Page 12 of Before You Say I Do
She had to focus on that.
Chapter 7
“Which of these do I pick?”Jordan backed away from the golf clubs Abby set down at the side of their driving bay as if they were radioactive.
Up ahead, the driving range was a luscious pea green, scattered with flags and bunkers, the width of 30 bays. Each side was flanked with 100-feet-high nets to keep the balls inside. They were needed, too. As Jordan stood there, balls flew out from above and either side, the rhythmic thwack of them being hit a constant background noise.
Abby gave her a throaty laugh. “They’re called clubs. Do you really know so little about golf?”
“This isn’t golf, right?”
Abby shook her head. “This is the driving range, where you come to practise your driving and your swing. Or just to whack some balls.”
“Got it. Me and sport aren’t friends. I was the person who always had my period during PE at school. My flatmate Karen makes me go running, because I have to stay in shape. But if I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t go.”
Abby looked her up and down. “Really? You look like the sort of person who goes to the gym all the time.”
Jordan shook her head. “Nope. Nervous energy. Pure and simple. Probably learned from childhood. I was a forces kid, always moving around. You learn to be on your toes, and be able to pack up and move in an instant. It’s why this job works for me. I’m organised and unflappable.”
Abby nodded. “From my professional bridesmaid, that’s great to hear.” She paused. “Plus, if you hate sport, golf might be the perfect one for you. It’s gentle, and involves nothing more than a walk and a swing. The driving range cuts down the walking to zero. All you have to do is focus, and hit.”
That didn’t sound so scary. “I can do that,” Jordan replied.
Abby selected a club with a thick head — had she called it a driver? — then turned to Jordan, fixing her with her conker-brown eyes. “I’ll show you how to grip the club and swing in a minute. First up, sit on that sofa, then watch and learn. Okay?”
Jordan nodded, and sat on the black wicker sofa at the back of the bay.
Satisfied, Abby licked her lips, flexed her back, then placed her feet wide apart. She rocked her hips from side to side as she settled her hands on the club, eyeing first the range, then the ball. The concentration was immense, and Jordan was transfixed. Abby’s hips were low and loose, and looked like they could knock out a figure eight and perhaps a samba, no problem. Jordan let that image settle in her brain, before nudging it aside. She was here to work. And impress with a golf swing.
A little more hip wiggling, then Abby raised her club, twisted her body and rotated her torso at speed, smacking the ball down the driving range. It sailed high and long, eventually hitting the right-side netting.
Jordan sat up and let out a low whistle. Damn. Not only did Abby know how to move her hips in a more than dangerous way, she could also put a golf ball in its place.
Next up was Jordan. Bugger.
“You’re good at this.”
Abby looked up. She gave her a louche grin. “Let’s just say, this is where I come to let off steam. If I’ve had a bad day, I pretend the golf balls are my clients. If I’ve had a good day, I pretend the golf balls are my mother-in-law. Works well every time.”
She put another golf ball onto the scuffed blue tee, steadied herself, then whacked it again. Abby repeated the move twice more, then she turned, letting out a contented sigh as she took off her single golf glove and walked over to Jordan. Abby slumped into the sofa’s plump cushions, far more relaxed than when Jordan had first met her ten days ago. This was her safe space. Jordan was impressed she’d let her in so quickly.
“So does Marcus come here with you, too?”
Abby nodded, not turning her head from the vista ahead. “Yes. Although he’s humouring me, I know that.”
“He doesn’t play golf?”
“He does, but only for business reasons. He gets a lot of his business on the golf course, as is the way of the world. But if he didn’t have to go out on a golf course again, he wouldn’t.”
“Do you play golf, too?”
“On occasion. But this is easier to fit into my life. Just coming to a bay, getting a bucket of balls, and hitting them down the course. It’s therapeutic. It can be social. But I can also do it on my own. Some people go to the gym, some people meditate. I come here.” Abby paused. “Are you going to give it a go?” She raised an eyebrow at Jordan, before standing up and holding out a hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how. I promise the clubs don’t bite. And neither do I.”
Jordan gulped, knowing she couldn’t get out of this. She took Abby’s hand and jumped up, ignoring the roll of her stomach as their fingers touched.
Abby gave her a seven iron, holding its head in her hand. “See this?” Her fingers traversed the thick iron wedge. “The head is more angled, which means you’re more likely to hit the ball and drive it into the air.”
Jordan nodded. “Airborne is what I’m after.” She took the club in her hands and swung her hips the way she’d seen Abby do.
