Friends Like These: A Romantic Comedy (A Love Like This Book 3)

by Carina Taylor

  “What are we going to do about the Lucifer situation?” I asked Kent. Lucifer was another reason to be mad at my grandfather. I knew what we needed to do about the problem—I just wasn’t sure how some of our members would feel about us moving him. They’d grown unhealthily attached.

  Kent came to stand next to me, grabbed the binoculars off the windowsill, and began scanning the golf course. “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Please, I’m begging you, I’m not a sir. I’m thirty-two, not eighty.”

  “Alec insisted I call him sir when he was here. Old habits die hard.”

  “So does my grandfather,” I muttered, though I didn’t mean it. I didn’t wish something terrible on my grandfather. I only wished that he was here to deal with the mess he created. Instead, he was wreaking havoc in other places in the world. And even though he was gone, he’d left behind his mascot, Lucifer.

  “Look, she’s napping.” Kent chuckled, pointing out the window.

  “Who’s napping?” I squinted, but the figures were still blurry—time for some new contacts.

  He grinned and passed me the binoculars. I scanned the area in the direction he’d been looking.

  A woman lay flat on the green. I couldn’t see her face since she had an arm over her eyes. Her golf club rested across her stomach. A caddy stood not too far away from her in the shade of the golf cart, guzzling a bottle of water. “Do you think she’s hurt?”

  “Nah, the relatives are right there with her. She’s probably just getting a minor case of heatstroke. The heat index said it felt like one-hundred-and-eight today.”

  I glanced around with the binoculars and spotted a middle-aged couple teeing off, not twenty feet from the caddy. “Why do people golf at this time of day? Do we know her?”

  “No, she’s never been here before. She kept sending notes back to the kitchen today.”

  She must be pretty because Kent only remembered the pretty ones. “How do you know this? You don’t wait on tables.”

  “I was checking on the kitchen staff when she was there eating lunch. She kept sending ‘help’ notes back to the kitchen staff, asking them to save her from a day of golf. I saved the notes. They were that good.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some paper napkins and handed them to me. I quickly read through them and couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Make a note to switch the napkins to cloth instead of paper,” I told him as I picked up the binoculars again. “How old is she?”

  Kent waggled his eyebrows up and down. “Old enough.”

  “Not exactly what I meant.” I set the binoculars down.

  He flashed a grin before he turned toward my desk. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “You’ve dated three different women in four weeks. I don’t think you qualify as a beggar.”

  “I think we’re getting off-topic here, sir,” he said, emphasizing the word ‘sir’ as he glared at me. “We were talking about the Lucifer situation.”

  I walked back to my desk and sat down, pulling a piece of cinnamon gum from a pack in my drawer. “You’re the one who started talking about the girl.”

  “I couldn’t help it. You should have stopped me and reminded me we were working.”

  “I’m not your babysitter. As long as you don’t start dating members or staff, I don’t care what you do.” I opened my laptop and began researching restaurateurs. If I wanted a decent restaurant, I would have to hire someone who knew what they were doing. All the good chefs in New Orleans were already taken.

  “Lucifer needs to go,” Kent muttered as he scrolled through his phone.

  Thank goodness I had another ally on that. “I agree.” It was a liability waiting to happen. Golf courses shouldn’t have mascots—especially ones like Lucifer.

  Snakes weren’t uncommon—Louisiana was full of them. But The Garden was home for an eight-foot-long cottonmouth—and that was uncommon. It was an endangerment to the people on my course.

  “Your grandfather will start a riot.”

  “He shouldn’t have signed the golf course over to me then.” I smiled, feeling genuine joy at the thought of removing Lucifer. My grandfather’s obsession with that snake was unhealthy. He’d had it imported to the golf course from deep in the bayou—it was time to send the snake back.

  Kent grinned. “Perfect. We’ll take care of Lucifer this week.”

  I nodded. “I don’t care if that snake is an urban legend. One of these days, it’s going to bite someone. I don’t know much about snakes, but something that big has got to have way more venom in a single bite.”

