Page 118 of Scoring the Player
Dahlia spots me immediately. Her face lights up and it calms me just a little.
“Hey,” she says as she throws her arms around my neck. When she pulls back, I do my best not to look down at her boobs. I swear she wore a low-cut shirt today just to fuck with me. She takes my hand. “My dad is waiting outside.”
“Great.” I finally peek at her cleavage now that I know her dad is out of sight.
“Do you want to hit some balls first? Our tee time isn’t for another ten minutes.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
“I’m so glad you wanted to come today.” She swings our hands between us.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you choking up on the shaft.”
I get a playful, haughty look that makes me laugh.
“When’s the last time you played?” she asks as she grabs a golf club from her bag strapped to the back of a golf cart.
“It’s been a minute,” I admit.
Listen, when your super hot and awesome girlfriend asks you to golf with her dad, you say yes. You say yes even if your clubs have been collecting dust in your parents’ garage for the better part of a decade.
She grabs us a small bucket of balls and we walk to the driving range. Her dad takes a few steps toward us when he sees us approach. He moves his club to his gloved, left hand and extends the right. “Felix. Good to see you again.”
“You too, sir.”
“Great day to be on the course.” Paul smiles at me. He’s such a nice guy. This is the third time I’ve seen him, but from the moment Dahlia introduced us, he’s been so welcoming and kind.
It doesn’t make today any less stressful though. I’ve got a diamond ring in my bag, and I need to somehow get permission to marry his daughter, while trying to remember how to swing a golf club.
Dahlia dumps the balls onto an open spot for me next to her dad, and I select a club and stretch with it to loosen up.
“Oh my gosh. That’s Keira Brooks!” Dahlia’s voice is filled with awe as she stares back toward the clubhouse.
“Who?” I ask.
“Keira Brooks. She is a pro golfer. She won the U.S. Open last year. She went to Valley.” Dahlia spits out facts like they’re going to help me piece together who she’s talking about.
When I stare back at her blankly, she gives me a disbelieving eye roll. “Oh my gosh. Long brown hair, white tank, black skirt.”
“Ah, yeah.” I shake my head. “Never seen her before.”
“She’s a legend. She’s killing it on tour. And that guy with her is her husband. He’s a swing coach. He has this really amazing online coaching site.”
“Sounds cool. You should go say hi.”
“Oh no. We’ve never met. She was gone from Valley before I got here.”
“So?”
“What would I even say?” Her dark blue eyes widen at the prospect.
“How about, ‘Hi, I’m Dahlia. I’m a huge fan.’”
“No,” she says, but keeps staring at her.
“Go on. I’ll keep an eye on you and if it looks like you’re frozen and staring at the poor girl like a star-struck groupie, I’ll come save you.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t move. “I’m gonna do it.”
