“Tell me what’s next, Greyson.”
“For what?”
“For you and Leah. Are you moving to her house? Your house? Where the hell does she even live?”
Well, shit. I can either tell him our marriage is a fake, that we did it for shits and giggles, or I can lie to Eli and make up some elaborate story about Leah and me. One look at Eli and I see that if I continue the charade, he’s liable to blow a gasket. This rivalry doesn’t seem like too much to some, but sponsors and the PGA picks up on animosity among the players and the last thing I want or need is for things to go too far. Maybe things have already.
Clearing my throat, I sigh heavily. “Leah and I aren’t married.”
His mouth drops open and he picks up his phone. He clicks the screens a couple of times and shows me the photo of Leah and I on social media. There is over two million likes and thousands of comments. Most of them say something like holy shit and there seems to be a lot of sad faces. “This says otherwise.”
“It’s fake.”
“Excuse me?”
“Okay, do you remember the night in the bar downstairs where that guy was messing with her?”
He nods.
“We left together and started talking. I made a bet with her. If I beat her at a game of golf, I got to take her on a date. We played the next morning, I beat her by one stroke, and yesterday we flew to Las Vegas for the day. I had plans to take her to dinner, wine and dine her, but best laid plans and all that. We were joking about getting married and we concocted a plan for a fake wedding.”
“And you somehow got her into your bed?”
I shake my head slowly. “I left her at her door, like a gentleman. She showed up, told me she wanted me. It’s not like I’m going to turn her away.”
“So, you win.”
I fiddle with the edge of my napkin. “I stopped playing the game a long time ago, Eli. Leah, she’s different from all the others out there. Just knowing she’s in the crowd makes me want to play better. I’ve been busting my ass for two years to impress her, to show her I’m not the guy her brother makes me out to be, and I’ve finally succeeded.”
After Eli left, I sent a text to Leah, asking her how breakfast went and if she wanted to meet up, and then I laid on my bed with intentions of taking a nap. But, like any love-struck fool, I kept checking my phone for a message from the girl I’m head over heels for. Every beep, phantom or not, had me clicking my passcode as fast as I could, only to see that I’ve manifested nothing. There isn’t a text, missed phone call or video chat from Leah.
I scroll through our pictures from Las Vegas. There aren’t many, but my favorite one, besides the one of us looking like a new married couple, is the one I snuck of her looking out the window. It’s of her back side, but to me, it’s perfect with how the sun illuminated her silhouette as if she were a goddess.
She is, at least to me.
When time keeps ticking by and I have yet to hear from her, a nap is no longer in my best interest—pacing is. For some reason, I think staying in my room is the best place for me, in case she returns, when in reality, I should be on the course practicing or doing something constructive.
Finally, there’s a knock at my door. This time, I’m a little more prepared and instead of opening the door hastily, I check the peephole and instantly wish I hadn’t. Bryan is on the other side and he’s not carrying a gift so I’m going to assume breakfast didn’t go all that well. Before I invite my new, yet fake brother-in-law into my room, I send Leah another text: Your brother is here. Should I be worried?
Of course, I’m worried, but not in the sense he’s here to maim me or anything. He has too much to lose if he does anything stupid. I inhale deeply, close my eyes to center myself and exhale as slowly as possible.
There’s another knock. This time I can tell it’s with his fist.
Fuck.
My hand pushes the handle down and I pull the door open, making sure my body is between the door and the wall, and my foot is blocking the door from going any farther. “Hey.” I’m as nonchalant as possible.
“Can I come in?”
I don’t know, can you?
I step back and hold the door for him, while biting my tongue on his improperly formed question. “What can I do for you, brother?” That’s a jab I never thought I’d get to take, but here I am, throwing it out there.