Book Read Free

Kiss My Putt

Page 5

by Tara Sivec


  Stupid, Putz!

  “None of us will be drunk riding our bikes into the fishing pond in Summersweet Park tonight, and then calling me at three in the morning because you forgot you drunk-rode your bikes into the pond and need my help finding them, will we?”

  The three of us look up when we hear my mom’s voice as she walks toward us, eyeing all the empty beer bottles littered on top of our picnic table until she’s standing in front of us with her arms crossed. Mom keeps her wavy blonde hair cut short to right above her shoulders with layers for extra bounce, but the three of us share the same bright blue eyes, and hers are now looking at us all judgey-like.

  “That was one time, Laura, and we learned to never drink hard liquor mixed with blue-raspberry slush on Sip and Bitch night again after that, so it really provided a very valuable lesson,” Tess informs her as my mom lifts one of her eyebrows and the corner of her mouth twitches. “Beer only for us girls. It keeps us off the streets and out of ponds.”

  “I really miss that bike. It was teal and had a white basket.” Wren sighs.

  “Everyone okay?” my mom asks, taking a turn looking at each of us, but definitely spending a longer time on me.

  I’m sure she already knows just as much as the rest of the island does right about now. I give her a smile so she knows I’m okay, even though I’m not really sure I am at this point in time.

  Leaning in, Mom gives each of us a kiss on the top of our heads before stepping back and pulling the keys to her golf cart out of the black apron she still has tied around her waist.

  “I’ll leave you three to your toast. If you could put the garbage in the dumpster for me, that would be wonderful.”

  We say goodnight, wait until we hear her golf cart putter to life on the other side of the building, and wave to her as she zooms by to head home to her cottage before we end the evening.

  “It’s late, and I have another early shift tomorrow morning,” Tess says, hopping off the table. “I have like, a thousand questions I want to ask your tight-lipped face right now, but it’s gonna have to wait, because I’m exhausted. This week, I’m sucking it up, because it’s been far too long since I’ve gotten decently laid.”

  Wren groans, and I just laugh, because Tess seems to suck it up about this frequently.

  “I’m sucking it up this week, because Owen is finally passing math, but now his baseball coach says he has an attitude problem at practice.” Wren sighs.

  “That guy is a dick. They need to fire him already.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and give it a squeeze.

  “I’m sucking it up this week, because…”

  Jesus, where do I even begin?

  “It has to be the biggest thing in your life this week, Birdie. The one thing that is trying on you more than anything else. Those are the rules, so tell the truth,” my sister reminds me when I drop my arm from her shoulders and pause too long, giving me a wink just to soften the blow.

  “I’m sucking it up this week, because Putz Campbell is back, and I don’t know if I want to beat the shit out of him or see if Wren is right and give him a chance to explain.”

  I say it really fast, because this honesty thing is enough to choke a girl.

  “We’re sucking it up, and soon we’ll get cookies!” the three of us chant.

  Clinking our bottles together one last time, we finish off our drinks and start collecting the empties before walking around to the back of the Dip and Twist where my mom left three bags of garbage right outside the back door. Throwing everything into the dumpster on the other side of the parking lot, we each head to our respective golf carts.

  “I still hope Putz gets sand crabs tangled in his ball hair,” Tess mutters, stopping next to her cart.

  “A man like that doesn’t have ball hair,” my sister muses in a rare display of dirtiness I haven’t heard out of her in years.

  “All right, stop thinking about his balls!” I shout.

  “Oooh, someone is testy.” Tess snorts, and Wren full-on laughs out loud, while I ignore both of them and get in my own cart.

  Wren blows each of us a kiss. I tell her to give my favorite nephew a fist-bump from me, and she whizzes off down Summersweet Lane to head toward her cottage.

  “Morning break tomorrow, you and me, we’ll sit down and hatch a plan to deal with Putz,” Tess informs me, starting up her cart.

