Page 8

Chapter 8

I didn’t die from it

Cooper

She was stiffer than the driver. To reassure her, I was as professional as possible, wrapping my arms around her slowly and gently. I had to wonder what had happened in her life to make her react this way. Her body was lush curves and her citrus shampoo tickled my nose. Tempting, but I reminded myself to focus. Professional!

“Try to relax.”

She huffed but dropped her shoulders, only to tense them up again when I moved. She couldn’t let go. After a few aborted attempts, I came up with something different.

“Okay, I have another idea.” I stepped back and her posture relaxed. “You put your arms around me and I’ll swing the club. Maybe that way you can get a feel for the motion without tensing up.”

She bit her lip. “I’m really not trying to make this more difficult.”

I shrugged. “Everyone learns differently.” I grabbed my club and positioned myself in front of the tee. I looked over at her, still biting her lip.

“Do people learn like this?”

I grinned. “I’ve never seen anyone do it, but maybe I can start a new school of golf. I’ll earn a fortune.”

She shook her head, and I knew her eyes were rolling behind those big sunglasses. But she dropped her club and wrapped her arms around me.

At first, she barely touched me. “That’s not going to work. You need to feel how my body moves. I trust you not to take advantage.” A joke to loosen her up. But Callie reacted differently.

“Do people do that to you?”

Of course they did. Part of the job. I was the face of the team, so people thought they knew me, and made assumptions—about what I wanted and what I’d allow. “I can handle it.”

I heard her mutter that no one should have to, but she moved closer, pressing against my back and putting her hands over mine where they held the club.

It was hella awkward trying to swing with Callie enfolding me like a coat, but I focused, telling her what I was doing as I moved.

One golf ball sailed down the range. Callie backed away and returned with another ball, passing it to me, and once I had it resting on the tee, she wrapped herself around me again.

The feeling of those full tits pressed against my back was a distraction. It felt good, and since golf had never been a passion of mine, I was more interested in Callie’s body than the swing I was supposed to be demonstrating.

I swung again, and felt her moving with me. Less tension, less resistance.

She passed me another ball. This time, as we moved together, she was anticipating what to do. When her defenses dropped, her mind picked things up quickly.

I heard voices and stepped away from her. What we were doing was pretty unorthodox, and I didn’t want anyone remembering this if they came across Callie again. With that vivid orange hair, the freckles covering her skin, and those tits, she was memorable.

“You ready to try again?”

She turned her head, noticing the men setting up a few places over. “Okay. I think I have a better idea of what to do now.”

She dropped a ball on the tee and stood beside it. “This where I should stand?”

I squinted at her feet. “Spread a little more.” She did that. “Give it a try.”

Her face was set in lines of concentration, and I could almost see the instructions she was reviewing in her head. She nodded to herself and swung the club back. She let it swing by the tee, checking how it moved. Already she was doing much better. Then she swung back again, and brought it down, hard. The head of the club met the ball, and it sliced forward. Not too far, but it went in the right direction.

A smile split her face, and I grinned too. “Good job.”

She nodded. “Okay, now what did I do wrong?”

“What do you mean? That was a good shot.”

She cocked her head. “I hit it as hard as I could, but it didn’t go that far. So what did I do wrong?”

I shook my head. “There are a couple of things you could refine.”

“I don’t need you to sweeten it up. Just tell me.”

“You’re not gripping the club right.”

“So show me.”

And I did.

Callie was never going to fool anyone into thinking she could have gone pro. Being a tax lawyer? Yeah, that took brains, and she had that. But she didn’t have muscle smarts. Her coordination was average, and her balance and vision were only so-so. Pretty well what I’d expected.

She was determined though. If she’d had any talent at all, that determination would have helped her get a long way. It probably drove her through law school at the top of her class. With enough practice, she’d survive her company’s golf tournament. Not with a low score, but she wouldn’t be an embarrassment to herself.

By the time we had to call it quits on the lesson, she looked like she’d been through a workout. Tendrils of hair were coming out of her ponytail and her face was flushed. I didn’t know if that was from exertion or the sun—she’d put on sunscreen, but she was also really pale.

“Ready to eat?” So far our lessons today had been all about the sport, not the behavioral aspects that didn’t have rules to follow.

She looked back at the building, chewing her lip. “This would be the country club part of the lessons, right?’

If she was too tired or wanted to wait to try this next time, we could do that. It wasn’t like being on display here was my favorite pastime. “This part is all brains, no muscles. But if you’ve had enough for today, we can grab something to eat back in the city.”

She shook her head, jaw set. “I don’t have a lot of time, so let’s eat here.” Her chin went up again. “What’s wrong with me?”

Other than wanting to be part of this pretentious, elitist cult? “What’s wrong with you?”

She looked down at her clothes and then back up at me. “Is there anything I need to fix? I have to comb my hair. Should I change to that dress?”

A chivalrous instinct hit me to assure her she was fine. That had been ingrained in me. Be polite, be charming, make the other person feel good. But she didn’t want that. She wasn’t arrogant, but she had some kind of inner strength that could take the truth and not flinch. “Your hair is a mess. And your face is flushed.”

