18. Eighteen

18

EIGHTEEN

“ W hat’s this?”

Olivia looked up from the end of her bed and took in the stack of new clothing I’d dropped on it.

“That’s a new golf outfit,” I replied. “My father insists that we wear matching shirts. I picked purple, because I noticed you like that color.” Actually, the shirt was more of a lavender color, but I could tell already it was going to look great with her coloring.

“This is more than a golf outfit.” Olivia picked up a black dress that was already on a hanger and covered in a protective see-through cover. “What’s this?”

“That is for the cocktail party after.”

“There’s a cocktail party after?” Olivia’s eyes bulged. “You didn’t mention that. I thought I just had to hit the ball twice, get laughed at, and then we were going out for drinks.”

“There will be drinks.”

“Ugh.” She stood and took the new golf skirt and shirt. “Can I wear one of those visor things? I see people wearing those on television.”

“You’ve taken to watching golf on television?” I didn’t know what to say. “Do you want a visor?”

She shrugged. “It’s going to be hot out there. Even though I plan on spending all of my time in the shade of the cart—I’m driving by the way—I think I would look cute in a visor.”

“You would look cute in anything.”

She beamed at me.

“If you hurry to get dressed, I’ll find you a visor,” I promised. “We have to be out of here in twenty minutes, though. That includes packing whatever you’re going to need to get dressed for the cocktail party later as well.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” She gave me a saucy salute and clicked her heels together, causing me to laugh.

“You’re too freaking adorable sometimes.” I grabbed her chin and planted a kiss on her. At this point, we’d been sleeping together for two weeks. Being with her was as normal as breathing oxygen. It should’ve been weird, but it wasn’t. Not even a little. “Twenty minutes.” I started toward the door because I knew we would never leave if I didn’t put some distance between us.

“Make sure it’s a cute visor,” she yelled at my back.

“I’m on it. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

TRUE TO MY WORD, I DELIVERED. The only visor I could find for Olivia on short notice featured a pair of rhinestone lips, and I kept it in the bag until we’d arrived at the country club. It was black and matched her skirt, and she fell in love with it the second she saw it.

“Now, this is what I’m talking about.” She popped it on her head as I finished getting her shoes in order. She was less interested in golf than she was in driving the cart. At least she would find some joy in the afternoon, so I was happy to give her the keys.

Once I was finished with her shoes, I whipped my own visor out of my back pocket and pulled it over my head. It matched hers, meaning that we were both wearing black bottoms, lavender tops, and lip visors.

“Oh, we’re awesome.” Olivia gave me a high five before searching for her purse. “We need a selfie.”

I was more than happy to pose with her—she insisted on one serious photo and one kissy-face photo—and she was giggling as she slapped a filter on the kissy-face one and prepared to load it to Instagram.

That’s when my mother and father found us.

“There you are.” Mom gave me her stern look before darting in to press a kiss to my cheek. “I was starting to think you were a no-show.”

“I know better than that, Mom,” I replied dryly. My father didn’t say anything; he just nodded in greeting. I followed suit. “You remember my wife,” I supplied when I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

I expected Dad to be stiff with his greeting, but instead he offered Olivia a warm smile as he took her hand and squeezed. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“We were just screwing around,” Olivia replied. It was obvious my father made her nervous. I wished for a way to make it better, but since he made me nervous, I had nothing to offer. “It’s nice to see you again Mr. and Mrs. Stone.”

I put my hand to her back to offer support.

“Oh, you can call us Ryder and Cora,” Mom said. “I mean … we are family.”

“Maybe call them Mom and Dad,” I suggested without thinking.

“Ryder and Cora will be fine,” Dad countered, shaking his head. His eyes snagged on Olivia’s visor for a moment, then they slowly traveled to my visor. “Interesting hat choices,” was all he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, not missing a beat. “Livvie wanted a visor, and I know how much you want couples to match.”

“Yes, well…” Dad touched his tongue to his top lip. It was obvious he wanted to say something—and it wouldn’t be good—but he didn’t delve into the darkness and instead stayed in the light. “I understand you’ve never golfed before,” he said to Olivia.

“Yeah.” She scratched her cheek. “I’m not very good.”

That was an understatement. Olivia was actually terrible. She tried hard, though, which was the only thing that mattered.

“We’re not here to win,” I said. “That’s my father’s department.”

“Oh, are you good?” Olivia was guileless when asking the question.

Dad was smug. “I can hold my own.”

“He’ll win,” I said to Olivia. “He always wins.”

She gave me an odd look. “There are different types of winning,” she said finally.

Looking at her, in that moment, I could believe that. Of course, my father ruined it when he laughed.

“Beauty might be in the eye of the beholder, but victory isn’t,” Dad said. “Have you been practicing?” he asked me.

The only golf I liked was of the miniature variety. Some of my fondest memories were of Rex and me hitting the various hotel putt-putt establishments when we were teenagers. The only reason I could golf as an adult was because it was expected of me.

