by Julie Cannon
“Okay. We’re very different. There, that sounds better,” she said to herself, nodding. “What do we have in common other than the love of golf?” Leigh listened to the whack and tink, the sounds of clubs striking balls, and they were somewhat soothing.
“I have no idea what we have in common. We don’t talk about anything other than golf, but that’s exactly what I’m paying her for—to help me better my game, not be someone to talk to socially. That’s what Jill’s for, and my sister Susan, and all my other friends.”
Leigh stopped talking to herself, frustrated. She didn’t remember how she even got on this conversational track. She needed either a long, cold shower or a long night with a beautiful woman. She gathered her gear and headed back toward the clubhouse.
* * *
Peyton knew she’d just made a fool of herself, both in her reaction to Leigh’s body against hers and then by making up some lame excuse to get out of there before she did something stupid like lick her neck, or worse. She’d learned how to mask her emotions; her mere survival sometimes depended on it. But her loss of control with Leigh had snuck up on her. One minute she was showing Leigh where her hands needed to be, and the next all she could think about was having her hands on her.
Peyton paced back and forth in the staff locker room, her nerves a mess. Another place and another time she’d have been all over Leigh. She’d have whispered something sexy in her ear and suggested they go out for a drink or some other prelude to sex. But this wasn’t then. This was now, and she had much, much more to lose. She had to regain control. She was at the top of that very slippery slope, and she refused to let herself slide down, however much she wanted to. Want had nothing to do with it. It hadn’t for nine years, and she wasn’t about to let it cloud her mind now.
“Olivia asked me to invite you to dinner Friday,” Marcus said thirty minutes later, when she finally emerged from the employee locker room. She was standing beside him checking her schedule for tomorrow.
“I know you’re probably busy. After all, you are single, and even though I’m your brother and shouldn’t even say this, you’re dangerously attractive and most likely already have plans.”
Peyton slowly turned and looked at him, raising her eyebrows. “Dangerously attractive?”
Marcus held his hands up in front of him defensively, his face flushed, embarrassed. “Not my words. Like I said, I’m your brother. It’s bad enough to even think my sister has sex, but I’m not stupid, even though Olivia says sometimes I am blind.”
Peyton loved her brother for trying to lighten her mood. He had a way of knowing when something was bothering her, and something was definitely bothering her. Every time Marcus had come to visit her at Nelson, Peyton had returned to her cell in a much more relaxed state than when she left. She loved her brother and didn’t know what she would have done if he didn’t come to see her as often as he did.
“Stop rambling and get back to the dangerously attractive descriptor. I kind of like it.” She enjoyed watching him squirm.
“It was a descriptor in one of Olivia’s romance novels she reads.”
“And how do you know this? Been peeking? Need some pointers for the boudoir?” Peyton was rewarded when Marcus obviously grew flustered at her implication. His eyes looked everywhere but hers, and he had that nervous fidget she remembered from when they were kids.
“What? No. No. I don’t need any help in that area, thank you very much.”
“I know. Olivia told me. I’m just rattling your chain.” Peyton playfully punched him on the arm as if saying, You go, boy.
“She what?” Marcus asked, his eyes wide open.
“What do you think we talk about when you’re not around? Recipes? You know I don’t cook. But I do have sex, and so does she, quite often, if what she says is true.” She punched him again. “We have to talk about something.” She released her brother from his misery when she said, “Now back to this dangerously attractive descriptor. What exactly does that mean?”
“How would I know? Something about how girls could fall hard for you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous gesture. “Since you and Olivia talk girl talk, you can ask her. Friday, after dinner, when you two go out on the patio and I’m in the kitchen cleaning up.”
“She did say you have good hands and know exactly what to do with them and when,” Peyton said, giving Marcus a hip bump and sidestepping around him, laughing. Her mood had shifted, and she was still chuckling when she stepped onto the putting green where her next client was waiting.