“I can fix the hair. I have makeup in my bag. If I take care of that and put on the dress, will that be enough?”

I picked up the bags with the mostly unused clubs. “Dress would be better than what you’re wearing. Men don’t usually change, but the women do. There are locker rooms just inside. Let’s go.”

* * *

I put our clubs in a locker, greeting some more people we met on the way. I could see speculation about the woman with me, but I didn’t pause for chitchat. I steered Callie toward the women’s section and promised to meet her outside when she was ready.

I took a quick trip to the men’s myself, checking that I was still looking good. Since the most effort I’d exerted had been to refrain from laughing at Callie, I was fine. I waited in the hallway, not sure how long she would take. Some of the women I’d been with invested a lot of time in their appearance. I pulled out my phone, in case something had come up while we were out shooting balls.

There was a message for me in the family wedding chat. I didn’t want to look at it, but if I didn’t respond, my sister or mother was likely to call.

We’re planning the bachelor party for the weekend before the wedding.

It was my brother. Of course his primary involvement was in the bachelor party. Something I really wanted to miss. He continued.

You don’t have anything to do till after, so you can help with that.

My family chose to believe that my career involved nothing but showing up at the rink for three hours on game days. After all, I played hockey. And right now it was the offseason, so I wasn’t even doing that.

I’ll check my schedule.

I didn’t want to commit to anything before I had a chance to get out of it.

What schedule?

Dealing with my brother was enough to ruin my day, but I knew how to do the same to him.

I may be doing another photo shoot.

Nothing bothered my family more than the underwear campaigns I’d done. I used to keep a map, pinpointing the places my family would be exposed to those. I got to be petty and make a shitload of money, so it was a win-win for me. It was also something that would shut my brother up, at least temporarily. I didn’t have anything scheduled with them this summer, but I did have commitments to other sponsors and I needed to check those dates.

You still trying to get attention by posing naked for everyone to see?

I don’t try. I do.

You’re a spoiled brat.

No, I wasn’t spoiled. At least, only by money. I turned the phone off before my mood tanked. I’d find something to keep me busy until I had to go back for the wedding. I should just tell him to fuck off. I’d do my duty, but the less time I spent with my brother, the better.

Just in time, Callie came out. I shouldn’t be surprised that she was quick, but she was also startlingly efficient. She was wearing one of the dresses I’d asked for and had brushed her hair. For the first time, I saw it down. The color was still bright orangey-red, but it was thick and wavy, resting just below her shoulders, softening her face and bringing attention to her hazel eyes. Her makeup was discreet and minimal, but effective. Plus, the dress was absolutely the right color and fit and made her look good. Really good.

She met my eyes, brows raised. “Will this pass?”

It was exactly the way she’d asked about her golf swing. She didn’t want a compliment, just reassurance. “More than pass. You look like you belong here.”

And she smiled. Hell, when she smiled like that, it packed a wallop.

* * *

Callie

“More than pass. You look like you belong here.”

I grinned, enjoying his praise. Till he spoke again.

“I was right about that dress, wasn’t I?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, the dress is very flattering.” I straightened my spine. “So, now are we ready for the dining room?”

The golf part was straightforward. Sticks—no, clubs —balls, and walking around on the grass. Presumably we’d get to that. I wanted to keep this arrangement going if I could, because it was invaluable to me. There were rules I could memorize for actually hitting the ball, but social events didn’t have straightforward rules, and they weren’t codified. If I was going to be a partner, I had to learn how to play that game. Not that I expected I’d be very good at golf, but if I didn’t do anything spectacularly stupid, I’d just be a not-so-good golfer. Messing up the social game could leave me ostracized.

Cooper put a hand on my back to guide me and I almost flinched. His hand was warm and big and possessive. Unfamiliar, and not something to get accustomed to. Instead of heading to the dining room, he found a corner out of the way and stepped back. “Are you sure about this? You look like I’m taking you to dine with zombies.”

I crossed my arms, but that just brought more attention to my boobs, so I uncrossed them again. Damn it, I was so nervous. “I’m not good at this. Which utensil to use and when it’s okay to sit or eat or whatever. You can check out videos and books, but there’s so much—who you can talk to and what you shouldn’t say.”

Growing up, I’d had other priorities, things like food and clothing and a safe place to sleep. At school, I’d learned I was smart. Once I stopped trying to find someone to love me, education had been my focus. Getting good grades, so I could make good money. Social skills, friends—none of that had been as important as surviving. And I’d done that. I was playing catch-up on the people stuff, and it wasn’t easy.

“I can tell people I haven’t played golf,” I said, “and they’ll make some allowances. Give me tips, or well, just not care because not everyone plays sports. But I can’t tell people I’ve never eaten. Obviously, I have. All my life. I just haven’t learned the right way for places like this.” I waved my hand to indicate the clubhouse. As Benson had made all too clear, this part was important. This was more than knowing what fork to use. I pursed my lips together. Enough word vomit.

Cooper didn’t laugh, or sneer. “I grew up in places like this, but I never liked the way people used manners as a weapon. I’ll make sure you do it right. Can you trust me for that?”

