I lean back in the chair and blow out a breath. Looking around the place, I smile. It’s over the top sleek and modern, but in a way that is totally fitting for my baby brother. I’m proud as hell that he’s been so successful.
My small apartment back in Scottsdale is a dump by comparison. I rented it after my divorce, not particularly caring about where I lived as long as it met two conditions: it was not with my ex and it was on a golf course.
With my business, I can live anywhere or everywhere. I travel a lot, but Scottsdale is home, and the weather is great year-round for golf.
Tired as fuck, I pull out my laptop and check email. I’m cc’ed on more than fifty emails, but there are only a few that require me to respond. I tackle those and then log into the website to check in with my clients.
Simon and Roy handle the majority of our golf clients, and I have a couple of team members who answer questions and do an occasional review if needed. It’s a big market and we’re growing faster than any other department.
Initially, I kept a few clients simply because we didn’t have enough people to support the demand, but now, I keep a hand in it to remind me what fuels my desire and love for the company.
I have an up-and-coming pro golfer who’ll be a household name soon, a twelve-year-old kid whose parents’ ambitions are set on him being the next Tiger Woods, and a retiree who just wants to be able to show up his buddies on their weekly golf outings. And now, Keira.
I check in with my other clients first, leaving Keira for last. She sent her swing video, a detailed write-up of what they did in practice today, and notes on the morning training session I gave her.
I read over it, watch the video a handful of times. I’m watching her swing one last time in slow motion when Kenton appears. Hair wet, basketball shorts and a faded Nike T-shirt, he looks a lot more like my little brother like this.
“I thought I heard you still out here.” He grabs two beers from the fridge, takes a seat on the couch across from me, and offers me one.
“Thanks,” I say absently, staring at the screen.
“How are things going with Reeves Sports?” He crosses one leg over a knee and holds the neck of a Bud Light with his fingers.
“You should know.” Kenton is a silent partner, so he’s copied on all the executive reports, which he clearly doesn’t read.
“You don’t really want me sitting in on those long conference calls, do you?”
I huff a laugh, and he shakes his head.
“I didn’t think so.” He sits forward and cranes his neck to look at the screen. “Got any fun clients I can see?”
Turning the screen, I press play, and we watch Keira’s swing. She took the footage at the driving range, so the scenery of Arizona and the sun setting over the mountains is the backdrop.
Even after seeing it so many times, I get a little rush and goose bumps dot my arms.
I glance over at Kenton. He doesn’t look all that impressed, but I’m not surprised. It isn’t Keira’s ability alone that excites me; it’s her potential. I wouldn’t expect most people to see it. In fact, my career is as successful as it is because most don’t.
“Not bad. Pro or amateur league?”
“Neither.”
His gaze meets mine, and he lifts a brow in question.
“I did that clinic at Valley University for Mark James. He’s the coach there now. Anyway, I met Keira there.” I motion to the screen. “She’s on the girls’ team.”
I press play again. “She’s a little unfocused and impulsive, but she has a lot of promise.”
“She’s hot.” Kenton continues to stare at the screen as he quickly drains the rest of his beer and places the empty on the coffee table.
I turn my laptop so he’s no longer able to see her. “Anyway, I should get back to it.”
“I can see it’s a real hardship.” He snorts. “Enjoy the view. I have to get to bed. I have an early workout in the morning. Lunch tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
When he’s gone, I play her video again feeling more protective than is rational. Keira’s young and beautiful, any dude with a pulse could attest to that, but Kenton voicing something I can’t bothers me more than I’d like to admit. I can’t exactly be jealous of every guy that looks at her and sees the obvious, though that feels exactly like what just happened.
I carry my stuff into the spare room, change into fresh T-shirt and sweatpants, and grab another beer before I call her. Pacing the room, I stare out into the L.A. night while I wait for her to answer.
“Hello?” Her voice is groggy like I woke her up.
I check the time. “Sorry if I woke you. I assumed you’d still be up.”
“It’s fine. I must have fallen asleep reading my chemistry notes.”
I snort. “Can’t blame you there. We can talk tomorrow.”
“It’s okay. I’m awake now.”
I should insist she go back to sleep, but our training has become something I look forward to every night. “All right. Grab your seven iron. I want to talk you through what I’m seeing.”
“Hold on.”
The website allows for video chat, though I’ve never used it with clients before her. Typically, the feedback I send is in email format. If I need to get more detailed, I record a video of my screen as I watch their swing in slow motion and talk through any issues I see.
We’ve used all those features, too, but with Keira, the live sessions together have proven to be invaluable.
“All right, I’m set.”
I hang up the phone and start the video call on the website. She answers almost immediately, and her face appears. With no greeting, she steps away, checking back once to make sure she’s in full view of the camera.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail and falls over one bare shoulder. She’s wearing some sort of tank top with straps so small I can barely see the pink material against her skin. The tiny shorts she’s wearing aren’t any better.
I’m frustrated by my inability to ignore how gorgeous she is. Fucking Kenton. It isn’t really his fault, he didn’t tell me anything new, but now it’s fresh on my mind.
