One Last First Date

by Kate O'Keeffe

“Yeah. I really wish I hadn’t told the whole team about it.” What I meant was I wished I hadn’t told Will about it. I should have known he would use it against me. “And anyway, it wasn’t an underwear malfunction. They didn’t fly off me or some other bizarre state of affairs.” I squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable we were discussing my underwear.

  “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Really. He’s a lucky guy.”

  I snapped my head up. “Why do you say that?” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. This had to be the lead into some kind of dumb joke at my expense. Well, I wasn’t going to fall for it. No way. Not this time.

  He shrugged. “Just that you care enough about him to go to all this effort to impress him.”

  “And?” I lead. “What’s the punchline?”

  He shook his head at me, smiling. “Just that. What? Can’t I say something nice, Dunny? Jeez.”

  “You can. It’s just you don’t. At least not to me.” I knew I sounded like a wounded puppy, but I couldn’t help it. Will was always teasing me and calling me by that stupid nickname. I found it thoroughly disconcerting when he was actually nice to me.

  “It’s just you’re so easy.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned at me. I couldn’t help but reciprocate. He was right, I was easy to wind up, especially where he was concerned. Perhaps I needed to loosen up a bit, join in the fun?

  “And besides, we’re archrivals for the job. I need to get in as many potshots as I can.”

  I frowned. I wanted the Regional Manager’s job almost as much as I wanted to marry Parker. “So you can make my life a living hell before I get to be in charge of you and kick your butt into next week?

  He laughed. “Something like that, Dunny.”

  “You know, it’s kind of weird we’re out to dinner together, when you think about it.”

  “I guess. We can still be friends, though, right?”

  I nodded. Being Will Jordan’s friend was never something I’d aspired to. But there was something about him that seemed genuine, different. I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Sure,” I said, smiling.

  “You really want that job, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Why else would I have applied?” What was he, stupid? Of course, I wanted to be Regional Manager. It was something I’d been working toward since I joined the company—a long time before the likes of Will Jordan was on the scene.

  The music changed to a song I recognized, “Jailhouse Rock” by Elvis Presley. Will started bobbing his head and tapping the table. I smiled. “Like the oldies, do you?”

  “What? Oh, the music. Yup. Can’t go past a bit of The King. My pops was a big fan, so it was practically the law to like him in my house.”

  “Mine, too. Must be an old guy thing. Did your grandpa live with you?”

  “Well, I lived with him. He and my nan brought me up.”

  The atmosphere changed.

  He continued to tap and bob his head as though it was no big deal.

  “How old were you when you went to live with them?”

  “I was seven. You see, my parents were killed in a car accident. My grandparents took me and my brother in. I lived with them until I left school.”

  My chest felt tight at the thought of Will as a seven-year-old, losing both his parents in one horrific, devastating blow. Just like that: gone. My eyelids felt hot. I blinked. “I’m sorry.”

  Will shrugged. “It’s okay. Sure, it sucked at the time, but my brother and me? We were just fine. Our grandparents were awesome; we were just like a regular family, only they were a heck of a lot older than the other soccer parents. And look at me now?” His palms up, he leaned back against the booth. “You’ve got to say I turned out pretty good.”

  I smiled, shaking my head. “If I agree with you, I’ll only feed your already enormous ego. And if I don’t agree with you, I’m a heartless witch. Right?”

  He grinned. “Exactly. So which is it?”

  Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I replied, “You turned out great.”

  He slapped his hands together. “Yeah, I did.”

  We both laughed. Perhaps it was the fact he’d opened up about his family to me, or perhaps I just felt sorry for the little orphaned boy he was? But, in that moment, something changed between us.

  I watched as Will got back to the serious business of looking like a total goofball, nodding and tapping to the music, this time adding in a bit of a shoulder jiggle.

  I let out a chuckle. “Did you learn those moves from your pop?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Join me out here, Dunny. Loosen up a bit.”

  I glanced around the room. No one I recognized. What could it hurt? Against my better judgment, I began to nod my head up and down. Elvis had moved onto “Hound Dog” by now, and Will had added hand movements to his repertoire, looking more and more like he had lost his mind. “Come on, Dunny!” he encouraged.

  I shook one shoulder, then the other. Before I knew it, I was shimmying to The Pelvis complaining about his hound dog crying all the time, enjoying myself. Of course, we looked like a couple of patients who had escaped from a loony bin, but in that moment, I couldn’t have cared less.

  Our seated dance off was interrupted by our waitress delivering our burgers. “You two look like you’re having a good time,” she commented as she placed my burger in front of me.

