Page 65 of Iron

“Thank you,” he says, in the careful, formal voice he uses for the press.

“Your swing's better than his.”

“That’s… Thank you.”

She pats his shoulder one more time for good measure and wanders off toward a booth, and I'm laughing before she's even out of earshot, laughing hard enough that Gavin turns and gives me a look.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“TJ.”

“It's just funny, that’s all. You get thirty seconds of that and you look like you're being taken hostage.” I take a sip of my water, still grinning. “Meanwhile, Denny had his hand on me for a hot minute, and you looked like you wanted to fight him in the parking lot.”

“That's different.”

“How is that different.”

“Because.” He says it like it's obvious, like it settles something. “You're mine. She's just a customer being nice to a golfer.”

“He was just a waiter being nice to a regular.”

“He was being handsy.”

“He pats everybody like that. He's been doing it since I was fifteen.”

“I don't care how long he's been doing it.” He shakes his shoulders, looking like he is trying to shake off his irritation.

He doesn't say anything more, just drinks his tea and glares faintly at the kitchen window until the food comes out. When it does, he has a plate the size of a hubcap, green chili running off both edges. He forgets all about Denny.

I do my best to put away most of my meal, but my taste buds are still off and my stomach gets full faster than usual. I must do well enough, though, as Gavin eyes my plate without reprimand.

“Finished?” he asks, scraping the last of his green chili with a wedge of toast.

I nod and push my plate away.

“You did pretty good,” he says, tugging it over to himself to pick through the rest of the biscuit. An odd flutter goes over me at the sight of him eating the remains of my meal, like an old married couple.

“Ok, so,” I start. “I like you being growly and possessive, but I also need you to trust me.”

His jaw flexes, but he turns his full attention to me. “Fair.”

“I love you taking care of me, making sure I eat, absolutely need you to be in charge in the bedroom. But you don’t have to go caveman on me in a diner,” I continue. “I love you, Gavin. Maybe I don’t say it enough?”

He tugs me forward to press his forehead to mine. “Don’t know why I got so possessive. That is new for me. I will work on it. No Neanderthals in diners. Got it. How’d you get so wise?”

“Therapy,” I chirp, and I get the expected chuckle.

Enough heavy stuff.

“We hitting Ben’s Friday Fish Fry tomorrow?” I ask.

He eyes me suspiciously. “We can do the Fry, but no golfing. You’re not ready yet.”

I know he is right. Just the climb up a few stairs gets my lungs hacking like I’m a chain smoker. I try not to fret about the Miles Ferry Tour continuing on without me, without the chance to earn more points towards my pro card. With other players climbing into the top thirty. I’m so close, and missing most of September is frustrating.

“No golfing,” I agree. “Maybe next week?” I try to sound like I mean it, like I'm not doing math on points standings in my head while I say it.