“Lincoln?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I slide my gaze away from her legs and hope she didn’t catch me gawking like a perv. “Let me see what you worked on today.”
She’s set up in her dorm room, standing in the space between two beds. She has just enough space to swing. It isn’t really ideal, but I can’t very well ask her to head to the gym at this hour. Though, the thought did occur to me.
“So, what do you think?” she asks after she’s done three swings.
“It’s hard to tell. Your swing changes with a ball in front of you. Right now, it looks good, though. I can tell you’ve been working the drills. How’s the weight training?”
She groans. “Awful. My legs are so sore I could barely walk up the stairs today. And who knew going down stairs would be worse?”
My eyes sweep over her legs again and up. “You’re going to need to be stronger. It’ll help with consistency, and it’ll also allow you to trust yourself more when it comes to those big, key moments where you have to let go and just believe you’ve worked hard enough to pull off whatever the gods of golf throw at you.”
“The golf gods.” She smiles, tosses the ball in the air with her club, and begins to bounce it. She does it often between drills as we’re chatting. The move seems to calm her. She barely looks at it, feeling the ball with the clubface and trusting the movement. It’s sexy as hell.
“How’d you learn to do that?”
She stops as if she just realized what she was doing, and the ball drops to the floor. “Saw Tiger do it when I was a kid, and I practiced. A lot.”
“Tiger, huh? He was your favorite?”
“Of the men.” She abandons the club and sits on the bed, bringing the laptop closer to her face. She has a hint of sun on her cheeks, but the rest of her skin is smooth and flawless.
Keira
on a bed, in a bed, or near a bed are all combinations that stir things I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Who’s your favorite?”
I consider just going with a canned answer. I looked up to Tiger a lot, but it was never him I was trying to emulate. “My grandfather.”
“Did he play professionally?”
I shake my head. “No, but he played in college and taught me everything I know about the game. Coached a lot of other people too. He was a golf pro in Scottsdale.”
“Is he willing to come out of retirement to take on a new client? I bet he would be nicer. Old people love me. I’m spunky.” She yawns.
A chuckle escapes. “Sorry, you’re stuck with me. He passed two years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her mouth falls into a frown, and her eyes lift from mine. “Where are you? Is that a different room in your place?”
I look behind me to the picture hanging on the wall over the bed. It’s a black-and-white nude of Kenton’s naked back and the top of his ass, holding a soccer ball at his hip. It’s an artistic shot and probably (hopefully) not meant to be sexy, but it’s still my damn brother’s ass above the bed I’m supposed to sleep in.
I turn back to face her. “I’m in Los Angeles staying with my brother for a couple of days. He plays soccer for the Stars, and apparently, he likes to welcome his guests with uncomfortable artwork.”
“Any other siblings?”
“No. You?”
“No, I’m an only child.” She yawns again, and I check the time.
“You should get some sleep. Your body needs recovery time. Drink lots of water too.”
She rolls her eyes, but her voice is soft. “Yes, Coach.”
“’Night, Keira.”
13
Keira
“You came!” Erica jumps up from her spot next to Chapman on the couch and rushes to hug me.
I laugh and try to speak, but she has a vise grip around my neck and shakes us from side to side. When she releases me, she links our hands and jumps with excitement. “You have been hiding away for weeks.”
Cassidy joins us in the entryway and hands me a drink before nodding her agreement. “Seriously. The only time I see you anymore is at practice.”
“I can’t drink this,” I say after smelling the contents of the cup.
“Just one!” Erica says. She and Cassidy share matching pouty expressions.
“Nice try. I’m not drinking tonight.” I hand the cup back to Cassidy.
“Well, fine, as long as you’ll still dance with me. The White House is having a party, and I need to dance it out.” Cass closes her eyes and sways her hips from side to side.
“Dance what out?”
“She’s waiting for Peter to call her,” Erica supplies.
I glance between them for the story. “Peter?”
“Peter Kurtis, he’s a hockey player Cass is crushing on ha-ard,” Erica sing-songs the last word.
“I am not,” she says but then smiles. “He asked for my number a week ago but hasn’t called or texted.”
Erica nudges me. “I have a class with Peter’s roommate, Tiny, and he said they’re going to The White House tonight.”
“Will you come and be my dance partner?” Cass begs.
“Of course, I will.” I fight a yawn. “Do you have any Red Bull?”
At The White House, Cassidy pulls me outside to where a DJ is setup and a few people are dancing on one side of the yard. Erica is sitting near the pool with Chapman.
The beat of the music relaxes my aching muscles and the caffeine temporarily makes me forget how tired I am. The last couple of weeks have been exhausting in the best way. Classes, practice, and hours of training with Lincoln.
Cass leans forward, her blonde hair falling around her face and shielding her from everyone but me. “He’s here.”
Casually, I glance around. “Where?”
“He just walked out onto the patio with another guy. White hat, gray sweater.”
I find him easily enough. He’s scanning the crowd in the way people do when they first get to a party to see who else is there. He finds Cass and turns to his buddy to say something. And as luck would have it, I know that buddy.
“Come on, I know his friend.” I drag Cass with me.