  “We don’t need a plan. I’m sure he’s just here to hide out until things blow over. SIG is huge, and you know I’m swamped with work. He can stay on the private member’s side, and I’ll stay on the public side.” I shrug, like it’s no big thing I’m having a casual conversation about Palmer being back on the island.

  It didn’t take long for me to make up my mind about not knowing whether or not I want to punch Palmer or give him a chance to explain. He’s had two years to explain. His time is up, and I don’t care.

  “And never the two shall meet?” Tess laughs. “Okay, sure. Good luck with that. But in the meantime, I’ll meet you tomorrow morning at the bar so we can come up with a real plan.”

  Before I can argue, Tess is backing out of her spot and pulling onto the street.

  “Don’t break your vibrator thinking about Putz tonight!”

  Her shout echoes down the street, and I shake my head as I pull out behind her, thankful the island has pretty much shut down for the night and no one heard her.

  My plan is perfectly fine. This island isn’t that big, but it’s big enough for me to avoid one person.

  CHAPTER 5

  Birdie

  “What a load of trap.”

  “You look like shit.”

  Tess slides a cup of coffee across the shiny, wooden top of the bar to me where I’ve been sitting for the last few hours trying to get through some paperwork. And to avoid people, since the bar doesn’t open for another hour.

  There’s a small bar area right in the middle of the clubhouse with ten high-top tables, four high-back booths, and eight bar stools against the bar where golfers can get coffee in the morning and grab a drink or eat a quick lunch before the restaurant opens in the evening. On the other side of the wall from the bar is the kitchen, and on the other side of that is the golf course restaurant, Tee Time.

  I love getting a change of scenery away from my office off the pro shop and coming over to the bar before it opens. Decorated in different shades of deep green, with dark cherry wood furniture, it’s warm, comforting, quiet, and makes me feel like I’m sitting in the den of a rich grandfather who lets me hide away in there and read all the books on his shelves. Except I don’t have a rich grandfather and the books consist of food and beverage deliveries and employee schedules, but I still love coming in here to work. It’s just an added bonus my best friend is a bartender and I get to spend a lot of time with her during the work day.

  “I feel like shit,” I mutter, pushing a pile of paperwork aside to grab the hot mug and take a sip.

  I tossed and turned all night last night and probably got a total of two hours of sleep. Not only did I have to process the fact that I really had been more devastated about not going to Hawaii than I was about the end of my two-year relationship with Bradley, I had to worry about the possibility of running into Palmer every time I left my cottage. It felt like I finally fell asleep seconds before my alarm went off, and I hit the Snooze button one too many times until I only had five minutes to get dressed and get out the door for work. With my blonde hair in one of Wren’s signature messy buns, I threw on a purple fitted SIG T-shirt that may or may not be clean with a pair of black cotton shorts.

  “I’ve had ten people stop me since I got into work this morning asking me if I’ve heard that he’s back,” I tell Tess with a sigh. “And they ask me with a wince and pity on their faces, so that’s been fun.”

  Everyone on the island obviously knew about Palmer’s and my friendship, considering whenever he was here, we were together almost every waking minute. And since Palmer Campbell was one of the two biggest things to happen to
Summersweet Island, everyone followed him on social media, and everyone knew the day he blocked me and we stopped being friends. May 24, 2018. The day Summersweet Island residents quickly learned to never, ever ask me about that man again.

  The five-minute golf cart ride from my cottage to SIG this morning was five full minutes in which I almost convinced myself seeing Palmer again had been a dream. Or a nightmare. The constant butterflies in my stomach that hadn’t calmed down since I turned around and saw his face had finally quieted, and my head had been filled with work instead of him. Until the minute I pulled into my parking spot and one of the grounds crew asked me about Palmer before I even stepped out of my damn cart.

  “Stefanie at Sandbar Cottages said he rented a place last night with no check-out date,” Tess says.

  The granola bar I swiped from the pro shop for breakfast starts churning in my stomach, even though I already heard this rumor. Summersweet Island law states when a rumor has been told twice, it’s now fact.