I bit my lip. Could I?

So far, he’d kept up his end of the deal perfectly. He hadn’t been handsy while trying to get me to swing the club properly. He hadn’t focused all his attention on my breasts. And if I did something wrong in the dining room? Well, I’d been embarrassed before. I didn’t die from it.

I drew in a long breath after that mental pep talk and nodded. He held out his arm. After a moment, I realized what he was doing. My cheeks heated as I set my hand on it. I’d seen people do this in movies for fancy balls, but I’d never been in a situation that called for it. I let him guide me, keeping a close eye on everything around me.

There was a host. The way his eyes ran over us, he was checking to make sure we belonged. Cooper gave his name, and the guy nodded. We passed. No, I passed. Cooper had already been through this.

As the man led us to our seats. I noticed people watching. Cooper, not me. He was the celebrity. My shoulders relaxed. If they weren’t looking at me, then I wasn’t sticking out enough to distract them from the hockey player. So far, so good.

The table the gatekeeper led us to was in the center of the room. Even among these rich and powerful people, Cooper was someone. The club was flaunting his presence. Did he notice? His eyes followed mine, flicked to the watchers, and his warm expression was replaced by a pleasant mask as he pretended to ignore the eyes. Like in the pro shop. He had a public persona, one that was different from the guy I saw when it was just the two of us.

He didn’t like this. Which meant I was even more in his debt.

A waiter held out my chair, and we did that awkward shuffle as he pushed it in. The first time I’d been in the kind of restaurant where it happened, I’d almost wrestled the guy for my chair. Now I knew better. But just when I thought I was safe, he picked up my napkin and put it on my fucking lap. I jerked away, hands fisting, before he did the same to Cooper.

It took me a moment to calm down. I’d almost flipped out there. Rich people, not worrying if someone got in their personal space. I had to remember the napkin move was a thing. I reached in my bag for my phone to take notes. Cooper’s hand landed on mine. I shot my glance up.

“No phones.” He barely moved his lips, his voice almost a whisper.

I dropped the phone into my bag, and the bag at my feet. I looked around, checking the other tables. I didn’t see any phones. Shit.

“Seriously?” I hissed.

A corner of his mouth quirked up, his expression relaxing. “You wanted to know how to fit in here.”

My shoulders dropped. “How am I supposed to take notes?”

The grin faded from his face. “You’re not supposed to take notes. You’re supposed to learn this from the time you’re in diapers.”

Of course. And I didn’t. “Like you did?”

That expression on his face, was it mocking? Mocking himself, not me. “I did.”

I nodded.

“Okay. Do you drink?”

“Yes. I don’t know much about wine, and I hate gin.” My mother had loved it.

Cooper turned to another waiter who approached the table. He ordered a Briarwood lemonade and some kind of beer I wasn’t familiar with. I’d learned to drink with cheap beer, but I’d never gotten into all the crafty types that Darcy liked.

After the guy left us with menus, I leaned forward. “Is the beer for you?”

He nodded. Good.

The lemonade must have alcohol in it, but as long as it wasn’t gin, I’d be okay. I hoped. I leaned back to look at the menu. I’d just opened it when I felt Cooper kicking my shin.

I sat up, dropping the menu in front of me in case I wasn’t supposed to read it yet. “What is it?”

“Sit up straight.”

I glanced around. Everyone was sitting upright. Heaven forbid we be comfortable.

I sat up, making sure my back was straight.

“And don’t cross your legs. Ankles if you must.”

My jaw dropped and Cooper leaned over, a finger on my chin, closing my mouth.

“Why the hell would anyone want to belong to a place like this?” I asked softly, checking that the waiter wasn’t sneaking up on us.

“How else could you ensure you weren’t eating with someone who crossed their legs?”

It was a stupid answer, but it had been a stupid question. It was all about being exclusive. Setting up rules to identify and keep out anyone different. Someone like me. I needed to bluff my way through until I was a partner.

I opened the menu, making sure I wasn’t the least bit comfortable. Sitting up like this meant I had to hold the menu away from my boobs. I forgot about that once I started to read—the prices made my eyes widen. “I’m paying for the meal.” Cooper might have provided the clothes in a way that meant I couldn’t repay him, and this club wouldn’t take my money for lessons even if I offered, but this I could do.

Or not. Cooper was shaking his head. “You don’t do anything as plebian as pay at the end of the meal here, Calliope.”

I squinted at the use of my full name. “Then why are there prices?”

“It goes on your member account.” Which meant Cooper’s account.

Okay, they might not let me use my phone, but I would memorize the prices of our meals and force that much money on Cooper. But I didn’t know the prices of the drinks. I’d take the most I’d ever paid for a cocktail and triple it. That should cover it.

He seemed to read my mind. “Don’t even try. I have to spend a certain amount on food every month, or I get charged for it anyway. I don’t come here a lot, so I usually end up paying for nothing.”

This was too much. Way too much. I had to find a way to balance this deal. I earned things, so I knew they were mine. With this big an imbalance, I owed Cooper, and how could I repay him? Something inside me rebelled at the idea of taking advantage of this man the way others did.