Kiss My Putt

by Tara Sivec

  “Yeah, about that—”

  “Gotta go. Work to do!” I chirp, cutting him off and moving a little faster as I hold my stack of paperwork up in the air and wave it around to indicate just how much work I have.

  “Birdie, will you just stop for a minute and talk to me?”

  Hot coffee splashes over my hand as I walk a little faster when I hear him right behind me as I get to the hallway that leads to the pro shop, and I curse under my breath. I just need to get away from his hot guy smell, and then I’ll be able to think clearly again. Is that too much to ask?

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You made it perfectly clearly two years ago how little you had to say to me. Go do whatever it is you came here to do, and leave me out of it.”

  “You’re seriously just not going to talk to me? At all?”

  Curse this stupid hot coffee and my need to bring it with me!

  His voice and his smell are too close, and I need to walk faster and make it to the safety of my office where I can close the door and lock his ass out.

  “Yep. God forbid I get accused of stalking you again.”

  I’m stepping into the pro shop and thankful it’s empty when Palmer replies loudly from right behind me.

  “What in the actual fuck are you talking about?”

  It’s not just Palmer’s rare use of the F-word out loud that has my feet stuttering to a stop and my damn vagina clutching her pearls again, but the fact that he actually has the nerve to pretend like he doesn’t know what I’m referring to. Slamming my mug on the counter of the pro shop and not even caring how much coffee I spill, I whirl around to face him to see that Tess followed us. She’s currently miming slamming a blunt object into the back of Palmer’s head from behind him, where he stands looking at me with his arms crossed in front of him.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. This island is big enough for the both of us. You stay away from me like I prefer it, and I’ll stay away from you, like you ordered it.”

  Tess pauses her fake bashing of Palmer’s head to pump her fist in the air behind him.

  “Birdie, seriously, I—”

  “No, you seriously need to get it through your head that I don’t give a shit!” I shout, pretty much negating the whole I don’t give a shit thing, but whatever. “I have a job to do, and standing around arguing with you is not part of it.”

  “Then stop arguing with me.”

  He smirks. Freaking smirks. Who is this man? Palmer doesn’t smirk. He smiles politely and looks away. Since when did he get confidence?

  Probably around the same time he got more muscles and tossed all his shit in a water hazard in Bermuda.

  “I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right,” Palmer says, all seriousness again as he stands up straighter and clears his throat. “I realize you’re a very busy woman and you have a job to do, so let me help you get started with that. Probably wouldn’t be wise for us to get off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.”

  I look at Palmer with what I’m assuming is the same WTF that’s on Tess’s face as she leans out from behind the guy and stares up at him.

  “It’s a pleasure to be back at SIG. The name’s Palmer Campbell, but most people here call me Putz.”

  Tess snorts from behind him as Palmer leans his putter against a display of golf balls, slides both his hands into the front pockets of his pants, and I watch a slow, mischievous smile spread across his face.

  “And it looks like I’m your new golf pro. Where do you want me, boss?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Palmer

  “Go long or go home.”

  “Hell no, she won’t go! Hell no, she won’t go!”

  It’s getting harder and harder to ignore Tess’s incessant shouting behind me, but I power through and keep my focus on Birdie standing a few feet in front of me by the pro shop counter. All the blood drained from her face as soon as I told her I’d be working with her at SIG. Under normal circumstances, it would be funny and I’d consider it payback. I’ve been feeling faint ever since I walked into the bar to look for Birdie and heard her say, “Putz’s cock and balls.” I have no idea what she and Tess were talking about before I got there, and I don’t care, because it probably had something to do with sawing them off with a rusty butter knife. Birdie’s sexy, raspy voice saying those words have immediately been deposited into my spank bank, even with her use of that insulting nickname. But she’s been so quiet and so pale for so long that now I’m starting to worry she might not be getting enough oxygen to her brain.

  “Hell no, she won’t go! Hell no, she won’t go!”

