KICK IT | JENLISA

70

Jennie

Thwack!

My bail rocketed off the tee, arched high, and bounced. Gary and Yuh-jung's dropped mouths only shut when it stopped four yards from the flag. Lisa's jaw stayed dropped, so I pushed it up with my gloved fingers. "Make me look good, partner."

She followed my St. Louis arch with a snake burner, straight, low, and twenty yards behind mine. Respectable. Despite carrying our team, our foursome was perfect. Gary and Yuh-jung played at Lisa's intermediate skill level. Our conversations between holes flowed as easily and naturally as our shots. The Youns could've been mine and Lisa's second family.

A few of Lisa's teammates rode by and taunted during her backswing. Their broad frames tucked in small carts were like bears riding a tricycle. I smiled at their insults to Lisa and relaxed more each hole.

In all golf dimensions, I kicked Lisa's ass. I forced a smile at Kendall and Devin's group at hole ten. Her bubble-gum pink outfit and blonde ponytail stepped out of a life-sized Barbie box. The torpedoes strained her sleeveless shirt. Devin sure got Lisa's money's worth. Round cheeks, pointy chin, and freckles painted her in a pretty, girl-next-door vibe. The bitch also stared at me, chewing her lip like cud.

Don't do it. Don't come over... bitch.

Kendall's approach sucked all the lightness out of our conversation. Her voice was so sweet, cavities eroded my ears. "Good to see you, Lisa."

Lisa's eyes dimmed, and her voice tightened. "Kendall. This is..."

"Jennie Kim." Her eyes scanned my face. "Jackson's sister."

I'd been called worse. Her eye sweep down to my toes made me bristle. I'd seen this look many, many, too many times in my class. The visual judgment tour. I rested my hands on the top of the club that I preferred to swing into her ovaries. "I'm Lisa's yoga instructor."

"Oh, even better." Her mouth tightened, and her eyes bored a hole between Lisa's eyes. "Nice to know that nothing's changed."

Lisa's sweaty hand splayed across my lower back. I wasn't sure if the stroke of her thumb in repetitive arcs was to calm me or herself, but I relaxed my shoulder into hers. "It's none of your business, Kendall." her flat voice wore enough chill to tell the bitch off.

"I guess this is the part where I say I hope that you're happy."

I wasn't sure what the best description of her pursed lips and scrunched-up nose was, but happy didn't cut the silicon mustard. "No." My eyes pointed at the open green. "It's the part where you turn around and tee off, bitch."

She tsked with a shake of her head. "Such a downgrade."

Oh, hell no! Only Lisa's grip on my elbow kept me from throwing hands, tackling Kendall into a sand pit, and playing pop the piñatas. Lisa's voice lowered and hummed in my ear. "Kendall, we don't have anything else to discuss. Walk away. Enjoy your game."

While she retreated, tail tucked between her legs, Lisa's hand lingered. A bead of sweat tickled my spine and collected at her contact point. I cupped my hand over my mouth at her horrible flubbed shot. "No shit stirring, huh?"

"No shit stirring." Her voice tickled my ear, and her fingers curled into the slack of my shirt. "Sorry."

My turning brought her hand to the back of my arm. I blinked up at the coy smile masking the tightness in her jaw. "Not your fault, for once."

"For once." She accepted my morsel of a compliment with a smirk and tucked her giant arms around me. Her hands cupped my lower back as her musky perspiration filled my senses. Her open collar offered a slide of her damp skin over my cheek. Wrapped in warmth, a thudding beat pressed into my chest. "Thanks for being here."

Yuh-jung's whistle broke us apart, making me jolt.

A reporter approached Lisa on the fourteenth hole. Of course, she took pictures when I reapplied my sunscreen one messy glob at a time. She couldn't have interviewed us when my makeup was fresh or before sweat trickled down my temples and ringed my armpits.

"You are... amazing, Ms. Manoban."

Within three questions, she vaulted Lisa to hometown hero and charitable saviour. Lisa fielded each question with such ease in her shoulders. My toes squirmed in my shoes as I gripped the grass during this comeuppance. I froze when she launched into the charity details, one deflected personal question at a time. The more Lisa spoke, the more guilt twanged in my chest. The humility in Lisa's words as she brought attention to the charity was unexpectedly refreshing and a punch in my conscience.

"Yes, all of my proceeds today benefit the Lalisa Pranpriya Manoban Foundation."

My stomach rolled to its limits, and sweat dotted my upper lip. The weight of what I hadn't told Lisa sank my shoulders. I was an awful friend and a more awful employee.

The reporter licked her lips like a raccoon salivating over open trash cans. "Your foundation?"

Lisa gave a curt nod. "Pranpriya is in memory of my great-grandmother and Lalisa is to honour my grandmother. I match every dollar of donations, which is why events like this golf classic are so important."

She what!? It's... I.... Oh... fuck. My throat collapsed and my stomach turned concave. She... named it to honour her family? And she... matched the donations? That humble pie grew into a pizza-sized pie. Not a dinky single-serving, but a giant mall pizza that required two hands to manoeuvre the droopy front. The cypress trees overhead called me to smash my forehead into their trunks. Why didn't I know that? Lisa's name wasn't listed on the charities' donor lists, only the general trust... which I had no idea was a direct tap from her finances.

Fuck, I was such an idiot. Shame seared my cheeks hotter than the sweltering summer. Weakness struck my knees and the turf swayed under my cleats. I deserved to be run over by every golf cart here. Put my head on every tee and whack away.