- BLAIR -
“Guys, I’m out,” one of the other men said. “I rolled my ankle, and I don’t want to do any more damage. When the fuck did I get so old?” He was an older guy in his forties.
“No worries, man,” Sam said. “But that means we need someone from the other team to sit out.”
I raised my hand. “Please. I think I’m dying.” They all laughed at me. “Besides, without me, you actually stand a chance of winning.”
“You’re the one who said it, kid, not me,” Sam said with a smile.
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved them off. How I was being labelled a kid at my age was both fascinating and annoying.
“You sure?” Garrett asked quietly.
“Definitely. Soccer is not my sport, and this wasn’t about me anyway.”
He stood to get back in the game. “Out of curiosity, what is your sport?”
“Me and sports? Not really a good mix. Weights and cardio at a gym are more my thing. I should probably try an old man game like lawn bowls. I could totally pull that off.”
Garrett laughed. “Noted.”
He took to the field, and watching him in his element brought me back to high school. And the longer the game went on, the more I regressed. I was no longer a grown adult, watching the guy I was sorta dating play soccer. I was thirteen years old, watching my best friend’s older brother and trying hard not to think about being pressed against him—a guy who was basically a wall of muscle.
Just like in high school, when he lifted his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead, I had to look away. His defined six-pack taunted me, and the problem with that now was I knew how it felt beneath my palms; I knew what his skin tasted like.
And now I need to leave before anyone sees the tent in my shorts.
I did some strategic rearranging as I stood and headed for my car where I left my phone. Distraction was my number one priority.
The cool night air helped calm me somewhat, and when I went back into the centre a few minutes later, I made sure to avoid eye contact with Garrett. I told him this wasn’t about sex, but watching him dominate the field, seeing him focused and happy, it made it nearly impossible for me to think of anything else.
I was thankful when the second half finally finished. All I wanted to do was go home and fuck Garrett.
“Who’s up for drinks?” Sam asked.
The others groaned and there was a chorus of “My wife will kill me” and “I need to get the kids in bed.”
“You all suck,” Sam said. “What about you two?” He nodded towards us. “You guys gotta run home to wives too?”
“Uh …” I didn’t know how to answer that.
“Nah, we don’t. But gonna pass all the same,” Garrett said. “I swear if I sit down, I’m not getting back up. Don’t really want to spend the night on the floor of a bar because I can’t fucking walk.”
Sam laughed. “Fair enough. Will we see you next week?”
Garrett nodded. “Definitely.”
They shook hands and everyone started to pile out of the room and into the parking lot.
I went to follow them but Garrett pulled me back and spoke low. “Seriously, thank you. This was awesome.”
My aching muscles were worth seeing the carefree smile on Garrett’s face, and I knew I’d do anything to make him keep it there for longer than a ninety-minute soccer game.
***
“Blair,” a voice whispered.
“Go away,” I grumbled.
“Wake up. We have somewhere we need to be.”
Garrett had spent the past four nights at my place. Ever since the soccer game.
“It’s six AM. On a rare Friday I’ve got the day off. What the fuck, Garrett?”
“Here.” He threw clothes at me.
“Polo shirt and khakis?” I asked, sitting up.
“You told me you wanted to try old man sports.”
“You’re taking me bowling at six AM? Are you high? Don’t you have to go to work?”
“I’m chucking a sickie. And I’m not taking you to lawn bowls. I came up with something different. Something I know how to play.”
“Is there any point in me protesting?”
“Nope.”
I sighed. “Didn’t think so.”
After I dressed, Garrett shoved a travel mug full of coffee in my hand and we headed for his car, which had practically taken up residence in the visitor parking under my building.
“The old bats downstairs are probably going to complain about your car being here every night,” I said as we climbed in.
“Eh, fuck ’em. Until they complain, I’m not gonna park it on the street. Although, it’s probably worth more in insurance money if someone stole it.”
“Why do you still drive this piece of shit anyway? You’ve had it since uni.”
His mouth opened in shock. “You did not call my baby a piece of shit.” He rubbed the dashboard. “Don’t listen to him, honey.”
“What’s with the emotional attachment?”
He smiled. “There isn’t really one. I’d rather save money than spend it on a car that’s only going to depreciate like crazy, and this is a good car. It’s cheap to fix and hardly anything ever goes wrong with it.”
“You’re super frugal with your money, huh?”
“Not really. Hunter says I’m cheap, but it’s more about managing what I have and what I want. I want to buy my own place, and I hate renting. It’s a matter of saving where I can and budgeting for the extra things like nights out and whatever. I’ve probably got enough saved up to buy a decent apartment, but I don’t like not having a safety net.”