  I knew getting Birdie to talk to me was going to be difficult and that even getting a job on the course wouldn’t guarantee me any alone time with her. Considering she’s now run from me twice, chasing her around 175 acres day-in and day-out didn’t seem like the most productive way to get Birdie to forgive me. And with a rabid best friend like Tess who will do anything to protect Birdie, I needed a better plan than chasing her.

  When I met with Greg first thing this morning and he told me Birdie was going to be the answer to all my public image problem prayers, she would be my boss for a few weeks until the golf pro he actually hired could get into town, and she’d have to talk to me every day I was on the schedule, it was like the karma gods were smiling down on me saying, “We forgive you for being a pussy, acting like a big baby, and hurting your best friend. Go forth and conquer!” She can’t continue running away from me, and she definitely can’t ignore me when we have to work together.

  All of a sudden, Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” starts playing as soon as Tess stops chanting.

  “Will you turn that shit off?” Birdie yells at Tess over the music before I can, which makes me smile at the beautifully annoyed blonde in front of me as the song cuts off.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look,” Birdie orders, pointing her finger at me. “I’m not sticking up for you; I just really hate that song. They should have put it to something like ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry.’”

  Ouch. That stings.

  And it turns me on. Something Birdie’s always been able to do when she gives me attitude. I just never knew how hot it could be to give it right back. I should have embarrassed myself on national television and come out of my shell years ago.

  “It has been a trying couple weeks for me.” I nod seriously, pulling my hands out of my pockets and holding them open between us. “I could use a hug before we get to work, boss.”

  “You could use a lobotomy,” Birdie mutters, her eyes giving her away when they flicker down from my face to my open arms like she really wants to walk right into them. “There’s no way you’re my new golf pro.”

  Dropping my arms, I slide my right hand into my pocket and pull out my Summersweet Island Golf Course photo I.D. that says Golf Pro right under my picture, holding it up for her.

  “Greg printed it while I filled out my tax forms. Look at that handsome mug. It just screams golf pro and best employee you’ll ever have.”

  “Who are you right now?” Birdie whispers, looking at me instead of my I.D. with part awe and part WTF.

  “Um, your new golf pro. We’ve already went over this. Are you feeling okay? Having trouble with memory loss lately?” I question with mock concern as I slide my I.D. back in my pocket.

  Birdie’s beautiful blue eyes narrow as they glare at me, and thankfully I’m standing between her and the golf club display and she doesn’t have a 9-iron within reach.

  At this point, I don’t even know who I am right now, but I’ve never had this much fun in my life finally removing the filter I’ve always kept firmly in place. I’ve never been allowed to just say what I want and do what I feel. I had to be respectful and professional. I could only ever let loose around Birdie, and even then I still had to keep that filter in place, because, “oh hey there, best friend, I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen and you don’t feel the same and I don’t want to lose you so I still need to watch what I say an
d do. Help me; I’m dying!” seemed a little risky.

  I lost her anyway because of my own stupid insecurities. I’m not going to let that happen again, and I might as well be who I want to be and say what I want to say in the process. Freaking Birdie out is just an added bonus that will hopefully help me sneak my way back into her life and her heart while she’s too busy being confused by the new Palmer.

  “My memory is just fine,” Birdie finally says, crossing her arms in front of her with an adorable huff. “And you don’t need me as your boss. You know this course, and you know what to do to be a golf pro. Well, minus screaming obscenities at people and throwing things in our water hazards. We have higher standards here at SIG.”

  Point two for Birdie, but I’m about to win this match in the bonus round.

  “Oh, I know I don’t need you as my boss,” I tell her, chuckling just because it pisses her off. “You need me as your employee. You know, so you can beef up my public image and get that promotion you’ve been working toward for… how long did Greg say it was?”

  I tap my finger against my chin, look up at the ceiling, and I can practically feel Birdie’s anger rippling across the room and raising the hair on my arms.

  “Eighteen months,” she growls.

  I drop my finger from my chin and widen my eyes at her. “Wow, that’s a long time. Greg says this will be the deciding factor. Better not screw it up.”

