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I dig my fingers into my palms inside the front pockets of my golf pants when Bodhi squeezes Birdie tighter, making her squeal as he lifts her toes up off the ground with the force of his hug. I take a step toward the two of them when the son of a bitch sniffs the side of her neck and smiles at me the entire time, knowing I’m about two seconds away from yanking him away from Birdie by the scruff of his green T-shirt that says I Love Golf with a red Ghostbusters sign through the word love and then shoving him through the glass door behind him.
She still smells like cocoa butter and tropical fruits. Like the Coppertone suntan lotion/sunscreen in the brown bottle she’s slathered on her skin every morning before she leaves the house for as long as I’ve known her. I got a whiff of it last night when she shoulder-checked me. The smell almost brought me to my knees, which would have been convenient, since I was already on my way down there because of the pain in my bicep from her much shorter frame.
Bodhi laughs against Birdie’s cheek at what I’m sure is murder written all over my face while I glare at his happy reunion with a woman who will barely look at me, let alone greet me with a hug. He finally takes pity on me and pulls out of their embrace, resting his hands on her shoulders as he looks at her with concern.
“Heard about your vacation, kid. Tough break,” he says softly.
“Jesus, how in the hell—”
“Stefanie at Sandbar Cottages told Alan at Hang Five Arcade, who came over to The Barge where I was having breakfast this morning, and told my server, Melanie—great rack, by the way—who discussed it while she was refilling my coffee,” Bodhi tells her in one breath.
He pauses a beat before speaking again, and I’m on pins and needles wondering what he’s talking about and why Birdie suddenly looks so sad.
“You okay?”
Birdie sighs and nods, and I feel like I’m in an alternate reality. They met once five years ago. The first and only time he’d been to Summersweet Island. Sure, he was with us the entire four days of my visit, and he and Birdie hit it off immediately. But they’ve only exchanged a few words a small handful of times since then, when we still talked and Bodhi would come in the room while I was on the phone with her or something.
As much as Bodhi loved Birdie, and as pissed as he was by my decision to cut things off with her, he understood it. After his initial shouting and tearing me a new asshole, he shut up and just supported me like a good friend should. It infuriates me more than a little that the two of them with almost zero history can pick right back up where they left off like no time has gone by, and I have fifteen years under my belt with her and can’t even get a smile. I’m not even asking for a full-blown, mega-watt Birdie smile. Just a twitch of her lips will suffice at this point.
“We’ll talk about it over drinks soon. Bodhi will make everything better,” he reassures Birdie, his eyes suddenly noticing Tess standing a foot away from me who has been oddly quiet this whole time. “Is someone going to introduce me to the stunning creature with the red hair?”
A sound comes out of Tess that almost resembles a giggle, but I don’t think she knows how to make that sound. Birdie looks as shocked as I do when Tess makes that weird, tittering sound again as Bodhi steps around Birdie and walks right up to her.
“You’ll have to excuse Palmer. He lost all his manners back on the 18th hole in Bermuda. I’m Bodhi Armbruster,” he says with cool smile, holding his hand out to Tess.
Tess giggles out her name, her cheeks turning the exact same color as her hair as she shakes Bodhi’s hand. I’ve watched hundreds of women over the years succumb to Bodhi’s charms, but I never thought I’d see someone like Tess Powell fall under his spell. I immediately forget my jealousy over Bodhi putting his hands all over Birdie and knowing something personal about her that I don’t and just enjoy the show, taking advantage of how distracted Birdie’s muscle currently is.
Grabbing my putter from where I left it leaning against the counter, I rest the grip on my shoulder and walk toward Birdie, whistling as I go, pausing when I’m standing right in front of her. Taking a deep breath of cocoa butter and tropical fruit, I nod my head toward the door next to us.
“I don’t know how you run things here, but I like to be on time for work. You know, do my best and always make a good impression.”