* * *
“I embarrassed the hell out of Marcus the other day,” Peyton said after she and Olivia sat down on the patio chairs two nights later.
“How so? Even if it is easy to do.” Olivia kicked off her shoes and put her feet on the table.
“Somehow we got on the topic of sex.”
“Sex? Marcus? My husband Marcus? Your brother Marcus?” she asked incredulously.
“One and the same.”
“You’ve got to tell me your secret. I can’t get him to even say the word.” Olivia sipped her iced tea.
“Well, actually it was about my sex life.”
Thankfully they were outside because Olivia spit a mouthful of her tea all over the patio. After she stopped coughing she said, “This I’ve got to hear.”
Peyton replayed the conversation she and Marcus had had, adding a little color to describe her brother’s reaction to her teasing. “I thought he was going to have a stroke.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t. He’s a prude about that sort of thing. But I suppose I shouldn’t complain. He could be a crude pig, like some other guys we’re acquainted with.”
“I know, but I couldn’t help myself. He’s so gullible.”
Peyton and Olivia shared a laugh before she said, “I do think you’re dangerously attractive.”
“I know I’m dangerously attractive,” Peyton said, and they both laughed even harder.
When they’d settled down and a cool breeze ruffled Olivia’s hair, she asked, “How are you doing, Peyton? Seriously,” she added before Peyton could make a flippant comment.
“I’m doing okay.” She saw Olivia turn and look at her. She faced her and said, “Really, Olivia. I am.”
Olivia studied her for a few long moments, and Peyton was glad the sun had gone down an hour ago. She was still rattled by her reaction to Leigh and wasn’t sure it wouldn’t still be visible on her face. She’d kept the conversation light during dinner and her mind off Leigh, but now that it had turned serious she wasn’t so sure. Her façade was slipping.
“How is Lori? You two been out much?”
Olivia and Marcus had told her that they were grateful Lori was getting her out and introducing her to people. Women, more specifically. They had said they didn’t know any lesbians and couldn’t help her in that area.
“She’s great. Her baby is due next month, and she says all she does is waddle to the bathroom and pee.”
“That’s what I hear. Marcus and I are trying to have one,” she said after a few seconds.
“Really? That’s awesome,” Peyton said and meant it. “He’ll be a great dad.”
“He’s had a good role model. I love your father.”
“I do too. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
“He worries about you, you know. We all do.”
The familiar crush of responsibility settled over her. She hadn’t felt it in a few weeks and had thought she was over it. Someday. Maybe.
“You all have to stop. I’m out of Nelson, safe, and I’m getting on with my life.”
“It’s just that we know how hard this has been for you.” Olivia put her hand on Peyton’s arm.
No, Peyton thought. You have absolutely no fucking idea. “Really,” Peyton said, taking Olivia’s hand in hers and swinging her legs off the chair to face her. “I’m doing okay. I have my moments, but what I have now is more than I dreamed I would have. I have a great job and a place to live,
thanks to you and Marcus, a good friend who stuck around, and parents who smother me with love. What more could I ask for?”
“Someone to share your life with,” Olivia said quietly. “And don’t give me any shit about no one wanting to be with an ex-con.”
Peyton kept her mask fully in place. “That’s not in the cards right now, Olivia. Maybe someday, but not today, and I’m okay with that. I have to get my life together, where I want it to be, before I can add somebody to it. It wouldn’t be fair to me or to her.” Peyton believed most of what she said. The part about adding somebody to it was a pipe dream.
“You know we’re here for you,” Olivia said, a mix of love and concern in her eyes.
“I know, and I love you for it.” Peyton kissed Olivia on the cheek.
“Hey, that’s my wife you’re kissing,” Marcus said in a gruff, joking voice as he stepped out onto the patio.
“I’m just getting her warmed up for you later,” Peyton shot back, and both she and Olivia started laughing at Marcus’s expression.