  As I casually slide my hands in my pockets and smile at Birdie, Tess finally walks out from behind me and quickly goes to her. While I enjoy the show of watching Birdie’s head on the verge of exploding, Tess pulls a BIC lighter out of her apron pocket, flicks the flame to life, and holds it right up in front of Birdie’s face while eyeing me up and down. “It’s not a sweatshirt, but that polyester blend looks like it will go up fast.”

  I take a step back from the two women, since Tess scares me, and a chime dings as the pro shop door flies open, saving me from third-degree burns.

  “Is this where all the hot, single ladies are?” Bodhi asks, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head to push his hair back from his face as he steps into the pro shop and looks over at me. “Oooh, there’s one now.”

  I shake my head at his lame joke as his eyes move from me to Birdie.

  “And there’s my favorite, spunky golf course manager. Get over here and give Bodhi some sugar.”

  Bodhi opens his arms wide, much like I did in jest a few minutes ago, and before I can mentally prepare myself, Birdie races across the room and launches herself into my best friend’s arms.

  Okay, so it isn’t the same Birdie-launch that was specifically designed for me where she puts her whole body into it and her feet come off the ground and her long legs wrap around his waist. It’s more of just a bumping-together hug where she has to lift up on her toes to reach his shoulders, but still. It hurts just as much as if she did our hug, and my arms feel so fucking empty watching Bodhi wrap his around her slender body. I only feel a little bit homicidal toward him.

  I dig my fingers into my palms inside the front pockets of my golf pants when Bodhi squeezes Birdie tighter, making her squeal as he lifts her toes up off the ground with the force of his hug. I take a step toward the two of them when the son of a bitch sniffs the side of her neck and smiles at me the entire time, knowing I’m about two seconds away from yanking him away from Birdie by the scruff of his green T-shirt that says I Love Golf with a red Ghostbusters sign through the word love and then shoving him through the glass door behind him.

  She still smells like cocoa butter and tropical fruits. Like the Coppertone suntan lotion/sunscreen in the brown bottle she’s slathered on her skin every morning before she leaves the house for as long as I’ve known her. I got a whiff of it last night when she shoulder-checked me. The smell almost brought me to my knees, which would have been convenient, since I was already on my way down there because of the pain in my bicep from her much shorter frame.

  Bodhi laughs against Birdie’s cheek at what I’m sure is murder written all over my face while I glare at his happy reunion with a woman who will barely look at me, let alone greet me with a hug. He finally takes pity on me and pulls out of their embrace, resting his hands on her shoulders as he looks at her with concern.

  “Heard about your vacation, kid. Tough break,” he says softly.

  “Jesus, how in the hell—”

  “Stefanie at Sandbar Cottages told Alan at Hang Five Arcade, who came over to The Barge where I was having breakfast this morning, and told my server, Melanie—great rack, by the way—who discussed it while she was refilling my coffee,” Bodhi tells her in one breath.

  He pauses a beat before speaking again, and I’m on pins and needles wondering what he’s talking about and why Birdie suddenly looks so sad.

  “You okay?”

  Birdie sighs and nods, and I feel like I’m in an alternate reality. They met once five years ago. The first and only time he’d been to Summersweet Island. Sure, he was with us the entire four days of my visit, and he and Birdie hit it off immediately. But they’ve only exchanged a few words a small handful of times since then, when we still talked and Bodhi would come in the room while I was on the phone with her or something.

  As much as Bodhi loved Birdie, and as pissed as he was by my decision to cut things off with her, he understood it. After his initial shouting and tearing me a new asshole, he shut up and just supported me like a good friend should. It infuriates me more than a little that the two of them with almost zero history can pick right back up where they left off like no time has gone by, and I have fifteen years under my belt with her and can’t even get a smile. I’m not even asking for a full-blown, mega-watt Birdie smile. Just a twitch of her lips will suffice at this point.

