Jennie
Lisa's hearty laugh and half-closed eyes relaxed my shoulders. A person looking in the opposite direction knew she was attractive, with the right amount of those damn dimples, but her inner warmth drew me in and held me there. I knew small details from Lisa's home. She dropped workout clothes landfills but kept clean surfaces and put the toilet seat down. Dishes never built up in her sink, and she scrubbed her grill and smoker between uses. She was more domesticated than a short-haired cat. "I forget you have to be in PR mode. And yet..." I lifted our joined hands. "You invited me."
Her calloused thumb swiped rough arcs over the hills and valleys of my knuckles. My poor heart didn't know which direction to flip. "I meant it when I said I want to know you better. How the fuck did you get into yoga therapy?"
Genuine interest flashed in her eyes. "They're literal heroes who feel forgotten. If meditation helps one person deal better with their mental trauma, it's the highest compliment I don't deserve."
Lisa eyed me again, and her thumb prodded me with a gentle nudge. "Why don't you deserve compliments? You're making a difference. Those guys are lucky to have you."
For a moment, I forgot I was talking to Lisa. Her head turned, eyes shifting to mine for a brief stare, unfazed by the quicksand filling my stomach. She gave me an encouraging smile, but I dragged my gaze out the window. A dark-tinted view of white fences etched into rolling, manicured greens with directional signs and sponsor banners. Lisa's truck was a rusted eyesore compared to the luxury cars in line. "Blackhorse Golf and Country Club..." I mumbled as we passed its sign.
Waist-height natural glasses fluttered under gnarled, aged cypress trees and moss-haired willows. Further up the entrance road stood a fanfare of activity. A white inflatable arch with sponsor logos welcomed us. My eyes widened at the press crew encampment. Be nice, Jennie. Tits were strapped down. Smile pretty. Don't fall into a sand trap.
The moment I swung my feet into a thick wall of humidity, questions, camera snaps, and flashes were tossed at Lisa first, then me. Once the reporters pestered their last questions, Lisa hauled our bags out of her truck. "I got it." I insisted and grabbed mine.
She didn't resist, offering an amused smile that dissolved at Kendall thirty feet away. She signed in next to a tall drink of a dark-skinned man with brilliant white teeth, gleaming jewellery visible from the moon, and rocks for muscles. "Is that..."
Lisa grunted. "Devin Booker."
"Relax." I elbowed her. "I don't want his autograph."
Her smile pulled a string through my heart. "You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Nope." At the attendance table, I relaxed with a genuine smile at our foursome's other pair. I expected fate to hand us Kendall and her new boyfriend, but a squeal ripped from my lips at the sight of a familiar, and kind face. "Yuh-jung!?" I squeezed my arms around her. Coconut sunscreen infused with powdered deodorant filled my nose.
"I hoped you'd be Lisa's plus-one." She patted my back. "Hi, Jennie."
Before I corrected her downgrade, I blinked at her appearance. Anyone from class in regular street clothes was unnatural, including her white collared shirt, grey skort, and black sun visor poking out of her nest of grey curls. She waved at an older man in matching clothes who dragged two golf bags on hand carts.
"Jennie, my husband, Gary." We dropped our gear and shook damp hands. Yuh-jung patted his chest and beamed.
"This is the Jennie I've been telling you about."
Uh... oh.