying here when what I really want to do is tell everyone to kiss my ass. I've never been good at towing the line; my mother could more than attest for that.
“My advice is to play nice and get this contract with Riverton and his support under our belts. Without it, you’re not going to get half the publicity as the other pros on tour and you want that green jacket, even if you do try to deny it.”
“Who gets that jacket has more to do with—”
“You and I both know that you can be the best player out there, but if you don’t get the publicity, the powers that be will make it hard on you in every way they can.”
I sigh. “Whatever. I said I’m doing it. I’m in this small Kentucky town now. Have no idea what time I’ll get to Riverton’s, though.”
“Can’t you just punch it in—?”
“Hell, some of these roads aren’t even showing up on my GPS. I swear, Seth, earlier I came through a town called Pussy Holler.”
“Sounds like you should live there.”
“You got jokes. Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s wrong with my car.”