  “We’ll talk about it over drinks soon. Bodhi will make everything better,” he reassures Birdie, his eyes suddenly noticing Tess standing a foot away from me who has been oddly quiet this whole time. “Is someone going to introduce me to the stunning creature with the red hair?”

  A sound comes out of Tess that almost resembles a giggle, but I don’t think she knows how to make that sound. Birdie looks as shocked as I do when Tess makes that weird, tittering sound again as Bodhi steps around Birdie and walks right up to her.

  “You’ll have to excuse Palmer. He lost all his manners back on the 18th hole in Bermuda. I’m Bodhi Armbruster,” he says with cool smile, holding his hand out to Tess.

  Tess giggles out her name, her cheeks turning the exact same color as her hair as she shakes Bodhi’s hand. I’ve watched hundreds of women over the years succumb to Bodhi’s charms, but I never thought I’d see someone like Tess Powell fall under his spell. I immediately forget my jealousy over Bodhi putting his hands all over Birdie and knowing something personal about her that I don’t and just enjoy the show, taking advantage of how distracted Birdie’s muscle currently is.

  Grabbing my putter from where I left it leaning against the counter, I rest the grip on my shoulder and walk toward Birdie, whistling as I go, pausing when I’m standing right in front of her. Taking a deep breath of cocoa butter and tropical fruit, I nod my head toward the door next to us.

  “I don’t know how you run things here, but I like to be on time for work. You know, do my best and always make a good impression.”

  Bringing my free hand up that isn’t holding my putter, I look at the black waterproof sports watch on my wrist and make a tsking sound.

  “Ten minutes late. So you don’t run a tight ship. Got it.”

  “Bite me,” she mutters.

  “Wow, and sexual harassment on the first day to boot.”

  Birdie lets out a closed-mouth scream, clenching her hands into fists at her sides, and I do my best to keep my face neutral and not laugh out loud.

  “Tess! We have that meeting about your schedule, remember?” Birdie shouts across the room.

  “No, we don’t. Go away.”

  This time, I do laugh out loud when Tess doesn’t cover for Birdie, because sh
e’s still shaking Bodhi’s hand and staring into his eyes like a love-sick teenager.

  With a stomp of her foot, Birdie turns and slams her palms against the handle of the glass door, shoving it open and storming outside into the hot sun. I only look at the perfect round globes of her ass wrapped in a pair of tiny black cotton shorts for a few seconds before I adjust my cock, do a few math facts in my head, and follow behind her. You know, because she’s my boss and all, and it’s not appropriate to have dirty thoughts about her at work.

  And because if I want Birdie’s forgiveness, I need to repair our friendship first. The foundation of everything I feel for her was built on our friendship. I put some cracks in there that need to be filled before I can even think about telling her I want more. That I’ve always wanted more. And, you know, have a little fun being the new Palmer along the way.

  “Hey, boss!” I shout after Birdie as I pull my hat down lower over my eyes to shield the sun as I race after her while she hoofs it toward the cart path. “Will we have daily meetings about my performance or will weekly suffice? Hey, boss! Do I get my own parking space? What about an employee locker? You’re not in charge of making me watch the sexual harassment video, right? Because that would be like making me have dinner with the guy who robbed me. Awkward!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Birdie

  “Strike while the iron is hot.”

  “You really should have fled the country when Bradley dumped you. This is just not your week, my friend. I can’t believe you have to work with him. Every day.”

  “I don’t even know why I let you in my house after the way you threw me under the bus at work this morning,” I grumble at Tess sitting next to me in the Adirondack chairs on my deck that look out over the pitch-black ocean, hours after the sun has gone down.

  I stare out into the endless darkness sprinkled with dots of lights from passing military ships and a few tourists and locals out for late-night boat rides, trying to let the sounds of the waves cresting and crashing onto the beach a few hundred yards away calm me like they usually do. Tonight, it’s not working. I don’t know if it ever will again, knowing Palmer is staring out at the same dark water, listening to the same crashing waves, on the same island, in a cottage not that far down from mine.