“Not really,” I replied. There was no sense lying. I wasn’t miraculously going to turn into a pro when I got out there. “I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Yes, he’s a newlywed, Ryder.” Mom elbowed Dad in the side and gave him a significant look. “I know it’s been a long time, but I’m sure you remember what that was like.”

Rather than offering up a smile in return, Dad merely shook his head. “I hope you guys have fun.” His eyes lingered on Olivia. “Good luck today.” It almost sounded like a challenge, which was something I couldn’t wrap my head around. Why was he being antagonistic with her?

“Thank you.” Olivia’s smile was blinding. “I’m more interested in the party after, though. Zach says there will be prime rib.”

Mom chuckled. “You won’t be disappointed. It’s the party of the year. Everybody says so.”

“I’m sure it will be great.” Olivia slipped her hand in mine. “We just have to get through the pesky golf first.”

“The golf is the best part,” Dad argued.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. “I’m convinced golf was thought of by a guy who couldn’t play baseball. His fix for not being able to hit a fastball was to make sure the ball wasn’t moving. If you ask me, that’s cheating.”

Dad blinked. Then he blinked again. “Golf is a gentleman’s sport,” he said finally.

Olivia didn’t look convinced. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

OLIVIA GOT A TWELVE ON THE FIRST HOLE and a nine on the second. By the time we got to the third hole, she was ready to call it a day.

“I’m just going to watch you,” she said as she sipped the iced tea I’d gotten from the beverage cart before we even started. I’d tipped the girl running the cart two hundred bucks to make regular returns because I knew Olivia was going to be bored. It was money well spent in my book.

“Okay, Shortstuff,” I drawled. “You just sit there and look pretty.”

She flipped me off, causing me to laugh, and then I realized that the couple we’d been paired with—Edgar and Miriam Hart—were watching us. They did not look tickled by the banter.

“I think she’s done,” I said to them when they stared.

“She can’t be done,” Edgar replied. “We’re on the third hole.”

“She’s well aware.”

“There are eighteen holes.”

I was convinced Edgar was playing some sort of joke on us, but one look at his face told me he didn’t even know the meaning of that word. “You can mark her down for a twelve for each hole,” I said finally.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound fair,” Miriam replied, solemnly shaking her head. “I mean … that’s going to give you an astronomically high round number.”

“I don’t think it matters to us,” I hedged.

“How can it not matter?” Edgar blinked. “It’s golf. Of course it matters.”

“Yeah, not so much to us.” I cast Olivia a challenging look. “Isn’t that right, Squirt?”

She shot me an incredulous look. “What did I say?”

I laughed because I couldn’t help myself. When I turned back to Miriam and Edgar, however, my smile disappeared in an instant. It was obvious they could suck the fun out of any situation. “She doesn’t want to golf,” I explained. “She just wants to drive the cart and drink her iced tea.”

“We’re at a golf tournament,” Edgar gritted out. “You’re supposed to golf.”

I poked around in my ear to buy myself time. “Um…” I looked over at Olivia. “Just give me a second.” I marched over to her, momentarily losing myself in her smile. “He says you have to golf,” I said after a few seconds. I was loath to ruin her day, but I didn’t know what else to do.

“Who says I have to golf?” Olivia demanded.

I pointed toward Edgar, who continued to glower.

“Well, he’s a laugh a minute,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I don’t want to golf.”

“I know. He’s not just going to let it go, though, and I’m worried that he might kick up a fuss and ruin my mom’s big event.”

“Ugh.” Olivia let loose a disgusted sigh. “Fine.”

She was already halfway out of the cart before I realized that her sudden acquiescence likely wasn’t a good thing. “Wait.” I grabbed her hand. “What are you going to do?”

She blinked, the picture of innocence. “I’m going to play.”

“Yes, but … I sense trouble.”

“Aw, Snookums, don’t be worried on my account. I’ve got this.”

Yup. She was definitely gunning for trouble. “Well, go nuts.” I moved out of her way. “At least this way we’ll never have to worry about being invited to the couple’s tournament again.”

She gave me an odd look.

“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Did I say something?”

“No.” Her smile was genuine when she flashed it this time. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m going to give it my all.”

“But?” I prodded.

“But I’m terrible. Something tells me, when Edgar has to watch me hit the ball fifteen fricking times each hole, he’s going to get over those rules he’s so desperate to cling to.”

“Ah.” I nodded in understanding. “Yes, that makes sense.”

She patted my cheek. “Let the games begin.”

I leaned in for a quick kiss. “Don’t get too close to him. Once you miss six putts in a row, he’s going to want to club you to death with his wedge. Then I’ll have to kill him if he hits you. It will turn into a whole big thing.”

She laughed, as I’d intended. “I’m faster than I look.”

“Then have at it.”

“Just watch and learn.”

WE BEAT THE HARTS. IT SHOULDN’T HAVE been possible—Olivia really was bad—but she was so bad that Edgar started drinking. He was tipsy by the eighth hole and hammered by the twelfth. Then he was passed out by the sixteenth hole, which meant we automatically won.