“Damn, I don’t want you to even look at my financials,” I mumbled.
It was a vast difference to how I looked at money. As soon as I could afford to, I moved out of home. I lived pay cheque to pay cheque, rarely had leftover money, and just hoped and prayed nothing went wrong with my car. I had no savings whatsoever. I refused to have a roommate because I knew I’d get pissed if the dishes weren’t done or they left the place a mess. I wasn’t OCD about cleanliness, but I hated laziness. It wasn’t that hard to wash a dish after you were done with it.
Garrett didn’t take too long to catch on about that, thank God. The last few days he’d stayed with me, he earned a few glares about cleaning up after himself. I didn’t know what the rule was in his shared apartment with Hunter and Cole, but it was clearly “Do it whenever you want.”
We’d been driving for almost half an hour when I couldn’t take it anymore. I had absolutely no idea where we were. “So where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Fine. Be that way. Are you going to soccer again on Monday?”
“Yeah. You gonna come … or?”
“I’d rather not,” I said with a laugh. “If that’s cool?”
He nodded. “All good. I get it’s not your thing. But I’m hoping this is.” We pulled into a golf course.
“Golf? Really?” I eyed him warily. Did he remember from high school that this was the one sport I did know how to play? Or was it coincidence?
“Old man sport, right? Plus, I learned to play while I was in uni. You know how in movies and TV and that, a whole heap of business is conducted on golf courses? It’s total bullshit. I was preparing myself to not look like an idiot in front of clients. I haven’t met a client yet who wants to play fucking golf.”
I laughed so hard I had to hold onto my stomach.
“Laugh it up. We’ll see who’s laughing when I kick your ass at it.”
Not likely. “Has anyone ever told you you’re super competitive?”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“No. I’m one of those annoying people who think all the kids should get a trophy.”
“Is that because you never got trophies as a kid? Nawww.”
“Shut up.” I shoved him.
Garrett hired our clubs and a golf cart. I offered to pay my half but he refused. I wasn’t sure if it was because I whined about the state of my bank account in the car or if he was doing the whole date thing. It felt like a date. But we weren’t dating. Not technically. I told myself not to overanalyse. It was so easy to get carried away with my thoughts when it came to Garrett.
At the first tee, I grabbed the driver from the bag. “You wanna go first? Age before beauty, right?”
“Ah, we’re starting with the old jokes, are we?”
“You were born in the mid-eighties. I can imagine baby Garrett in MC Hammer pants. I’m practically a nineties baby.”
He scoffed. “Pretty sure MC Hammer was the nineties.”
“Don’t make me whip out Google.”
“I’ll make you whip out something else in a minute.”
I tsked him. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep. Hurry up and take your shot.”
He put on his glove and warmed up with a few practice swings. I didn’t need to ask if he had actual lessons before because it was obvious.
Being in the juniors when I was younger, I had a heap of golf pros coaching me. They’d always say the same shit, no matter what I did. Make sure your balance is slightly on your back foot, and it should travel to the front on your follow through. Don’t loosen your grip at the top of your swing. Put your feet a tiny bit wider apart—that one used to piss me off because I swore they said it even if it felt like I was doing the splits.
Garrett’s form was textbook. Was there any sport he couldn’t play?
His drive went straight down the middle of the fairway. Shocker.
We swapped positions.
“You sure you’re going to be able to handle the driver? Maybe you should try a three wood.”
“Nah, I’m used to handling a big club.” I held my arms out in victory. “Oh yeah, I went there.”
He laughed, but it faded as I lined up my shot and swung, outdriving him by at least thirty meters.
His mouth dropped open in shock.
“Beginner’s luck?” I said, unconvincingly.
“I call bullshit,” he said in awe.
“Fine. You’re looking at the junior’s champ of oh-five.”
The fucker smiled. “I thought you said sport wasn’t your thing?”
“It’s not. My parents forced me to play. I hated it and quit as soon as I graduated high school.”
“You must’ve been good to get that far though?”
I shrugged. “Mum always said I had a natural talent. I could’ve gone pro had I invested in practice time.”
“Earning millions of dollars doesn’t appeal to you?”
“You only earn millions if you’re committed and dedicate your life to the sport. I wasn’t going to give up what I wanted for something else merely because I was good at it. I’ve never been one to sacrifice the things I love for something that’s easier.”
He pursed his lips. “We should get going.” Walking back to the golf cart, he ordered me to hurry up or I’d be walking.
Ignorance was another game Garrett was an expert at playing. Hell, he could’ve made a sport out of that alone.