  Kent wandered back to the bay window and picked up the binoculars again. “They’re all deadly if you wait too long to get the antivenom. Don’t worry. I already compiled a list of snake re-locators. I’ll have one of them come out early tomorrow morning.”

  “Sounds great,” I said as I sent off an email to a friend of mine, Xavier Delgado, who was in the restaurant business. Hopefully, he’d be willing to give me a recommendation of a decent chef or restaurant manager—I’d take either one at this point.

  “Holy...” Kent thumped his elbow against the window as he leaned closer to it.

  Pressing a thumb against my forehead, I tried to rub some of the tension away. “What is it?”

  “Lucifer’s out.”

  “Give me those.” I leaped out of my chair and yanked the binoculars from his hands. Kent still had the strap around his neck, and we each looked through a lens of the binoculars.

  The girl who had been napping earlier was practicing her swing close to the marshy pond: Lucifer’s pond.

  Lucifer was coming out of the rushes and moving closer to the woman. She stopped her swinging but didn’t run. Lucifer slithered closer. We’d never seen him get that close to someone before.

  “Kent, call the hospital. If she gets bit, we’re driving her directly there instead of waiting on an ambulance.” I slipped the binoculars from around his neck and dropped them over mine.

  “On it. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going down there to make sure nothing happens.” I yanked open the office door and raced down the hall, running as fast as I could down the staircase and out the side door that led to the pro shop. I was regretting wearing my tailored suit—it didn’t give me the range of motion that my gym shorts did. Leaping into a golf cart that one of my caddies was driving, I told him to floor it to Lucifer’s Pit.

  I focused my binoculars on the girl as we covered ground toward the ninth hole. The snake prepared to strike. Why didn’t she run? She might have a chance if she got away from there.

  The snake struck out at her.

  I was too late.

  CHAPTER THREE

  PAGE

  “I’ll take a video, Mike,” Tricia whisper yelled. “Page, don’t worry. It hasn’t bitten anyone. It’s like a pet here. Don’t be scared.”

  If my voice had been working, I would have told her I wasn’t scared: I was terrified.

  I stared at the biggest cottonmouth I’d ever seen. I stepped back with unsteady feet as the snake slithered out onto the grass. It was at least ten feet long—maybe fifteen, I couldn’t be sure. It wouldn’t even have to bite me—it could swallow me whole. Okay, maybe not, but I hated snakes. Size didn’t matter. Big ones, small ones, I hated them all. It opened its mouth wide as if it was sizing me up to see if I’d fit. I should have eaten that second donut for breakfast.

  With mouth stretched wide, it approached me. Knowing that cottonmouths like to scare people away with this tactic, I took a few steps backward, hoping the snake would stop following me. I did my best to move back with no abrupt movements.

  They say snakes will leave you alone if you leave them alone. I would gladly leave it alone. I would leave it alone so much it would be lonely.

  But it continued to advance on me, not letting me put enough distance between us. It raised its head. Its body slithered after me while it poised its head like a spring.

  You know the old fig
ht-or-flight instinct?

  Well, guess what? When you’re facing off with a giant, poisonous cottonmouth that has lunch plans for you, those instincts kick in strong. Flight wasn’t an option: I was so slow I didn’t make it on the JV track team in high school.

  Genetics made my choice for me.

  The snake snapped its head back, then struck forward at me. I leaped back, barely escaping its reach. It struck toward me a second time, and I jumped to the side, swinging my golf club with all of my strength.

  The club connected with the snake’s head and the momentum knocked it several feet to the left. I stumbled over my own feet as I watched it convulse on its back. Finally, steadying myself, I turned and ran up the small slope.

  If that monstrosity wasn’t the devil in snake form, then I didn’t know what was. It wouldn’t surprise me if he rolled back onto his belly and slithered after me again.

  I still couldn’t believe I was fast enough to hit it before it bit me. If it had—but I didn’t want to waste time dwelling on the possibilities of what could have happened—especially when those possibilities ended badly for me.

