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So this is what it feels like to sell your soul to the devil. Funny, I knew it would happen eventually, but I guess I always thought it would hurt.
…
I get my first break toward the end of my shift, when I pull up to hole 7. There’s a group of four men getting ready to tee off and as I drive closer, I prep myself for more of the same bullshit I’ve dealt with all day.
“Goddamn, I didn’t know angels drove golf carts!”
“$15 for a beer? Do you come with it?”
“I’ve been slicing my tee shots, do you mind givin’ me a little back rub, honey?”
I pull the cart to a stop a safe distance from their group, a trick I learned early on. If I park far enough away, I don’t have to listen to their conversations while I’m mixing their drinks.
I straighten my Twin Oaks baseball cap so the late afternoon sun isn’t in my eyes and then stroll closer to the men to get drink orders. From my vantage point, I can tell they’re younger and definitely more in shape than most of the other guys I’ve seen on the course today, so much so that they actually make their boring golf outfits pretty hot. It’s all about the pants, specifically the derrière, and yes, I realize men have objectified me all day and now I’m doing the same to these unsuspecting golfers, but that’s life, and sometimes it’s pretty fun to be a hypocrite. So, I stare at their butts as much as I want until one of them sees me approaching and nudges his friend. Like dominoes, they turn toward me, anxious for a drink, and I assess them from right to left. Cute…Cuter…Cutest…James.
Shit.
I can’t believe he’s there, standing at the end of the group, watching me approach like I don’t hate his stinking guts. Worse, I just totally checked out his butt without realizing it. What an unsettling thought considering I’ve spent the last few days telling myself I don’t find him attractive anymore—and I don’t. Like one shapely butt cheek is going to change that. Pfft.
“Hey guys,” I say with a broad smile. “Can I get you anything from the beverage cart?”
“Is this a mirage?” Cute asks Cuter. “Is she an angel or something, because I’ve been wanting a beer for the last 30 minutes.”
He’s laying on the charm pretty thick, but it’s still kind of funny. “Well, it’s your lucky day. We carry every beer that’s on the menu back at the clubhouse, foreign and domestic.”
“I’ll take a Dos Equis,” Cutest says.
Cuter nods. “Same for me.”
“Lime?”
They both nod.
“Can you do any mixed drinks out here?” Cute asks with a hopeful smile.
“Simple ones. Margarita on the rocks, vodka soda, Jack and Coke—that sort of thing.”
He nods. “Great. I’ll take a vodka soda.”
That leaves just one person: Mr. James Suddenly-Silent Ashwood.
“James? Want anything?” Cutest asks, nudging him.
I work up enough courage to stare at the grass at James’ feet. It’s a start.
“I didn’t realize you worked out here, Brooke.”
His voice is a warm hand around my neck.
“Uhh, her dress says her name’s Ellie dude.”
“That’s not her dress,” he points out with a confident tone.
I ignore their conversation. “Would you like something or not?”
My tone is biting, but when I get called into Brian’s office later to address this complaint—as I undoubtedly will—I’ll describe it as gentle and kind.
He still doesn’t reply, so I nod and turn on my heel. “Well I’ll get those drinks started while Mr. Ashwood thinks over what he would like.”
There’s shuffling of feet and the awkward sounds of clearing throats. It’s obvious we know each other, and the second before I step out of earshot, they ask him what’s going on. I wish now that I’d pulled my beverage cart close enough to hear his reply. I’m sure it’d be amusing.
I pop tops off beers, slice limes, and whip up a vodka soda faster than I’ve done anything all day. The drinks are in their hands and a cool tip is in mine before I’ve had time to process my body’s reaction to James.
“Manna from heaven,” Cuter says, clinking his bottle with his friend’s.
I smile and attempt once more to get a drink for James. I don’t want to get accused of denying him service or anything.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Three words said in a tone that oozes disdain and annoyance. I want to roll my eyes and flip him off a thousand times, but I don’t even think that would cool my jets at this point. I clench my teeth to keep expletives from spilling out and then taking a calming breath.
“Right, well…enjoy your golf game.”
Cutest steps forward with an easy smile. “Can’t you stay? We’re not even halfway through and we’re all sick of each other. I promise I’ll order a new drink every hole.”