Her hand grips mine hard, and I laugh a little at how nervous she seems. She’s gorgeous, sweet, and super talented. I can’t imagine any guy not being into her.
Heath notices me as I approach, and his mouth draws into a wide smile.
“Hey, Keira.” He takes a sip from the beer.
“Hey, yourself.” I yank Cass closer to me. “Heath, this is my friend Cassidy.”
“Hi.” She gives a small wave and steals a glance at Peter. “Hey, Peter.”
“You two know each other?” I play dumb.
“Yeah, of course. Hey, Cassidy.” I swear this big, hunky hockey player is blushing. “Can I get you a drink?”
She stares at him, frozen and mute until I elbow her, then she sputters out, “Yeah. Great.”
Heath and I watch them disappear into the house.
“She likes him.” I shrug.
“Yeah, him too. He’s been talking about her all week, trying to figure out when to call her and what to say. I’ve never seen someone obsess so much over calling a girl.” He looks at my empty hands and then asks, “You need a drink?”
“Nah, I’m not drinking tonight.”
He raises a brow in question.
“I have to get up early tomorrow to work out.”
“Me too.” He looks around the party. “I’d wager half the people here have practice or workouts in the morning.”
Cassidy and Peter rejoin us at the same time Erica and Chapman do. Once everyone is introduced, Erica tries to hand me another drink.
“No thanks,” I say. “Still not drinking.”
“Boooo.” She gives me a thumbs-down and then holds her hand out. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to call mister hottie swing coach and tell him that you need a night of drunken fun.”
I keep a strong grip on my phone because there is no chance I’m letting her call Lincoln.
“You’re still working with Linc?” Heath smiles.
“Yeah, he’s helping me with my swing.”
“That’s cool.” He takes out his phone as he continues to talk. “Do you like working with him? He isn’t too tough? I met this kid he worked with last year, he said Lincoln had him running a mile every day and weight training three to four times a week, getting something like a thousand swings in. All that on top of his regular team practices.”
Heath’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “All that for golf? I mean, no offense, I know you gotta be in shape, but that seems like a lot of work just to walk along the golf course and hit the ball. Is that what he has you doing?”
I grind my teeth as I answer. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Here, smile.” He holds his phone out in front of us and takes a picture before I can do anything but stare dumbly ahead. He chuckles as he taps on his phone and then pockets it.
“What was that?”
“I was texting Lincoln.”
“You told him I was here?” I look around like he can somehow see me from Scottsdale… or wherever he is today. I can’t keep track of him and believe you me, I’ve tried.
“Well, no. I just told him I bumped into you at a party and that he should go easier on you.”
“Great.” I wince as my phone vibrates in my front pocket. One guess who that is.
I pull it free and show the screen to Heath. “You did this!”
He plucks it out of my hand and answers. “What’s up, old man?”
I shoot a death glare at him, but he just gives me a wide, cheeky grin in return.
“Yeah, she’s right here.” He winks at me. “Nah, of course, I’m not drinking.” He takes a big swallow of his beer. “All right. Sounds good. Talk to you tomorrow.” He shoves the ph
one at me. “He wants to talk to you.”
Yeah, no kidding. I knew I should have stayed in. Three weeks of nonstop training. I’ve pushed my body harder than I thought possible. I’ve made more progress than I have in two years with Coach Potter too.
Working with Lincoln is amazing. I don’t want to screw it up, I just need a night out with my friends to unwind. Another tournament is coming up this weekend and Coach announced the starters today. I didn’t make the top five, again, and it stung.
I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s hard not to. And it isn’t as if I’m planning to slack off on my training tomorrow. I already have three alarms set so I’ll be sure to wake up with plenty of time to get in the run and weights before my first class. I might be tired, but I’ll push through.
I plan to tell Lincoln all of this as I take the phone with a shaky hand and put it to my ear. “Hi.”
“Are you all right?” he asks, the harshness I expected in his tone absent and instead he sounds genuinely concerned for my wellbeing.
I give Heath one last glare for good measure and walk away from the group to find a quieter place to talk. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed to get out of the dorm for a bit. I’m heading home soon.”
“I saw the roster for the tournament this weekend. I’m sorry.”
I sink into one of the patio chairs, embarrassed that he knows and that I hadn’t been the one to tell him.
“Am I . . .” I start, and my voice breaks. I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread. “Am I ever going to be ready?”
“You’ve made huge strides already. We just keep working at it.”
I nod.
“Keira?” His deep voice somehow sounds tender as he says my name.
“Yeah, I’m here. I heard you.”
I lean my head back and stare into the night sky. The helplessness and defeat that I’ve been fighting all day finally hits me. I may never get my chance. I’m not even sure I deserve it anymore. Maybe Coach Potter is right.
“You have more raw talent than any person I’ve ever coached. Ever. I can’t predict the future. I don’t know if I can make your dreams come true, but I promise that I will do everything I can to make sure you get your shot. You may hate me for how hard I push you, but it’s because I want to know we’ve done everything we can. We’re a team. If you fail, I fail.”
Sweet Spot Page 9