  It was a miracle I had dodged two of his strikes before hitting him with the club. Once I was safe next to the golf cart, I turned and watched the writhing form on the grass, afraid to take my eyes off of it.

  Uncle Mike patted my shoulder and chuckled. “You’ve got a killer swing.”

  His joking tone shattered my resolve to keep my legs firm.

  “Hilarious. Excuse me while I pass out,” I told him. The butterflies in my stomach started flying a figure-eight pattern while I stared at the shaking snake body. I was going to be sick. Uncle Mike wrapped an arm around my shoulders and turned me away.

  “It’s okay, kiddo. I’m glad you acted fast. That thing wanted to make a sandwich out of you. He sure was massive. I’ve never seen a snake that big. The rumors don’t do it justice.”

  Tricia wrung her hands where she stood next to the golf cart. “I saw your life flash by, and all I could think is mercy, your momma would kill me if anything happened to you! I’m so glad you acted fast. I knew we should have told you about that legend. Of all the people to bring to the golf course with us, we shouldn’t have let you near it.”

  I nodded as I tried to control my breathing once again. I hadn’t been bitten. My heart was pumping steady—fast, but steady.

  Several golfers gathered around to look at the now eerily-still snake. Then, the strangest thing happened. A wiry gentleman with thick, frameless glasses and an argyle vest stepped next to me. “Can I get your autograph? It will be worth some money someday.”

  He thrust a pen into my hand and passed me a crumpled receipt.

  It looked like someone else was signing my name on the paper. The pen scribbled out my name while the man rambled on about me being a legend slayer.

  Our caddy reached out and touched my arm. “Hey, I just wanted to say thanks. It’s about time that happened.” She shuddered as she looked at the snake. “I hated hanging around the ninth hole.”

  I glanced at the small crowd circled around us. I hadn’t even noticed the people approach.

  They all seemed to be snapping pictures. One man glared at me and loudly whispered, “Murderer!” I almost didn’t hear what he said since his melting toupee distracted me.

  Another middle-aged couple glared at me as they snapped a selfie with the dead snake in the background. They were still careful to keep a safe distance from it, I noticed.

  A golf cart slid to a stop not three feet from me, distracting me from the picture takers. There was a bumper sticker slapped on the side that said This is how I roll. A man in a suit jumped out of the passenger side and ran to the snake.

  My breath caught.

  It was the same man I’d been watching just outside the restaurant entrance — the tall man who’d been on the phone.

  “It’s dead?” He demanded. Poor guy—he was probably as scared of snakes as I was. He stood there and stared at it. Like I was staring at him. Then he turned and locked eyes with me. I could see that his were steel blue—even across the turf.

  He turned around to study the dead snake again, arms folded across his chest. The chatter died down around me, and my gaze fell to the snake at his feet.

  My breath caught as the familiar wave of nausea swept over me: the pain, the swelling, the weakness in my limbs. The feelings I had experienced at twelve were washing over me as if I had been bitten again. The realization of how close I’d come to death was sinking in.

  “She killed the legend. What are we going to do?” Someone whispered loudly.

  The suit-man turned and locked eyes with me. He stepped between the snake and me, his sympathetic eyes searching mine. He gave me a reassuring nod. “It’s dead.”

  I would have to marry him someday.

  The murmurs from the small crowd continued buzzing around the air.

  The man glanced at the picture-snapping people before he jabbed a finger in my direction and scowled.

  “Come with me.” The man exclaimed as he stalked toward me. His serious face looked as though it had been carved out of granite. Okay, I was rethinking my immediate marriage plans. I never handled angry people very well. I adjusted my grip on the golf club and brought it up to rest on my shoulder.

  He stopped a few feet away.

  I thought he might speak, but he glanced over my shoulder at the small audience and shut his mouth. He pointed at his golf cart that another caddy had just vacated. “Get in. We’ll go talk at the office.”