Later that night, Peyton replayed Olivia’s conversation in her head. She was lying naked on top of the sheets, the ceiling fan turning above her bed.
What was she going to do? Would she live the rest of her life without someone to share it with? Someone to go to bed with every night and wake up to? Someone she could let down her guard and share her fears and joy with? Someone who loved her regardless of what she’d done? Was there even such a woman like that out there? If so, would she want to introduce Peyton to her friends, her family, her work associates? What would their neighbors think when they found out she’d killed a man? What would they do?
The sound of a motorcycle going down the street filtered through her open window, and a collage of images of Leigh came to mind. Sitting on her bike, sweat on her brow, dirt on her chin, her hair cascading down her back, conquering a tough hill, skidding around a tight corner, swinging a golf club, concentrating over her putter, smiling at her, looking at her, leaning back against her.
Leigh was a dichotomy, a mix of contradictions. She was highly intelligent and had risen to the top in a primarily man’s field. She was feminine, yet tough and not afraid to sweat. She played a gentleman’s game and tore up the dirt on a motorcycle, for God’s sake. She got dirty yet came to her lessons wearing a suit that probably cost more than Peyton made in a month. She drove an Audi and had an old truck. She was serious one minute, then laughing hysterically the next.
Peyton had tried to figure her out. Hell, she’d spent countless hours just like she was now attempting to put her in a familiar, nice, neat little box. She’d finally concluded that there was no box for Leigh. She was unlike anyone Peyton had ever known, and it scared her how much more she wanted to know. Maybe after their lessons were over and she was no longer a client, they could see where it could go. Peyton rolled over and punched her pillow. Yeah, and pigs fly.
Chapter Twenty-one
A familiar sound coming from her left drew Leigh’s attention. She lifted her bag over her shoulder and headed that way. She was tired from hitting four buckets of balls on the driving range but still too keyed up to go home. She’d looked for Peyton after almost every shot, making her practice completely ineffective.
The sound repeated itself as Leigh stepped into a billiard room. Three tables were spaced evenly around the room, Peyton holding a cue stick surveying the table in front of her. She didn’t give any indication she saw Leigh come in. She was the only one in the room.
“Nine-ball, corner pocket.”
Peyton looked up, surprise on her face, then smiled. “And how am I supposed to hit that?”
“Simple.” Leigh set her bag down and stepped over to the rack that held four other cue sticks. Her heart was pounding, reacting to Peyton’s genuine smile. She took one down and held it out in front of her. Seeing that it was fairly straight, Leigh stepped up to the table, lined up the shot, and the nine-ball rolled into the corner pocket.
“How did you do that?” Peyton asked.
“Practice,” Leigh replied, chalking the tip of her stick. “And basic geometry.”
“Show me,” Peyton said, more a request than a demand.
“How much have you played?”
“I’m just a hacker, I guess. Played a little in college at bars, that sort of thing.”
“How good do you want to be?”
“The best I can be.”
Leigh wouldn’t have expected any different.
“Okay. Let’s start with the basics. Pool is a game of angles and setup.” Leigh went on to explain the nuances of shooting billiards.
“It’s a lot like playing golf. You need to do the same thing every shot you take. Show me how you get ready to hit the ball.”
Peyton picked up her cue stick and stood next to the table.
“Good. Your feet are shoulder-width apart, but you need to turn your feet to a forty-five-degree angle to your right. Good,” Leigh said after Peyton shifted her feet. “Show me how you hold the stick.”
Peyton picked up her cue stick and held it in her hand. Leigh poked her in the side playfully. “Not just how you hold it, silly. How you hold it to hit the ball.” Peyton leaned over the table as if lining up to make a shot. “Do you do it that way every time?
“I don’t know. I guess.” Peyton shrugged.
Leigh moved behind Peyton, mimicking her position, her body draping over her. Peyton stiffened. Her body was warm, and God, she smelled good. An image of them in a similar position in bed made her catch her breath. When Peyton relaxed against her, she lost any idea of what she was going to say.