  I gave her an embarrassed smiled. “Ah, yes. Thanks. It looks great.”

  “Well, you two enjoy.”

  “Oh, we will,” Will said. The waitress turned and left. “Dig in.”

  “Try and stop me, ‘Poop Boy’. These look amazing.” I picked up my burger and took my first bite. “Oh, my god. This is so good!” I exclaimed, my mouth still full.

  He grinned at me. “I know, right?”

  We sat in companionable silence as we devoured our burgers, pausing only to comment on how good the food was.

  “Is it just that I’m ravenous or is this the best burger the world has ever known?”

  Will chuckled, wiped some sauce from his lips with a napkin. “They are pretty good. I’m surprised you haven’t been here before, being such a burger connoisseur.”

  “I don’t come to this side of town much, to be honest.”

  “Well, you will be for the next seven days.”

  Every last crumb of my burger consumed, I sat back in the booth, my hands on my full belly as I rested my head against the vinyl backing. “That was divine,” I declared with a sigh.

  Will grinned at me. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  For the first time since we arrived, I looked around the restaurant as Will finished off his plate of fries and I sipped my shake. I took in the booths, the fifties-style jukebox, the Tiffany rip-off lampshades. Even though it was after nine, the place was packed with people, clearly enjoying the food as much as we did. It felt comfortable, relaxed, cozy. Like the Cozy Cottage. “This place has a great feel to it. I like it.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’ve been coming here for a while now. Best burgers in town.”

  I grinned at him. “Amen to that!”

  For the next few nights, we followed the same routine: Will telling me what I was doing wrong at the driving range, then dinner together afterwards before heading home. My golf was improving, although not at the rate I’d have liked. I may not be a gifted sportswoman by any stretch of the imagination, but I could usually pick up a new sport quickly. Golf, however, was proving to be trickier than most.

  Will continued to make jokes at my expense, but instead of biting, I gave it straight back. And you know what? It was liberating. I was having fun, and I liked it.

  But, of course, he persisted in calling me Dunny, even when he introduced me to some of his friends when they took a cubicle next to us one evening.

  “Actually, my name is Cassie,” I corrected, raising my eyebrows at Will as I quietly clenched my fists at my sides. Will might be Mr. Nice Guy these days, but he could at least use my proper name when introducing me to new people.
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  “Really? Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Cassie,” Will’s smooth-looking friend, The Joffster—another nickname, so who knew what the name his parents gave him was?—said.

  I looked at him in alarm. “What do you mean, ‘finally meet me’? What’s Will said about me?” I looked from The Joffster to Will. He glanced down at his feet momentarily before looking back up. I narrowed my eyes at him. Of course, he’s feeling sheepish. He’d told his friends about this lame chick he needs to train, the one he thinks he’s going to beat to the Regional Manager’s job.

  “Is that the time?” Joffster said, glancing at his watch. “Wow, I should really get on with taking some shots here. Got to get back to the Missus by nine. Nice to meet you, Dunn—Cassie.”

  I watched as The Joffster—I mean, what a stupid name!—spun back to his friends in the cubicle and started rummaging through his golf bag. I turned to face Will, crossing my arms and fixing him with my steely glare.

  He avoided eye contact with me. “Well, I think we should call it a night, don’t you? It’s been a good session, but it’s getting late.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Sure.” I packed up my bag as Will chatted with The Joffster, making plans to play pool on Saturday night.

  We walked in silence back to our cars.

  “Well, this is me. See you tomorrow.”

  Will paused, hovering next to my car as I flung my bag in the backseat. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, puzzled.

  I let out a sigh. “Look. You’ve been great, helping me out with all this. And I appreciate it, really I do.”

  “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming up?”

  I pursed my lips. “I don’t appreciate being the butt of the jokes with your friends.”

  “That wasn’t the ‘but’ I was referring to.” He shot me a cheeky grin.

  I rolled my eyes and slammed the car door firmly shut. “Okay, whatever.”

  He looked unexpectedly serious in the evening dusk. “Don’t worry about what The Joffster said. You’re not the butt of any joke.”

  Hands on hips, I asked, “Really?” my voice dripping in sarcasm.

  “Really.”

  I studied his face for a moment. He looked genuine, but what did I know? Will Jordan had gone from being the bane of my work existence to my golf tutor and friend and back again. If you asked me which way was up, I’d get it wrong. Confused didn’t begin to explain the current state of my brain. “All right. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. And, err, thanks for the lesson tonight.”

