“Maybe I just haven’t met anyone worthy of truly owning a piece of me.”
“Your heart is a rental?”
Shep chuckles. “Perhaps.”
We make our way up a hill, and he grabs my hand. I glance down at his hand around mine.
“Look.” He guides me to the right just as the sun slides up the horizon and outlines the red rocks. “The sun … she’s amazing. Don’t you think?”
She …
Shep toasts waffles and drizzles them with real maple syrup while I change into my golf attire.
“Anything else, my queen?” he asks in a dramatic tone while setting my plate on the table next to a fresh cup of coffee and a red juice.
“What’s in the juice glass?”
“Beet juice. It helps your golf game. I figure you need all the help you can get.” He sits next to me instead of across from me so our knees touch.
I could move mine, but I don’t.
“Is that so?” I sip the juice. It’s quite tasty.
“I was courteous yesterday. You’re my guest, so I let you win. Today, all bets are off.”
“Bets?” While cutting my waffle, my gaze narrows at him. “When did we make a bet?”
“Now. Right now. Let’s make this interesting.”
“I’m listening. Don’t bet so much that you have to get a loan from your parents to pay me. Be smart.”
He blinks several times, a neutral expression, before clearing his throat. “No money. Something else.”
“Such as?”
“Sex.”
I choke on my waffle and reach for the beet juice. “W-what?”
“If I win, we have sex tonight. Friend sex, of course.”
I don’t ask what “friend sex” means. It doesn’t matter. He’s not winning.
“And when I win?”
He shrugs. “Name it.”
“What if I want to reserve it? Reveal it after I win.”
“God. You’re full of yourself, Dr. Ryan.”
“Just being factual instead of delusional. And you didn’t let me win. I’m not stupid. I heard you cussing under your breath yesterday every time you shanked your ball and I hit the hole.”
“Deal. You can reserve your demand for tomorrow morning … when you’re naked in bed with me, telling me what you would have requested from me had you won.”
“Friends don’t have sex. This much I know.”
He brushes me off with a headshake as he focuses on cutting his waffle. “You know nothing. Sex can be sex. Like wine can be a buzz without getting drunk.”
“I’m not drinking wine.”
“All the more reason to have sex. Good god, Woman, what do you do for enjoyment? Friends don’t let friends go dry in every way.”
I stop feeding him any more information about me. Instead, I finish breakfast with a knowing grin on my face. I know I’m going to be victorious today.
Thirty minutes later … we’re on the first tee.
“Remind me to stop and get condoms on the way back to the house,” Shep says behind me.
I swing and it’s perfect.
For the first nine holes, I keep a steady lead, but not an unreachable one. The last nine holes get more interesting. I intentionally give him the lead for a few holes because I enjoy seeing the extra bounce in his step. I enjoy watching him twirl his putter like a majorette. By the fifteenth hole, I stop making intentional errors, slowly creeping up on him. By the eighteenth hole, we are tied.
Shep plays it cool, but that’s all it is. An act. He’s sweating.
“This one’s for all the chips. You feeling lucky, Sophie?”
I’ve noticed Shep gets extra chatty—dare I say like a Midwesterner—when he’s feigning confidence.
“I’m feeling what I’m feeling, Shep.” I drive one straight down the fairway.
Shep’s ball lands in a sand trap, which means I’m going to have to make a shitty shot just to keep him close.
We make it on the green, tied again.
“Do you like to be on top or bottom?” he asks, again revealing his nerves.
“I think you know the answer to that.”
Shep putts and misses it by a fraction of an inch, taking three steps to tap it in and out of my way. He’s good. His only tell he’s giving is the slight muscle twitch in his jaw.
My shot is a lot farther back and downhill. It’s easily two if not three shots for a good golfer. Just to keep him sweating, I mosey to the cart and grab my towel to polish my putter, sip my water, and remove my glove. Eventually, I line up with my ball, and without much thought, much planning, or even that much focus on the hill in its path, I tap it.
It rolls.
A little left.
A little right.
Gaining speed.
Maybe too much speed.
But … probably not.
Clink.
In the hole.
“I like being on top, Shep. Get used to it, friend.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Shep doesn’t say much on the way back to the house, and by much, I mean anything. I don’t either. I take my victory lap in silence. It’s much better this way. I’m silently gloating that I’m not gloating.