Page 33 of Married to Lies

“Regular-sized golf.” She laughed, the sound full and throaty. Then her voice grew serious. “I take fashion seriously.”

The thought of her loving fashion was in contrast with the uniform she had to wear to work every day, but come to think of it, I had seen her in quite a few different outfits that were not the shapeless blue jumpsuit. “Tell me about that,” I said as we approached hole one. It was an easy little green surrounded by palm trees on either side.

She bent to put her ball on the starting spot and then squared up, face serious. “Are you sure you want to open that can of worms?” She swung the putter, and the ball banged against the sidewall, bounced off the track and into the next green... and into the second hole. “Yay!” she said like nothing at all had gone amiss. “That counts for two points, right?”

I pulled the scoresheet out of my pocket. “Zero points.”

“Zero?” She frowned deeply. “Are you telling me I didn’t earn anything for that? That was amazing. Objectively.”

An amused breath exhaled through my nose. “In golf, zero is a good score.”

She eyed me skeptically. “You’re fucking with me so you can win.”

Her blunt language shocked me. She really wasn’t like anyone I knew—not any women anyway. “Why would I want to beat you on a first date? If anything, I should throw the game.”

She put her hand on her hip, leaning on her putter with the other. “So you’re letting me win because you want to impress me?”

“I haven’t even gone yet!” I protested, blood pressure rising.

“Well you better not take it easy on me,” she warned, then gestured at the second hole, where we could see just a peep of her electric-blue ball. “I’m very good.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. The kind that made my belly shake and my eyes squint. And Rei smiled at me, looking pleased as punch. My knees went a little weak at her smile.

But I asked, “What are you so pleased about?”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you really laugh,” she said. “I like it.”

My cheeks burned, and my stomach felt light. Unsure of what to say, I dropped my ball in front of me, toed it toward the in-ground tee. With a light tap, it rolled into the first hole.

“Zero points for you too,” she said like she still wasn’t convinced of the scoring system.

I got out my golf pencil and wrote down a zero. I already felt like I was winning, regardless of the score. We walked to the next hole, where she insisted I had to go again but she didn’t. Before I swung, I asked, “Why is fashion a can of worms for you?” I tapped the ball, and it went up the slight slope and back down into the hole.

As I walked to the hole to retrieve our balls, she followed me, explaining, “I love fashion, but the industry doesn’t really love me back.”

I bent to pick up our balls, ignoring the tweak in my hip, and put her ball in her hand. My fingertips brushed her palm, and just that little touch made my mouth go dry. God, I needed to get a grip when it came to this woman.

And yet, I couldn’t help reaching for the hem of her skirt, working the material between my fingertips and muttering, “I think fashion is loving you today.”

She didn’t shy away, flicking her gaze up toward mine. “You think this looks good?”

I swallowed, hard, and nodded. “I do,” I rasped.

“Well, I’m glad, considering I had to order a skirt stretchy enough for me to squeeze into a straight size. And this shirt? It’s the only option they had in my size at the golf outlet at the mall, and it was in the back corner of the store like an afterthought.”

I nodded in understanding. Mom used to take my brother and me to the big and tall store in the sketch part of town. Now, shoppers handled all of that. “There’s not a plus-size store for women?”

“Oh, honey.” She shook her head and waltzed to the next hole. Once her ball was set up, she leaned on her club, explaining, “For men, fashion is easy.” She waved her hand at me. “Thirty waist, thirty-two inseam, you’ve found your size for life. A good pair of pants and a flannel and you look like a model.” My chest puffed slightly at that. But she sighed. “For women... you get numbers one through thirty, but sometimes jeans are one through thirty-eight and not in the regular sizing system. They add W’s sometimes for “wide”, like that’s what we want to be called.” She rolled her eyes. “Some stores say they carry plus sizes, but they only have up to a twenty in stock. And the sizes? They’re not consistent. An eighteen at one store could fit more like a fourteen at another. Don’t even get me started on the fit models they use.”

Apparently, I didn’t need to get her started, because she continued. “Most brands use size-two models as fit models and then make everything bigger instead of actually considering the fact that women are shaped differently.” She shook her head and swung. This time, her ball banged into the right side of the tunnel and bounced back so fast she had to stop it with her foot. “That didn’t count,” she muttered.

“Mulligan,” I agreed.

She frowned at me. “My name is Rei.”

“No,” I said, smiling slightly. “Mulligan means do-over in golfese.”

“There’s a language?” She looked horrified at the prospect.