Can’t Fight Love

I slid the hand-picked, borderline-sheer dress over my smooth, tanned skin, and checked myself in the mirror.  The light pink color really complemented my dark features. Yes, I was hot. Newly divorced, 25, a body to kill, dark hair flowing down my back, twinkling  brown eyes and full lips. I’m not conceited, since I know I look like a wreck when I’m not dressed up, but I’ve got to work a two day member guest golf tournament as one of the only female employees, and my only job was to sell.  Newly divorced meant newly single for the first time in my adult life. I was relishing in the attention. I thought back to when I asked the manager what I should wear. Will's a kind man, older, married with kids. Shorter, stockier, but still handsome. When I asked him which dress I should wear, his answer will always go to what will increase revenue. He had a choice between a Stepford housewife-looking cotton dress that came to my knees, the respectable kind, or the tiny little pink cotton dress, and well I needed to sell a lot. It’s 5:30am and the drive to work is smooth. Being a single mom, I work 3 jobs to give my kids everything. I’m fortunate to have my kids spend the summer with their family across the country, giving me the ability to work from sun up to sun up. Between two golf courses and a cigar lounge, I work weeks straight from 7am to 3am with driving in between as my only me time, and I’m thankful for the small commute between them. Most of the time, it is the only peace I get aside from sleep. I arrived to the golf course, and naturally the stares and the calls and the 'Hey, Victoria's started right away. I smile flirtatiously, and reply with sweet 'hello's and continue my job stocking the cart with ice and beverages.  I’m going to make so much money today.  Walking into the cool pro shop, there are a handful of tasks that I help with. The manager is talking about the lineup for the day and I half pay attention, all the boring stuff that needs to get done, and it’s a lot. I mindlessly run my hands over the meticulously placed items. I know it's driving Will crazy, his OCD is out of control and I get a kick out of irritating him. “Why don’t you set up the check-in table, since you’ll be welcoming all the members and their guests” he eyes me to make sure I’m listening. “Yay me” I say with slight sarcasm, but I know if I greet them with a pretty smile, they’ll buy more alcohol “What do they get for gifts this year?” It’s a custom, and the gifts are always sought after. Last year it was an impressive rain coat with the club insignia. “This year we got cases of monogrammed golf balls and gloves.” He smirks because he knows exactly what I’m about to say. I'm known for my inappropriate humor.  “So I’ll be telling approximate 250 MEN that I have their balls.” And I smirk back.  I’m going to make so much money. After an hour of setting up and being approached to ask what the gift is, how I’m doing (I’ve been a part of this course for 11 years at this point) and getting hit on, I get asked to help with another task, help slide the name cards into the scoreboard.  I see one card that looks odd. The lettering is a little different. It’s squished to fit every letter. I read the card carefully, attempting to put a face with the names. M. Jones/ X. Balmacentura. I knew Mike. I had never seen that name before.  I turn to the manager, “Who is ‘X. Balmacentura?”  Usually it’s the same people year after year but for some reason this name was new.  “How do you not know Xavier?” The manager replied confused, "His family used to be members here, but they left. X comes with Mike to most of the tournaments." "I have never met him before."  Will chuckles. “He’s got a silver tongue with the ladies and loves the Miller lites” he winks at me and I understand. Man,  I’m gonna make a lot of f*****g money this weekend.  I did exactly what I was supposed to do. I welcomed every member and their guest. I got to say things like, "Enjoy your day, your balls are to the left" and "Have fun out there, don't forget your balls." It was quite entertaining. Mike Jones walks up, “Hey Victoria,” he says. He’s a quiet guy. And he’s by himself. “My partners running late,” I’m checking in for both of us."  “Great!” I say all little too eagerly. How rude, making the member wait. They were getting ready to tee off. “Welcome and your balls are to the left, that’s the gift this year, and a glove." Mike chuckles, "Where's Xavier when you need him." "See you out there Mr. Jones." and I smile. Let the games begin.