  “Gina at Starboard Sweets dropped off our candy order for the pro shop this morning and said the only tournament he wasn’t uninvited from this year isn’t for another seven months,” I tell her, keeping my fingers crossed.

  “I heard that too.”

  Shit!

  “If he’s planning on staying here that whole time, which it sounds like he is, that’s the longest stretch of time he will have ever been here. Or anywhere, for that matter,” Tess says with wide, shocked eyes, feeling the need to say something out loud that’s been screaming in my head since Gina first said it.

  “I also heard he’s even hotter now than ever and seeing him on television doesn’t do him justice, and you’re lucky we’re at work or I’d punch you right in the throat for not mentioning that little fact at Sip and Bitch last night.” Tess glares at me before turning away to finish stocking the bar.

  “Oh, calm down; I only spent a minute with the guy, and I barely even noticed what he looked like.” I scoff, grabbing a pen and pretending to scribble something on one of my pieces of paper so Tess doesn’t see the lie written all over my face.

  I definitely noticed he was no longer lean and lanky with boyish good looks.

  I definitely noticed a sharper jaw with deeper dimples in his cheeks.

  I definitely noticed how the soft cotton of his shirt molded to a new well-defined chest and broader shoulders.

  I definitely noticed how the seams in the arms of his shirt were working overtime trying to keep the extra definition of his biceps and triceps contained without ripping the cotton.

  I definitely noticed the way the veins and muscles in his forearms twisted and tensed when he clenched his hands into fists at his sides after he said my name, like he was bracing himself for my launch-hug out of habit.

  I definitely noticed how his tanned skin made his green eyes an even more vibrant color of jade.

  I definitely noticed he still kept his chocolate-brown hair neatly shaved tight on the sides and briefly wondered if he turned his hat around on purpose because I once made the mistake of letting it slip that I thought it made him look hot.

  I definitely noticed his ass could fill out a fitted pair of golf shorts even better than what I saw on TV when of course I glanced back for a peek after I shoulder-checked him.

  I definitely noticed he still wore the same rich boy cologne, but it smelled even better than I remembered. Spicier, cleaner, hotter. One tiny whiff when I walked by him and I clenched with need.

  “I just want to know if he brought that hot caddie with him,” Tess muses as she wipes down a bottle of whiskey before putting it on the glass shelf behind the bar.

  “Bodhi?” I choke on a laugh, thankful for something to think about other than how much hotter Palmer is now, when I could barely stand to look at him before without immediately getting pregnant. “You think Bodhi is hot? He looks like a homeless surfer.”

  Probably because he is a homeless surfer.

  Tess pulls another bottle of whiskey out of the box by her feet, looking off into space while she wipes it down with her towel.

  “I’ve had a homeless surfer or two. Very giving. They fuck you like they’re looking for a home deep in your vagina. You know, because they are. They always smell like weed and patchouli, which is oddly comforting. Mama likey.”

  I shake my head at Tess with a laugh.

  “I haven’t heard any Bodhi rumors, but I’ll be sure to keep my ears open,” I reassure her. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this morning break, I still have a lot of work to catch up on, and I’m trying to set up a schedule for the new golf pro.”

  Tess sets the top shelf bottle of whiskey on the bar and throws the towel over her shoulder when I start sorting through my paperwork, looking for the list of private members who want lessons.

  “So you’re just going to pretend like you’re fine? Go about your life and do your job like the shit didn’t just hit the fan yesterday evening and you’re not jumping out of your skin every time you hear a door open, thinking it’s him?” Tess asks.

  “Sounds about right.”

  “You don’t think maybe seeking him out so you can ask him what the fuck he’s doing here so you can get it over with is a good idea?”

  “That’s sounds entirely too mature and not at all something I’d do,” I scoff. “I’ll wait for the rumors to finish circulating and make my decisions accordingly.”

