of twenties. “Go get us some beers, son. I think Ryan could use a drink.”
Symanski laughed and Ryan scowled.
He stalked over to me. “Do you think you could keep the flirting down in front of me?” he said. Like he was jealous. Like he had a right to be jealous.
“I thought we were on a break?” Not that I’d been flirting with Danny but sometimes I liked to piss Ryan off.
“It’s gross,” he said. “And in front of Symanski.”
“If he has a problem with me being gay, I’d rather know it now.”
“He might have a problem with you being a slut,” Ryan said.
My jaw dropped. “Fuck you. And he’s a kid, for chrissake. I’m not flirting.”
“He’s not that young.”
Danny had returned with the bottles. From the perfectly neutral expression on his face, I gathered he’d overheard at least some of that.
Ryan took one of the beers from Danny’s fingers. “You single, kid?” he asked, wiping his face.
Danny looked back and forth between us. He hesitated and frowned, glaring off into the distance before answering. “No. I’m not,” he said firmly.
“Is she a nice girl?” Ryan asked.
“He. And no. He’s not. Not particularly,” he said with a grin and glint in his eye that made him look suddenly older and less naïve than he’d seemed at first. “But that’s one of the things I love about him.” He gave Ryan a dismissive once-over. “So, if you’re asking me out, thanks, but no, thanks.”
I felt more than heard my father laughing silently behind me. Ryan was pissed. I so wanted to high-five Danny right then. Knowing Ryan, this would be the last time Danny caddied at the club. He was definitely going to need a good job. I made a mental note to tip him double and make sure he had my contact information.
The rest of the tournament passed uneventfully. I Paid-a-Pro to make a shot for me and landed just outside the hole, closest I’d ever come to a hole in one. My father won a hat that held two cans of beer for hitting a stale marshmallow a surprising distance.
The only fly in the ointment was the constant feeling I had of being watched. I’d get that itch between my shoulder blades and casually look around to see who it could be. I never caught anybody, but out of the corner of my eye, I kept seeing that guy from team yellow polo. Of course, that could have been because they were right behind us in the order. But I couldn’t stop looking at him. Something about his mouth and jawline tugged at my memory. I watched him tee off, his mouth twisting as his body twisted. He stayed frozen until the ball landed, his right foot almost over his left, his balance off-center.
Damn it, I knew that stroke. I grunted in frustration.
“Something wrong?” Danny asked.
I shook my head, irritated. “No. I just…that guy looks familiar but I can’t place him. It’s like it’s right on the tip of my tongue. Do you know him?” I asked Ryan and my dad.
“Doesn’t look familiar,” my father said.
“He’s nothing special,” Ryan said quietly as Symanski teed off, “but did you see the tall brunet guy he’s playing with? He’s hot. Like supermodel hot. Wonder if he’s single.”
“I seriously doubt it,” I said.
Danny turned to look at the group. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I kind of like the older guy with the salt-and-pepper hair. He’s got that whole silver fox/daddy vibe.” There was a beat and Danny snorted a laugh. He was looking off into the distance and I had to tug on his arm to get his attention. “Sorry,” he said, turning his attention to the last hole. “What do we have here?”
After the tournament, there were endless awards and silent auctions and speeches. We’d played great and raised a nice sum for the Special Olympics. Symanski had gone, said he had business to do but would be in touch. Ryan seemed thrilled. I was less so. Seemed like a lot of speculation and ifs. Nothing to get too excited about.
A flash of yellow caught my eye. It was that damn guy again. But now he had his hat and glasses off. Without them, everything was much clearer. I knew that face.
That guy looked a hell of a lot like Jake Karlsson. I hadn’t seen Jake in fifteen years but once upon a time, I’d known him intimately, studied his face for hours. Damn, this guy looked like him. I