  His low gravelly voice had me turning to follow him to the cart. I stopped next to it, realizing I was following a stranger and about to climb into a golf cart with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a lollypop from his pocket and bribed me with it. Trust me, though; I’m not that easy. I wouldn’t settle for anything less than a caramel apple pop.

  “I’m sorry—who you are?”

  His penetrating gaze seemed to see past my bravado. His straight nose and chiseled jaw were almost too perfect—no defect in sight.

  “I own the golf course,” he bit out.

  That would explain why I didn’t know who he was. I’d never heard of this golf course until Tricia and Mike had dragged me here. If it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t be standing here with an angry, good-looking guy who was ordering me into a golf cart.

  Not that I was upset about the good-looking part. I wasn’t. But since the guy looked like he wanted to run me over with said golf cart, that negated the handsome part.

  I glanced back at Tricia. She jerked her head like she was trying to tell me to get in the golf cart. She mouthed, “Go with him.”

  “Get in,” the man said as he looked back at the small crowd.

  I hopped in. My butt barely hit the leather seat before he took off. It would have been a lot more dramatic if it hadn’t been an electric golf cart. Peeling out on a golf course without a single sound dramatically lowers your tough-guy persona.

  “You’ve never been here before,” he commented.

  “There are lots of places I’ve never been.”

  He didn’t reply. He kept facing forward as he drove faster over the course. He must have installed some nitrous oxide on the cart.

  The silence was killing me. I wanted to find a relevant topic that would make this drive less awkward—and distract me from staring at him. “Do you have big plans for Halloween this year? It’s not that far away. I’ve been planning my outfit for my family’s party for a while now.”

  Yes, smooth conversation starter, Page. He’ll definitely think you’re charming after that lead-up.

  He glanced at me, looking mildly less angry.

  I kept talking—babbling, really. “What are you going as? No, don’t tell me. I’ll guess. I’m good at this game.”

  I turned in the leather seat so that I could study him. Really, it was just an excuse to stare at him openly. His jaw was clean-shaven, but I could see a shadow appearing. He probably had to shave every
morning—maybe even twice a day. We hit a bump, and his hand shot out to grab my shoulder and steady me before I could fall out of the cart backward.

  “Captain America. You’re planning on dressing up as Captain America. I’d almost place money on that.”

  “Wrong,” he said, but his lips quirked to the side. Maybe I was close to the truth.

  “Good thing I didn’t put any money down. I’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m not—”

  “It has to be Thor,” I interrupted him. “Maybe Batman. We have our annual harvest party coming up; you should come. It will be so great. There’s a contest for best dressed. Mimi always wins, so I’m convinced she’s rigged the system or bribed the judges.”

  Suit-man jerked the cart to the right, narrowly avoiding a bird flying by. “You realize Halloween is still weeks away, right?”

  “When you’re competing for best dressed against your grandmother, it’s never too early to plan.”

  He smiled at that, and it was a friendly smile. “Tough competition.”

  When he parked outside the clubhouse, he motioned for me to follow him with a crook of his finger.

  I figured I should text Mom and let her know where to look for my body in case this man murdered me. He’d probably do it with his index finger too. It was always the good-looking ones who were serial killers.

  He led the way into the clubhouse, and I followed as I texted my mom. I didn’t pay attention to where we were going—there were definitely some stairs involved—until he halted in front of a door. I stopped too—right after my face slammed into his back. He turned around and narrowed his eyes at me before he opened the door to an office.

  I held up my phone. “Sorry, I just wanted to let someone know who to look for when the police find my body in a dumpster. What’s your name?”

  “Noah Dunaway.” His eyebrows flew up, and his lips twitched before he stepped inside the office and held the door open for me. “Overactive imagination much?”

  “Possibly.” I stepped inside and glanced around the office. It reminded me of my grandma: lots of leather and not a thing out of place. The only thing it was missing was the scent of tobacco. That was no surprise. This clean-shaven man probably believed caffeine was a drug and that sweets were of the devil—he definitely wouldn’t poison his body with nicotine.