  Finding the list of private members in need of lessons, I quickly circle a few people I know won’t give the new guy a hard time while he settles in.

  “Since maturity is off the table, want to light some of his shit on fire now that we know where he’s staying?”

  Tess knows this is killing me, but as my best friend and someone who knows me better than most, she understands I just need support right now, no matter how twisted that support is, instead of a lecture. Something I’ll probably get from my mom and sister at some point. Tess is my ride-or-die. She’ll call me on my shit, but she will support me no matter what.

  “We’re still on probation and not allowed any more beach fires for another month after the last break-up burning we had,” I remind her, still annoyed we actually got a citation, since it’s not our fault the wind changed direction and caught a few trees on fire. “Although why we needed to torch a tourist’s sweatshirt after only knowing him for four hours is beyond me.”

  “He had a tiny dick that did not match the promises he made all night at the bar. He’s lucky I didn’t light his sweatshirt on fire while it was still on his body,” Tess mutters, grabbing the bottle of whiskey back off the top of the bar and putting it on the glass shelf with the rest. “We both know Palmer Campbell is probably packing a lot of heat, so you’re right, no point in a fire.”

  “Can we please stop bringing up Putz’s cock and balls?”

  “Hey, Birdie.”

  Tess and I both gasp at the same time when I hear those same two words from yesterday from that same voice. Except this time, he doesn’t whisper them. This time, I get to hear the full timbre of his smooth, deep voice from just a few feet away. Of course the one minute I let my guard down and stopped worrying he’d walk in the door at any time, he actually walks in the damn door. Right when I’m talking about his junk.

  “Oh, sweet mother of God. I think your cookies are here,” Tess whispers.

  I look at her face, and I watch her getting her own first good look at Palmer again after almost three years, and I hope to God I didn’t look like that last night. Her mouth is wide open, and I watch her pluck the material of her black button-down away from her chest with her fingers and fan herself. With a deep breath of courage and a reminder to myself that I see plenty of hot golfers on this course every day, I slide off my bar stool and turn around.

  And whimper, covering it up with an awkward cough.

  Palmer is wearing one of his collarless polo shirts, this one black and white, tucked into a pair of fitted black golf pants with a black-and-white belt secured low around his narrow waist. There�
��s a white hat on his head facing the right way, he’s got one hand tucked into the front pocket of his pants, and the other one is resting on the end of a putter he’s leaning on. It’s been so long since I’ve stood in front of him when he’s been in “uniform” that it takes me a minute to gain my composure and remind myself I stopped having these feelings for him a long time ago. May 24, 2018 to be exact.

  “Hey, Tess, how’s it going?”

  “Fuck you, Putz!”

  I glance back at Tess long enough to see that at least she put a big smile on her face while she returned Palmer’s greeting with her middle finger.

  “Seeing you is always like a warm hug, Powell.” Palmer smiles right back at her, showing an odd display of sarcasm that does something tingly to me I refuse to think about, before the smile falls and he’s all serious again when he looks at me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Bar doesn’t open for another forty-five minutes, and you know your way to the private course,” I tell him, refusing to look at him as I gather up all my paperwork, my phone, two pens, and my cup of coffee Tess quickly tops off for me. “It’s right past Tee Time’s outdoor deck and that ridiculous poster advertisement of you holding the sports beverage.”

  That stupid poster was framed and hung on the outside of the deck railing years ago, back when Palmer still visited the island. I used to kiss my fingertips and quickly press them against the glass every time I walked by it.

  “Yeah, I noticed someone drew devil horns on it and gave me big googly eyes,” Palmer says as I finally turn back around and force myself to look at him.

  “Huh, weird. I’ll have to have someone look into that,” I tell him with fake concern, considering I keep a Sharpie on me at all times in case the sun and salty ocean air starts to fade my artwork. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  With my arms full and trying not to spill any hot coffee on me, I carefully walk across the room and right by Palmer, even though I want to run as fast as possible so I can get away from him and breathe.

 

‹ Prev