“In your face,” Olivia taunted as Miriam followed the country club workers carrying her husband to the private lounge one floor below. She was smiling so widely when she turned to me I was convinced somebody had turned on the sun after twenty years of shadows. “What?” she asked when I didn’t say anything. “Was that too much?”

“That was way too much,” I assured her. “I liked it, though.” I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “How does it feel to be a winner?”

“I don’t think I’ll really feel like a winner until I have my trophy.”

“Really?” I choked on a laugh. “You know we were still dead last of everybody who finished, right?”

“But we were ahead of that guy.” She pointed in the direction they’d disappeared with Edgar.

“I guess that’s worth a trophy.” I slid my arm around her shoulders. “I’m probably going to have to be the one who buys you that trophy, but I bet I can arrange it.”

“Think rhinestones,” she effervesced, holding up her hands and pushing them outward.

“I’ll get right on that.” I opened my mouth to direct her toward the lady’s locker room, but my words were cut off when my mother appeared. “Hey.” I straightened. I wasn’t drunk or anything—alcohol had been unnecessary because I was high on life these days—but I still felt as if my mother was judging me from afar.

“Hello.” Mom immediately put her hand on my arm, then smiled at Olivia. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Olivia replied. “We weren’t doing anything important. Did you hear we didn’t finish last, though?”

Mom looked confused by the question. “I didn’t but … okay.” She smiled in a way that made me realize she was actually trying. She might never get Olivia’s sense of humor—that was okay, because I did—but she really was trying. I appreciated it. She was also worried, and that didn’t sit right with me.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Do you need help with something?” Olivia volunteered. “I still have to change for the party, but I can totally help light candles on the tables or whatever.”

A puzzled look washed over Mom’s face. “That’s what the banquet center employees do.”

“Right.” Olivia’s cheeks turned red. “Of course.”

There it was again, the privilege I was so nonchalant about. Of course a party in Olivia’s world wouldn’t include employees lighting candles. In our world, it was seemingly obscene to suggest we do it ourselves. In Olivia’s world, though, it wasn’t even a consideration that somebody else would do it.

“Mom, what do you need?” I asked in a low voice. Suddenly, this was the last place I wanted to be. I wouldn’t abandon my mother, though.

“Your father is in the men’s locker room,” she replied in a low voice. “He’s … disturbed.”

“Like … he’s seeing things that aren’t there in an American Psycho situation disturbed?” Olivia asked innocently.

Under different circumstances, I would’ve laughed. I knew what my mother was referring to, though. “How bad did he lose by?”

“Two strokes.” Mom looked momentarily angry.

“Who won?”

“Cliff King.”

“Ah.” Briefly, I pressed my lips together. “I’ll handle it.”

Relief washed over Mom like a wave. “Thank you, Zach. You’re the only one who can console him right now.”

I wouldn’t be consoling him. She didn’t need to know that, though. When she was gone, I focused on Olivia. “Get changed, and I’ll meet you in that room at the end of the hall.” I pointed so she wouldn’t be confused.

She followed my gaze and picked up the items I’d brought in from the car for her. “Do you want to tell me what this is about?” she asked. “Like … is your father really in the locker room pouting because he lost a golf match?”

“He lost it to Cliff King,” I explained. “He would’ve been a poor sport regardless. Cliff winning will ruin his whole month, though.”

She frowned. “I don’t know who that is.”

“He owns four of the best clubs on the strip, and he’s trying to leverage himself into an ownership position in two other casinos.”

“I still don’t know why that’s important.”

“Just suffice it to say that my father hates Cliff King. Apparently, they fought over a girl in high school or something.”

“And they’re still upset about it?” Olivia rolled her eyes. “That’s just so…” She held her fingers out and made the “tiny penis” universal symbol.

“It is,” I agreed. “If I don’t go in there and talk him off a ledge, though, he’s going to ruin my mom’s entire party. Then she’ll make my life hell for a different reason.”

“Ah.” Olivia nodded in understanding. “I get it.”

“I won’t be long,” I promised. “I just have to tell him how great he is.”

“Do you not see how petty and weird that is?”

I nodded. “I do, but I have plans for you later tonight. Watching you get under Edgar’s skin turned me on.” I gave her butt a playful slap. “I want to take advantage of that feeling later. If I have to babysit my father all night, that’s not going to happen.”

“Ah.” Realization dawned on her face. “Well, then you should definitely get in there. Your father is a big baby, though. I hope you know that.”

My father was many things. A big baby was only one of them. “He’s a pain,” I agreed. “Sometimes it’s easier to give in than fight, though.”

“And sometimes the fight is worth it,” Olivia replied. “We’ll work on that for you later, though. Do what you have to do. Just know, I’m eating my weight in prime rib. If Edgar is still passed out, I’m eating his portion too.”

For a moment—just a split second really—I swear I felt something deeper for her than I ever knew was possible. It was gone fast, almost as if it had never been there. That feeling was going to haunt me, though. I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“Thirty minutes,” I said when I was reasonably certain I could talk without sounding like an idiot. “I’ll feed you in thirty minutes.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”