The heat from Peyton burned a trail through Leigh’s body and settled between her legs. Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she had a sudden urge to kiss her.
“Your stroke needs to be smooth and purposeful,” Leigh said, her voice husky with desire. With her hand on Peyton’s, she slowly moved the cue stick back and forth, not connecting with the ball. The innuendo was powerful, and Peyton shifted just a bit so their bodies fit together better.
“I, uh, haven’t had any complaints.”
Peyton’s voice rumbled in her chest, the vibration shooting directly between Leigh’s legs.
“You need to focus and eliminate all distractions.”
“Trust me. I’m completely focused and rarely distracted.” Peyton’s voice was warm. “I always try to be really good at whatever I do.”
Slowly Peyton turned, and Leigh wasn’t sure they were talking about pool anymore. Peyton’s eyes were on her lips, and Leigh leaned down to kiss her.
“Peyton? Did you get—”
Peyton stood up fast, almost knocking Leigh over.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were in here, Ms. Marshall. How are you?” Marcus asked, looking back and forth between them as if trying to figure out what he’d walked in on.
“I’m fine, Marcus, thank you, and I’ve told you many times to please call me Leigh,” she said, moving back a few more steps and rubbing her hands together.
“Leigh was just giving me a few pointers on playing pool,” Peyton said, obviously feeling the need to explain.
Marcus smiled at Leigh. “Good. She needs it. She is terrible. I win two, three dollars from her every time we play. No, wait,” Marcus said, frowning. “Don’t help her. Then she’ll win.”
“On that note, I’ve got to go. See you next week,” Leigh said, looking from Marcus to Peyton before turning and hurrying out of the room.
“Did I interrupt something?” Marcus asked carefully.
“No. Like I said, she was just showing me the right way to hold the cue stick. Seems as though I’ve been doing it wrong my entire life.” Peyton waved her stick in front of her before replacing it in the rack on the wall. “Did you need something?” Peyton asked, hoping to shift the conversation to something far less provocative than being in the same room with Leigh. It was getting harder and harder to maintain professionalism when she was around.
Chapter Twenty-two
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br /> Peyton had never heard of Wild Horse Recreational Area, but it was easy to find on the Google Maps app on her phone. It was about forty-five minutes from her apartment, and she spent the entire time wondering what in the hell she was doing. When she’d looked up the arena, she saw the advertisement for the race Leigh had mentioned. She’d read it out loud in her quiet living room.
Calistic Invitational, sponsored by Budweiser. Three days of nonstop excitement as over a hundred motocross riders compete for the fifty-thousand-dollar prize package. A one-mile, single-track course with deep valleys, steep inclines, and hairpin turns is one of the region’s most difficult courses. Last year only twelve of the top twenty-five riders in the finals completed the challenging course, with Mason Hartley winning it all on the final day of races. “It was a great race,” Hartley said after accepting the winner’s trophy and a check for twenty-five thousand dollars. “The competition was great and the course challenging.”
Peyton looked at the accompanying photos. Three guys were straddling their bikes in front of a large Budweiser sign, each holding a can of the sponsor’s beer. Peyton made a face. She hated Budweiser, but if it was the sponsor of something she’d won, she’d gladly hold one. In each of her LPGA tournaments she’d learned that sponsors were where the big money was.
Peyton glanced though other photos on the site, looking for any sign of Leigh. The pictures, from last year’s event, showed no sign of her. She scanned the list of participants and finishers, and her name didn’t show up there either.
Peyton passed several temporary road signs informing her that she was getting close. Traffic slowed, then crawled as men in jeans, white long-sleeve shirts, and straw hats exchanged money for a parking ticket. One by one the vehicles in front of her inched closer to the attendants, and by the time it was her turn to pay, butterflies in her stomach accompanied her as she parked.
