Page 75 of Wedge

“Shut up, I’m good.” He pokes his head around the curtain, mohawk plastered flat, grinning wide enough that it does something warm and stupid to my chest. “Come here.”

“I just woke up. And I’ve got pins to check before your tee time.”

“Come here anyway, Daddy.”

That word, in daylight, stone sober. It knocks the air out of me.

I go, because I always will, and he pulls me under the water, laughing against my mouth when I yelp at the temperature, still humming that same off-key line under his breath like he can’t quite stop himself.

30

ADRIAN

I’m riding so high from last night, I might just have the biggest, smuggest smile on my face. And I don’t care who sees it. The clubhouse dining room is bright with Sunday-morning sun, the windows a little steamed, the air thick with coffee and bacon, and every player in the room has the same hollow-eyed, hopeful look. Except me. I look like I won the lottery.

“Gonna get us thrown out if you give me a hard-on,” Stephen says, grinning behind a forkful of breakfast burrito.

“You have a caddie bib, no worries at all,” I grin back.

“Adrian! Hey!”

I turn to greet Jeremy, the grin still on my face.

“Damn, someone had a good night. You look… fantastic this morning,” Jeremy says, a smirk spreading over his face as he leans forward to give me a fist bump.

I bump back enthusiastically. “That I did, that I did,” I agree, watching Stephen choke on a sip of coffee.

Jeremy looks at me for a moment longer, and I can see the effort to not look at Stephen. It’s costing him, but I don’t let on that I’ve noticed. His crush doesn’t threaten me. Especially this morning.

“Round four today,” Jeremy says, recovering himself, sliding into the seat across from us like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You feeling it? Or are you too busy floating to notice you’re playing golf later?”

“Little of both.” I steal a piece of Stephen’s toast, and he swats my hand with little conviction. “How about you? Still top ten?”

“Barely. Margins are getting thin up there.” He glances at the leaderboard on his phone, jaw tight before he shakes it off. “Whatever happens today happens. If I’m not top five, getting an exemption into Miles Ferry in January would be great. Grind for the Pro Card next Spring. Bobby Kohles is playing lights out, apparently. Guy’s a machine.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Optimist.” He says it like an accusation, but he’s smiling when he does. His eyes flick toward Stephen again, quick, unguarded for half a second before he catches himself and looks back at me instead, cheeks going faintly pink.

Stephen, to his credit, pretends not to notice, leaning over to swipe the toast back.

“You guys, uh.” Jeremy clears his throat, looks down at the table like it’s suddenly fascinating. “You’ve been together a while?”

“Since summer. Feels longer.”

“That’s… nice.” Same word he used yesterday, same wistful note underneath it, and this time I don’t let it slide past without saying something.

“You good, man?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, then glances toward Stephen one more time, quick and helpless, before standing up fast enough to nearly knock his chair over. “I should go warm up. See you at the tee.”

He’s gone before either of us can say anything else, and Stephen finally looks up from his coffee, eyebrows raised.

“He’s got it bad,” Stephen says quietly, once Jeremy’s out of earshot. He nudges my foot under the table, something soft in his expression. “Poor kid’s got a crush and nowhere to put it.”

I glance toward the door Jeremy just disappeared through.

“Dunno how to help, though,” I say softly.