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We pull the latches on the sides of our doors and step out.
***
The smell of freshly cut grass lingers in the air as I stand back and watch Smitty try to teach Layla to swing her club correctly. His bald head glints in the sunlight as he tries to touch Layla, who expertly avoids his hands without her smile dropping. She looks like she’s used to dealing with men like him.
I want to step in, but it looks like she can handle herself. Besides, I don’t want to seem too possessive to the men who hold my vote in their hands.
My watch tells me it’s almost noon. Leaning against my unused metal club, I avoid looking at Suzy, who’s throwing herself at Luke in a desperate attempt to make me jealous. Luke doesn’t pass up the chance to feel her, as he knows I don’t care.
The expansive golf course sprawls beyond the clubhouse, a canvas of meticulously manicured fairways and rolling hills. I’ve never been a fan of golfing. Worse, I suck at it. But the board members are golf enthusiasts, so I indulge them.
It surprises me, but I miss New Brooks. I miss the unpretentiousness in the air back there. New York is filled with people claiming to be who they’re not, and I’m tired of it.
Berkowitz and Wight join Smitty and Layla. Their laughter floats through the air to me, and I wonder what they’re talking about. Layla points to me, and the men bend over in laughter.
Perhaps it’s time to join them.
I plaster a smile on my face and stroll over to them.
“What’s this one saying now?” My arm reaches around Layla’s waist and gently pulls her close.
Her hair billows into my face, and the flowery scent of her hair products causes me to smile genuinely. Layla turns her head away, and the hair leaves my face. I miss it almost immediately.
“Man, you really lucked out with this one, didn’t you?” Smitty says, his beady eyes rolling along Layla’s body.
Something about his longing look makes me pull Layla closer as if to say she’s mine. I hate how possessive I feel of her. This is a contract; it’s not real. So, why am I reacting like this?
“You have kids, Smitty?” Layla asks in a sweet voice.
Smitty’s mustache twitches as he stops gawking. “Oh, yeah. Two girls.”
“Right around Layla’s age, yeah?” I add, just as sweetly as Layla.
Smitty squirms. He makes an excuse about golfing and goes to whip balls across the field. Berkowitz and Wight chat a bit, congratulate us again, and then go off to join him.
“That was—”
“Satisfying,” Layla interrupts, her smile devious.
“You interrupt a lot,” I say, my hand rubbing the curve of her hip. I convince myself it’s just for our audience, but I’m not sure that’s true.
“You told me that the first night we met.”
“You remember,” I murmur, my face inches from hers.
“I remember everything about that night, Tristan.” Her dimples appear as she licks her lips.
The strong urge to kiss her crops up and I resist it. Or should I? After all, we are in public and need to do whatever we can to make our relationship believable. Perhaps a kiss won’t be so bad.
It looks like Layla has the same idea as she leans in, her lips parting lightly. Our lips are inches apart, and I can feel the breath from her mouth on mine. She closes her eyes, and I close mine. A wisp of breath and—
“Lovebirds!”
We pull apart as Luke stands before us, beaming from ear to ear. His blond hair is slicked back, and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief. I pull away from Layla, my arm leaving her waist.
“Luke, this is—”
“Layla. The evasive Layla.” He took her hand in his, a devious smile on his face.
