Seven Days

Chapter 2: Thursday-2

At the tee of the first hole, Reggie’s cheeks were flushed when the starter read out his name to the public. It always happened to him, and he was sure he would never get accustomed to hearing the presenters saying his name and people clapping before everyone fell into the silence that preceded the first stroke.

The air was crisp, which helped the boost he’d received by waking up at dawn and the cold shower: it woke him up completely, giving him the right energy. It was time to get serious, to show he wasn’t simply someone full of himself.

He ended the round at two under par, ending twelfth, tied with other players. A more than satisfying positioning. It was like the course was made for him.

“I think today you can make an exception and allow yourself a beer.”

He and Carlos had just shook hand with Hardy, Dubois, and their caddies on the eighteenth hole green and now they entered the clubhouse. The cool air conditioning was welcome.

Reggie shook his head. “I prefer orange juice,” he said with a half-smile.

Carlos headed to the bar counter to order, grumbling. “I hope that, if you ever win a tournament, you’ll allow yourself a glass of champagne.”

Reggie took a seat at one of the last free tables in front of the big windows, so he could observe the other players as they approached the last hole. Carlos returned within in minutes. They sipped from their glasses, then took out their notebooks and started studying the course for the second day.

“Number seven is definitely the toughest of the first nine,” the caddie commented, running so quickly through his notebook pages that they created a breeze.

“Yeah. It has an uphill green, on two levels, with a slope at the end and on the left,” Reggie agreed, looking at the notes he’d made about that hole. “But it depends where they put the flag pin tomorrow. Among the second nine, the worst are ten, twelve, and…”

Reggie’s voice died in mid-sentence, and every sound around him also seemed to stop. The only thing he heard was the beating of his heart, amplified in his ears.

“It’s the seventeenth,” Carlos finished the sentence for him. “But if it’s not windy and the flag’s position isn’t bad like today, for the seventeenth you could use…Reggie? What’s happening?”

Reggie’s gaze was fixed on the green below them. His mouth was slightly open, as if he were about to whisper something that had died in his throat, and his cheeks were flushed.

“Reggie?” the caddie repeated again, but the young man persisted in his silence. Carlos leaned over to better see out the window. “What’s so interesting at eighteen?”

Out on the course, Russell Lee was trying to make the putt of the day and end the hole with a birdie to keep his good ranking.

Reggie saw him discussing something with Mackenzie and then get ready to hit the ball. As Lee tried the grip and was getting ready to strike, Reggie leaned in closer to the glass, holding his breath, following the action with bright, expectant eyes. Observing his idol golfing in the flesh made him forget how arrogant he considered the man to be, wiping the slate clean.

In the end, Russell hit the ball and it rolled straight into the hole. He finished in fifth place. An outburst of clapping came from the public; Lee took off his cap, satisfied; and Reggie started to breathe again.

But his relaxation didn’t last long. A blonde woman, tall and slim, approached Russell from behind the white cords delimiting the area where the public couldn’t go. He pulled her closer and voraciously sought her mouth. She was Danielle Morton, his long-time partner. Only then could Reggie look away, bringing his gaze back to the notebook. Suddenly he felt sad.

“Let it go, honey,” Carlos advised him.

“I’m fine, Carlos, don’t worry about me.” He wrinkled his nose and started concentrating on his notes. “And now let’s think about the water obstacle at seventeen.”

But seventeen remained the center of his attention for less than three minutes, because Lee and Mackenzie made their entrance into the clubhouse. Reggie’s heart went mad again in his chest.

Please God, don’t let him see me…

But why would it be a problem, if he was seen? Surely Russell had already forgotten his face and what had happened the day before.

Lee shook many hands while heading to the counter.

Reggie tried his best to concentrate on the data and measurements in front of him, but failed. His couldn’t look away from Russell, from his white trousers or his orange polo. He felt magnetized by Russell’s presence; the more he tried to look somewhere else, the more his gaze veered back to that dark blond beard and smiling mouth. The man had hurt him, yet he was still interested.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

“Seriously, Reggie, he isn’t worth it,” he heard Carlos whispering.

“I already told you, I’m fine.”

He again started studying the drawing of hole seventeen, where he had struck the ball badly on the fairway, making it fall into the water but, even though he had just played the hole, he couldn’t remember any useful detail. His brain refused to cooperate.

“I can’t imagine you having an infatuation for Lee,” his caddie continued, undismayed.

“I’m not infatuated,” Reggie snapped. His voice was so high, he jumped in his chair. He felt embarrassment exploding on his face, while his heartbeat refused to slow down.

It was only admiration. Or was it?

He shook his head in a strange and childish kind of protest, and his heart and lungs decided to strike, refusing to work together. It took a moment, and when he looked up again, he looked straight into Russell’s blue eyes. From across the room, they studied him, owning him.

God, he is so incredibly beautiful. So damned virile…

Clearly Lee had recognized him. Reggie felt as embarrassed as he had the previous day and immediately averted his gaze, his skin flushing.

“Let’s go, we don’t have anything else to do here,” Carlos ordered, determined. He closed his notebook and stood up, after finishing his beer.

The young man nodded and followed him.

“Now you’re being reasonable, my friend,” his caddie said.

They headed for the exit, moving between the many people crowding the clubhouse. Reggie kept his eyes fixed in front of him, most of all when they passed Lee.

For a second he feared—he hoped—that the Brit would stop him, telling him something like, “I’m sorry for yesterday.” But it didn’t happen.

Stupid i***t…

A moment after, they were outside again, in the humid heat of Virginia.