Chapter 3: The Practice Round
The house was quiet when I got home, but the air felt different. It was heavy, like the humidity before a summer storm. I found Ashley in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly unbuttoning the white polo. She looked exhausted, her hair slightly frizzed from the humidity, but there was a flush in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun.
She didn't hear me walk in until I reached the doorway. She jumped slightly, her hands freezing on the fabric.
"You're home early," she said, her voice breathy. She quickly pulled the polo back together, though she didn't button it.
"I finished up at the office," I said, leaning against the doorframe, watching her. "How was it? Did you survive the golfers?"
She let out a long, shaky exhale and stood up, smoothing the navy skirt. Even from where I stood, I could see the faint outline of her skin where the sun had kissed her shoulders. "It was... a lot. A lot of walking, a lot of driving that cart. And the heat—it’s brutal out there."
"And the tips?" I asked, keeping my tone light.
She moved to the vanity and started pulling the hair ties out of her ponytail. "Good. Better than expected." She glanced at me through the mirror, her eyes guarded. "Some of these guys... they're bored, Justin. They just want someone to talk to while they drink their beer."
"Just talk?" I asked, walking over to stand behind her. I placed my hands on her shoulders. She was warm—almost hot—to the touch.
She stiffened, just for a second, then relaxed. "Mostly. They like to joke around. You know, old guys. They think they're funny."
"They stare?"
She looked down at the vanity, tracing the edge of her makeup bag with her index finger. "They’re men on a golf course. What do you expect? They notice the uniform."
"They notice the skirt," I corrected, my voice dropping. I watched her reflection. I saw her pulse jump at the base of her throat.
"Maybe," she whispered.
"Did you let them?"
She turned to face me then, her gaze intense. There was a secret playing on her lips, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk. She didn't say yes, and she didn't say no. She just leaned back against the vanity, her hands gripping the wood behind her. "One group kept me at the seventh hole for nearly twenty minutes. They bought three rounds of drinks. And they were... very appreciative of the service."
I felt a surge of something sharp—a mix of jealousy and intense, overwhelming curiosity. "Appreciative how?"
"They just... liked having me there," she said, her voice turning playful, dismissive. She shifted her weight, the movement causing the hem of that short skirt to hike up even higher on her thigh. She didn't bother to pull it down. "I just did what you said. I teased a little. I smiled when they looked. It’s harmless, Justin."
"Is it?" I asked, stepping into her space. I reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Because you look like you’ve been doing more than just pouring drinks."
She searched my eyes, looking for a lecture, looking for anger. When she didn't find it, her expression shifted. She looked almost... disappointed? Or maybe challenged.
"It's just a job," she repeated, though the words sounded thinner this time, less like a conviction and more like a defense. "You’re reading into it."
"Maybe," I murmured. "Or maybe you're not telling me everything."
She held my gaze for a long beat, her breathing shallow. She didn't admit to a thing, but she didn't deny it either. She just smiled—that slow, knowing smile that told me I was exactly right to be suspicious.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said, pushing past me toward the bathroom. "I'm exhausted."
I watched her walk away, the skirt swaying with each step. I knew she was hiding something. The way she wouldn't meet my eyes when I mentioned the staring, the way she was already anticipating the next time she’d be back on that course.
She thought she was playing it safe. But as I stood there in the quiet bedroom, I knew better. She was testing the water, and she had liked the feeling of it rising.