This is bullshit. I’m not Green after all. Being in the majors like he is, he has to deal with bullshit sponsors. Golf is completely different from baseball, and it’s one thing I’ve always been thankful for. I’m also unbelievably fucking good at it. That’s not ego, though I will admit to having that at times. It’s just the truth. My sport is filled with middle-aged men; there’s a reason they call me the young stud of the sport. I like that title. Fuck, I live up to that title. I’ve become the face of the industry in just a few short years. I took a bunch of ribbing because I went into golf—most of it from my own fucking brothers. But I silenced them by bringing home the bank. Shit, I make more than Green and I don’t have to tow the line like he does. That might be the very reason I’m resenting the fact that Seth has me out here playing nice with Riverton. I am not a fucking yes man. I am who the fuck I am and I like being me. Kissing up to some man just so his company can smooth the way with the big wigs in charge of the tour pisses me off. Everyone thinks money greases the wheels, that it’s all about the money, but the truth is … it’s politics. In the big leagues, everyone has full pockets. They just want to show off who has the bigger dick. The people in charge of getting me exposure, ensuring my rank and position for the tournament, are major dicks.
As I pull up to the wrought iron gate with two giant R’s detailed on it, I do my best to swallow the bile that comes up in my chest. Is this what swallowing your pride feels like? The urge to drive away is strong, but I beat that down too. I’ll play nice. I’ll send in the matches I’ll appear at, and with Riverton behind me, I’ll be welcomed with open arms. Then, fuck them all. Once I win that pretty trophy and jacket, I’m done. D. O. N. E. Then they’ll be the ones crawling to me. I’ll be the one in complete control.
I hit the button on the speaker and tell the voice who I am. The gates open. I pull up and look into my rearview mirror. As they slowly come to a close, I flinch. One season. That’s it. I’ll do this to become what I need to be: the master of my own destiny.
I drive towards the house and the strangest thing happens. I think about this past weekend with CC. That’s where I wish I was right now. Back with her in that damn hotel room, listening to her laugh, feeling her legs wrap around me as I sink down into her. But that’s not what hits my gut and makes my hands constrict so tight around the steering wheel it could almost break.
It’s the realization that the voice of Claude and CC are one and the same.
I’ll be visiting a certain little mechanic again soon. Very soon.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Jackson says, as if there are two of him. It always makes me grin. At times he sounds so much like Banger that it hurts.
“Later, old man,” I tell him, getting that look from him I always get. There’s only ten years’ difference in our ages, but Jackson seems so much older. Banger always said life can age you more than years, and Jackson seems to be a walking testament to that. We break apart at our vehicles. Once I start my car, Jackson takes off on his bike. Right before I put the car into drive, I realize I left my cellphone in the garage. With a groan—because I really want to get home—I switch the car off and go back the way I came. I have the phone retrieved and I’m locking the door when I hear his voice from behind.
“I think it’s a crime to cover up hair that beautiful in that cap on your head.”
Before I can even fully turn around, Gray’s reaching up to pull it off. My hair tumbles over my shoulders and halfway down my back. As if by reflex, I use my hand to shake the curls out and comb it away from my face.
“I guess this means you know who I am now.”
“I guess I do,” he says, propping himself up on my door and caging me in.
“I guess I should give you a cookie or something,” I mumble, finally getting the door to lock.
“I can think of something else I’d rather you give me.”
“That’s not happening,” I assure him, stubbornly refusing to look his way.
“Why’s that?”
“That ship has sailed.”
“We could always take it back out to sea.”
“The point of weekend hookups out of town is that they end at the weekend and they remain out of town,” I tell him with a wince, trying to ignore how that makes me sound. “What are you doing here?”
“I had to come to town on business.”
“This place isn’t exactly industry row.”
“No, but it does have its appeal, that’s for sure.” His finger wraps around a strand of my hair. I barely resist the urge to pull it away from him. I’m working really hard on ignoring the way his voice sends chills down my back. The man is like a drug!—one that I’m definitely smart to quit cold turkey.
“Well, I hope you enjoyed your visit,” I tell him, “but I need to get home. It’s been a long day and Cat is waiting for me.”
“You named your cat… Cat?”
“Cat could have been a person.”
“Is she?”
“No.”
“Then I’m right. Strange. I would have figured you for a dog person.”
“Well, you don’t really know me.”
“You’re definitely wrong there. I think I know a lot about you.”
“Considering you didn’t even know who I was earlier today, I think I can safely argue.”
“If I remember correctly, proving you wrong is a lot of fun, so you can argue away.”
“What’re you—?”
“Remember? You said there was no way you could come again, and I told you that you could. All it took was sliding my tongue slowly against—”
“Okay, I think you should stop there. I’ve had a long day, and I’m sure you’re anxious to get back on the road and go back to wherever—”
“Actually, it seems I’m going to be staying in Kentucky for a couple of weeks.”
My heart stutters at his words, and a nervous tension gathers in my stomach. This news shouldn’t affect me one way or another—but it does. I do my best to shake it off and not let it show.
“In that case, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. Right now, however, I better get going.”
“Right, home to your… cat,” he says, and I don’t correct him.
“Exactly. Take care, Gray.”
“Maybe you could help me first.”