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Adam
I hip bump Ariel on the sixth hole of Tiger's Putt-Putt mini-golf. The brilliant move is perfectly timed just as she swings her club forward, causing her purple golf ball to slam the side of the giant windmill in the middle of the plastic green. Her giggle is the best sound I've heard all day.
Gone are the skeptical clinched shoulders of the first hole. The we're here, so I might as well try it, second hole glare. By the fourth hole, she had transformed into this get out of my way, I'm going to beat the crap out of you competitive wild child.
"Two can play that game," she says, chasing me around the windmill and swiping her club at my red ball resting three inches from the hole. The diverted ball makes a loud plop sound as it touches down in a water hazard ten feet away.
"I can't believe you just did that." I race at her. She drops her clubs, performs a move worthy of an NFL running back, and darts around the windmill. I follow her and catch her when she pauses to avoid the spinning blades. I wrap my arms around her waist, and she does something I would never expect. She takes my momentum, kicks her feet up onto the windmill, and leaps into the air. It's a daring move worthy of her fearless reputation. Her unrestrained laughter is on display for the entire world, yet I'm the lucky one to receive it. I lift her and spin, my laugh joining hers, forming the greatest duet I've ever heard.
It's still before noon, and we're the only two on the greens at this hour. Like most shops in a beach town, most of their clientele arrive in the late afternoon and early evening, after spending the day on the beach.
"Put me down, Adam," she demands between fits of giggles.
"Only when you admit I'm the Putt-Putt champion."
I swing her higher, and her hair flies across my face. I'm blinded, but it doesn't matter. She's in my arms, and I'm going to hold on as long as I can. She kicks off the side of the windmill with a force that causes me to lose my balance. We tumble backwards. I cradle her to cushion the fall, and we land on the hard asphalt turf.
"That's what you get for manhandling me." She lies on top of me, her back pressed against my chest. She tilts her chin to her shoulder looking back. "You okay?" Her body relaxes. She rests her head back on my chest, a warmth I'm learning to cherish seeping into my soul. I'm in no rush to move, but what surprises me is, neither is she.
My body tingles, and I finger the bottom of her tank top. I brush across the skin of her exposed belly. An electric spark shoots through me, alerting me to the danger of our position. I tug on the hem of the shirt and cover the dangerous distraction.
"Ever the gentleman, huh?" Her question fades into the humid air. "Are you sure you're related to Laredo?"
I lean back on my elbows and watch Ariel stand. The last thing I want to do is think of my brother. Not when Ariel's body had just been pressed against mine.
"We both were raised to know what's right. Only one of us acts on it." I give her the line I once thought I'd make bumper stickers for– I would have been a millionaire.
Ariel steps to the water trap, not hesitating a second before plunging her hand into the murky water that looks as if it hasn't been cleaned since last summer.
"Do you always do the right thing?"
I don't respond and let her question marinade. I'm far from perfect and have made a ton of mistakes. She's just described my personal brand. The motto of what everyone expects, the obedient, rule-following brother.
I decide to give her a non-direct reply. "Maybe I should adopt your Devil May Care attitude." She places the ball an inch from the cup, ensuring a gimme shot.
"The dark side comes at a cost."
I snicker and sink the putt. "Yeah, awful things such as worldwide acclaim and a rabid fan base." I walk to her golf ball, pick it up, and place it in the same spot she had placed mine. When she doesn't step to the ball, I wave a hand toward it for her to take the shot.
She spins her golf club, grabs it by the end, and points the handle at the ball. "You really are a good guy, Adam. This isn't some act for you, is it?"
"It's just a putt. I bumped into you when you were shooting. It's not that serious."
She takes a slow stroll onto the green and lines up next to the ball. My eyes won't behave. They glide up her long, shapely legs. I count the seven star tattoos on her upper thigh. One for each member of her band. My gaze rests on her swinging hips as she addresses the ball. She wiggles like a fantasy from my dreams, and my breath shortens.
She taps the ball, and it drops in the cup on top of mine. We both reach into the cup to retrieve our balls at the same time. Our fingers intertwine, and we both pause. I look up at the same moment she does, our noses an inch away from each other. A whisper gasp escapes her mouth before she smiles.
"It's never just a putt." Her wistful whisper is filled with innuendo and opportunity. She rises, and the tips of my sneakers tap the front of her sandals. "Your actions reflect your values. I see you, Adam."
Her long lashes bat at me, and she pauses as if ceding this moment to me. If this were anyone other than Ariel, I would know what to do.
But this can't be right. The swirl I feel in my stomach is just confusion. I'm the nice guy, and girls like her don't settle for guys like me. She can let words slip out that would have other guys act because I'm the nice guy. The guy she can lower her guard and be vulnerable. The guy that's safely wrapped in plastic in the friendship zone.
I reach into my rear pocket and pull out the scorecard. I scratch out an update with the tiny pencil. "Well, the scorecard says I'm whipping your butt. Do you see that?"
I lift the card in front of her face, but not high enough to miss the flash of disappointment on her face before she paints on a plastic smile. She runs her hand through her hair, pushing a tendril around her ear.
She looks away, taking in the rest of the course, and I see the wheels turning. She's not the only person who sees what hides in plain sight.
