Kiss My Putt (Summersweet Island 1)

Tess stops dancing long enough to smack her hand down on the bar and then point at me.

“That was before this dipshit showed up here bribing our girl with donut meth and turning her into an idiot who makes poor choices.”

“Hey!” Birdie complains, turning her anger away from me momentarily to glare at Tess.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you forget about how you still don’t have an apology or an explanation and he thought two pounds of donuts would shut you up long enough for him to pull an excuse out of his ass? May 24, 2018!”

Birdie’s furious eyes zip back to mine.

“Fucking May 24, 2018,” she growls, her eyes narrowing on me.

So that’s what she’s been mumbling under her breath. For fuck’s sake….

“Birdie, please,” I beg, trying to keep my anger in check and remember getting pissed off at her is no way to get her to forgive me.

“Don’t you Birdie, please me. Just admit it. You turned into a big, famous douchebag who wanted nothing to do with a little old friend from a tiny bum-fuck island even though you swore that would never happen, until your golf career went to shit and you had nowhere else to go. I don’t know why you need time to admit something we all already know.”

God. Dammit.

“Big ego says what?” Tess quips, holding a hand up to her ear, and I hear Bodhi chuckle behind me, all control I have over my anger slipping out the window to blow away with the storm.

Of course she still honestly thinks I stopped being friends with her because I suddenly turned into a giant asshole with dollar signs in my eyes and celebrity friendships taking a front seat to the ones I’ve had since I was a kid. And why wouldn’t she think that? Why would she ever think there was any other reason I lost my shit and took myself out of her life two years ago on that exact date? It just proves that filter I always kept in place did its job a little too well, and now I’m in hell.

“It’s not like that at all, Birdie, come on,” I mutter, shaking my head at her, staring into her eyes, and trying to get her to see she should know better. And she should know me better, no matter how long it’s been since we’ve talked.

“Can I kick him in the balls now?” Murphy asks in a bored voice as I run my hand through my wet hair to push it back and try not to tear it out by the roots.

I always knew this was the chance I’d take by cutting Birdie out with no explanation and with never telling her how I felt. I knew this was the excuse she’d put in her head and run with and she’d never even consider the possibility of another reason. She’d never sit down and really look at that date and put it all together.

“You said you were okay with giving me a little time,” I say as quietly as possible, not needing any extra comments from the damn members of the Bennett mob who won’t go away.

“Yeah, well, it turns out I’m not fucking okay with it.”

My heart starts beating so fast in my chest I think I might have a heart attack. Goddammit, this can’t happen now. Now yet and not in a roomful of fucking people. When I asked for more time, I wasn’t asking for something ridiculous like a few months. A few days, tops, would have been nice. I thought I’d at least get more than a few hours. My palms start to sweat, and my soaking-wet skin gets a chill in the air-conditioned room.

“You’ve had plenty of time. Two years to be exact. Fuck your bullshit need for more time! You’ve had since May 24, 2018!” Birdie argues, while I clench and unclench my hands into fists down at my sides and try not to flip a table.

She’s not the only one who’s been pissed off about that date for the last two years, and just her saying it again makes my body tense as I squeeze my fists harder and dig my nails deeper into my palms. It’s not until Tess has chanted that date five times with her fist pumping above her head and my anger simmering right below the surface that something suddenly occurs to me about Birdie’s anger over the date.

Some of my frustration and rage dissipates just as fast as it came as I relax my shoulders, unclench my fists, and slide my hands into my pockets, and I feel the corner of my mouth tipping up into a smile as I stare down at Birdie.

I chuckle softly when I think about how she’s been muttering that date under her breath when she’s with me, probably to remind herself how mad she still is at me.