Page 32 of Married to Lies

I took a deep breath, clearing the sordid thought, and glanced toward the building. An armed security guard stood in front of the door. My mouth fell open, and I got out my phone to text Quentin.

Rei: Is this how it all ends?

I took a picture of the guard and texted it to him as well.

It had me even more curious about why Jada, Bryce, and Conrad were acting strangely. Was Q in the witness protection program or something?

My phone chimed, and I looked down at the screen.

Quentin: I was hoping it would help you feel safe. Especially with the attack on Simon recently.

“Aww,” I said to myself. “That’s actually pretty sweet.” Bryce’s words echoed through my mind. Quentin’s a good guy. He would know more than Conrad or me, right? Nevertheless, I tapped out a message on the screen.

Rei: Can you tell the scary man with the gun to... go away for a little bit?

Rei: Like maybe walk around the building or something?

Rei: I’ll feel better if he’s not staring at me as I go inside.

Quentin didn’t respond, but the guard touched his right ear... and then he walked around the side of the building and out of sight.

It made me smile.

So I checked one last time in the mirror, making sure there was no food in my teeth, or crusties in my eyes, or any small pieces of mascara fallen over my cheeks. Then I got out of the car, walking in my fancy white golf shoes to the front door, to my date with Quentin. I was ready to find out who he really was.

15 Quentin

The door opened, letting in a blast of cold air, an arc of sunlight... and the most overdressed mini golfer I’d ever seen.

I looked her over, admiring everything from the short diamond-patterned skirt with tight leggings underneath to the long-sleeved matching polo with a sweater vest and her dangling golf ball earrings that sparkled like mini disco balls.

Then I looked down at my outfit, just khakis, a white tee, and an open dark-green flannel. “I feel underdressed.”

“That’s exactly what I was going for,” she said with a cheeky grin.

An unexpected chuckle passed my lips.

“Did you just laugh?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

I shook my head at her, turning toward the counter. I hardly laughed around anyone with most of my time spent at work on financial matters. Was she really disarming me so easily? “Let’s see if we can find a ball and putter that match your fit.”

“My ‘fit’?” she asked, following me. She sounded impressed. “That’s a cool word. Are you trendy or do you have a nephew or niece keeping you up-to-date?”

I found a black-and-white striped putter and an electric-blue one. “Okay, we could go for matching”—I held up the black-and-white one—"or maybe a brighter accessory?”

Her eyes widened with delight as she reached for the blue one. “This actually matches my hair clip.” She held it up and twisted her neck to show the back of her head, but I couldn’t see the clip with her silky black hair spilling over it.

I reached out, pulling a delicate strand aside. The tress slipped through my fingers, so soft I almost forgot to notice the clip. It was shaped like a blue golf bag with silver clubs sticking out. “Cute,” I said, my voice sounding rough to my ears.

She turned back toward me, cheeks a bit darker than before, and she flicked her gaze down, long black lashes fanning over her cheeks. “Do you—are there any blue balls here?” Then her hands slapped over her mouth. “I mean. Blue golf balls. Not blue balls. You know. I...” She shook her head. “Just one blue ball will do.”

My lips curled slightly at the corners. “We may be able to find one.” I walked to the ball bins on the wall to the right and found one container full of the same electric blue. “Here you go.” I smirked. “One blue ball.”

“Thank you.” She took it from me, shaking her head as if at herself, then I found my own putter and ball, purple for the Diamonds. As we walked through the building toward the course, which was all indoor and temperature controlled, I commented, “You must take mini golf very seriously. Do you play competitively?”

She looked up at me, confused. “Why do you say that?”

I gestured at her outfit. “Or is that ensemble for regular-sized golf?”