Page 74 of Scoring the Player
We fall quiet. I’m tired but can’t stop replaying things from last night over and over in my head. Jane sits up quickly. “We should order loads of takeout and have a girls’ day. I’ll text Daisy and Violet.”
“They’re busy,” I say.
“No, they’re not. They’re with Jordan and Gavin. They’re always with them. I’m glad they’re in love and everything, but we need a girls’ day.” Her thumbs fly over the screen of her phone, and I don’t bother trying to talk her out of pulling our friends away from their boyfriends. When Jane has an idea, there’s no stopping her.
And in less than an hour, the four of us are sitting around the living room watching an old Sandra Bullock flick with takeout from three different restaurants. Daisy and Vi pepper me with questions about Felix. It’s exciting to be the one with something to contribute to our conversations. I’ve always been the one listening and asking the questions about the guys they’re dating. It’s the perfect end to an incredible weekend. Great friends, a cute romantic comedy, and greasy food.
I don’t hear from Felix Sunday night, and Monday I have to skip breakfast to see my advisor. My fingers itch to text him, but I refrain. I’ll let him make the next move. See? I can do this. I can casually date with no expectations.
Except, I have this low-level anxiety that grows as each hour passes without hearing from him. What if he decided that he’s done with me and our arrangement? What if I never get another chance to hang out with him one-on-one, or kiss him. I run my fingers along my lips, remembering what his mouth felt like on mine.
After classes, I head straight to the golf course. I played well last weekend at the tournament, but it’s just giving me more motivation to push harder. We have our home tournament coming up and I would love to win with my dad watching.
He’s the reason I started golfing. I was Daddy’s little girl, through and through. And he loved golf. At first, I only played so that I could spend time with him. We’d get up early on a Sunday morning and meet up with some of his friends, play eighteen and then have lunch.
Dance was my first love. But somewhere along the way, things changed. I found I liked being outside. I liked the solitude and quiet atmosphere on the course. And I loved the challenge. It didn’t come as naturally to me as dancing, and I had to work really hard to improve. I still remember the first time I shot a lower score than my dad. I remember the smile on his face and the exhilaration I felt from years of consistent practice finally paying off.
That feeling was magic. I didn’t have aspirations of playing in college, though. In fact, the only reason I did freshman year was because I got a scholarship, but I think it’s helped keep me sane. When everything else has felt hopeless, I’ve found pieces of myself out here.
And now that I’m seeing the payoff again, shooting lower scores than I ever have at tournaments, my competitiveness wants to push it even further to see how much more I can improve.
“Will you record my swing? I want to check something.” I hold out my phone to Harper. Practice is over, but we’re both still hitting balls.
“Your swing is looking great,” she says, but takes my phone and stands behind me to capture video as I get into position with my three wood.
I take a deep breath, swing, and watch the ball sail down the driving range.
“It looks damn near perfect to me.” Harper holds out my phone, and I take it.
“It feels like my hands are drifting as I come down from the backswing.” I slow the video down, examining every frame for flaws.
“Stop overanalyzing. You’re playing great. Lean into whatever magic you’ve found and don’t tweak so much you lose it.”
“So basically, rely on luck?”
She laughs. “Luck is just hard work with a sprinkle of good karma.”
“I thought it was preparation meeting opportunity?”
“Eh, I like my version better.” Her lips pull into a satisfied smile at her own answer.
“Well, I’ve never been that lucky, so I think I’ll stick with the hard work part and hope karma or opportunity finds me.”
I tee up another ball, but before I can get into position, Harper says, “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think you might be the luckiest chick I know.”
She glances at me over her shoulder with a sly smile then out to the parking lot that runs along the side of the range. I follow her gaze until I find the object of her interest.
Felix leans against the hood of his orange Corvette, arms crossed over his chest, staring back at me. His lips curve when he realizes he’s been spotted, and he lifts one hand in a wave.
I wave back dumbly, heart racing.
“What is he doing here?” I ask more to myself than Harper.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, I hope it ends with you riding him in the front seat of his car. He is straight-up obsessed with you, and I am so here for it.”
“He is not obsessed with me.”
“He’s looking at you like a manobsessed.”
