A Date to Play Fore - Heidi McLaughlin Page 0,6
until you’re ready?”
Eli stands in the full-length mirror and pushes his shoulders up and down, back and forth, while he straightens his shirt. I do this too but not to the extent he does. Each pop or flex and his shirt rides up because he insists on wearing a size smaller than what he really wears. He tells me it’s because women like to see his muscles. I think it’s because he likes to see them. When I first met Eli in college, he was this scrawny, dweeby kid working at the golf course. On the day we met, the group I was with were heading out and we needed caddies. No one picked Eli, so I did. My stupid ass friends laughed, but I won in the end. He not only became my best friend, but he’s the best caddy on the circuit and he’s loyal as fuck. Of course, my fame went to his head but only in the sense that he bettered himself. His words, not mine.
“You wish you looked this good.” He flexes in the mirror and I swear he makes a kissy face, but I can’t be certain. I wouldn’t put it past him.
I ignore his statement and remind him, “You know you have to wear a jacket to this meeting.”
We are meeting with a couple of my sponsors this evening. Normally, I would take my business manager, but since Eli and I are technically on vacation and the sponsors called, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Nor would it be very smart. If someone wants to pay me millions to wear their clothes or put their name on my bag, it’s going to happen.
He nods. “Just making sure I’m all set for later.”
Later . . . When Eli hits the hotel bar and picks up a girl for the night. He’ll settle down, someday. At least, that is what I tell his mom when she asks me what happened to her sweet, innocent boy. I happened—well money, fame, and being tied to me.
As soon as Eli’s ready, we’re out the door and heading down the stairs toward the lobby. It’s my preferred method of getting around the hotel because you never know who you’re going to run into. Word has spread since our little golf game the other day with Leah and the jackass, and more women are starting to hang out at the bar. Eli tells me the women are there for him, and I let him believe that.
Thankfully, when we get outside, our car is waiting for us. The black limo is meant to entice me to sign on the dotted line. They could’ve sent Mopeds and I would’ve been happy. For the most part, I’m simple. I like nice things but I’m not out wearing Louis Vuitton shoes. I still like my Adidas. You won’t find me wearing a Gucci belt because the one I have from Nike is perfect. Eli often has to remind me that I have a bank account that many would die for. I call it retirement. Golf is hard on the body. My back aches all the time, my hips are sore, and my shoulder feels like it’s going to rip off some days. I love the game and don’t want to stop anytime soon.
The drive to the restaurant is fifteen minutes, tops. A total waste of money with the limo, but the air-conditioned ride is a nice one.
“Right this way, Mr. Jennings.” The doorman holds the door open to one of the nicest restaurants in Charleston—The Fig Tree. When my manager told me this is where I was meeting these sponsors, I balked. I don’t like their food. Not in the sense that I’m out eating fancy meals every night. I love barbecue, fried chicken, and buttermilk biscuits. What I don’t like are foods I can’t pronounce, have trees growing out of the top of them because someone told the chef in culinary school that putting twigs in food is a good thing, and I absolutely will never understand why these fancy ass restaurants do not give you sizable portions. It’s almost like they’re telling their customers they all need to lose some weight. When I go out to eat, I want to eat. I want to sit and enjoy my meal, have a good conversation, and maybe order dessert. I don’t want stuffy, overpriced food that leaves me wondering what’s on my plate.
Eli is now in business mode. He approaches the podium and tells