  “You know you’re doing great.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Still can’t tempt you with a bite to eat? I know a great Thai.”

  My tummy rumbled. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to have an early night.”

  “Your loss. There’s a green chicken curry with my name on it. Let’s work on your short game tomorrow after work.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  He turned to walk away, calling, “See you, Dunny,” over his shoulder in his usual light-hearted tone.

  “See you, Man of Mystery,” I said to myself as I watched him reach his car, throw his bag in the back, get in, and drive off.

  * * *

  We “worked on my short game” the following evening in the office once everyone had gone. Will set up an obstacle course with cups for me to putt my pink golf balls into, which proved so much harder and more irritating than whacking the heck out of a ball at the driving range. It was a whole different skill, one of which I was unlikely to get the hang of before I played with Parker on Saturday morning—three short days away.

  Will was his usual sarcastic, joking self, and I tried my best to hold my own and not react the way I used to. But something had changed. Although I tried to let it go, I couldn’t get The Joffster’s comment out of my head. I didn’t like being some laughable charity case one little bit.

  “Hey, Will?” I asked once we’d packed up the cups and returned the office to its proper order.

  “Yup?”

  “I can’t make it for the next couple of nights. I’ve got a dinner and a . . . another dinner. But I wanted to say thanks for all you’ve done for me. I may not be as good as you, but I think I can hold my own now. So.”

  “Hey, no worries. The big game’s on Saturday, right?”

  “It is. So, I’ll see you tomorrow at work?”

  “Sure. Have a good night.”

  I shrugged my jacket on, collected my purse, and walked to the elevator. Once I’d pressed the button, I looked back. I could see Will through his office window. He was already sitting at his computer, reading his screen intently, clearly accepting my story about two dinner engagements over the coming evenings. I let out a sigh. That man was beyond confusing. One moment he was going out of his way to be incredibly nice to me, dedicating hours of his free time to help me learn golf. The next moment, he’d talked to his friends about me, no doubt telling them all about how I’m some clueless charity case. I cringed. They probably all knew about my first date underwear fiasco, too!

  And then there was the fact we were rivals for the Regional Manager’s job. No. This was getting too hard. As the doors opened and I stepped into the elevator, I made a decision: keep Will Jordan at arm’s length. Anything else was simply too bamboozling for me.

  Chapter 14

  BY THE TIME MY golfing date with Parker rolled around, I knew I wasn’t going to set the golfing world on fire and become the next . . . whoever a famous female golfer was (Tiger Woods’s sister? Mother? Cousin? Oh, I know, Lydia Ko! That’s who). That said, I could hit the ball while holding on to my club, which, let’s face it, was a major milestone for me.

  Despite our weirdness and my decision to back away, Will had written out a list of which club to use when, and I had studied and studied it, even practicing pulling each club out for different shots in my living room at home.

  Early Saturday morning I sized myself up in my bedroom mirror, taking in my new, sensible pink golf polo shirt and matching skirt combo and my long auburn hair, which I had swept up into a high ponytail. A pair of white ankle socks and uncomfortable, deeply unattractive golf shoes completed the ensemble. A bit on the cutesy slash preppy side of the fashion equation—in fact, add some makeup so I looked like a doll and this look would go down pretty well in Harajuku circles in Japan—but I certainly looked the part.

  A beep of a car horn from outside my window told me Parker was waiting. I collected a sweater and visor from the end of my bed and slung my clubs over my shoulder. I headed out the door, down the stairs to Parker in his sensible, marriage-material Volvo. No flashy, rumbling status symbol for him.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Parker said with a kiss once I was safely in my seat. “Are you all set?”

  “Absolutely. This is going to be so much fun.” And, potentially, a complete disaster.

  “I know. The fact you play golf makes this all feel so . . . so right.”

  I looked into his eyes as my heart gave a little squeeze. Today could very well be The Day. Date thirteen might just be the charm.

  We arrived at the club, a stately building with large columns set on, well, a golf course. Having never actually been to a course before, I was immediately swept up in the romance of the place, with its perfectly-manicured lawns and big old trees. Parker had a regular “tee off” at seven a.m. every Saturday with a couple of old medical school pals. I was nervous about meeting them; this would be the first time I had met any of his friends, other than Marissa’s brother, who wasn’t invited as he apparently was, and I quote, “a total hack.” I tried not to wonder what he would think of me by the end of the morning.

  Once inside the club, we were approached by two men about my age. They slapped Parker on the back and greeted me with enthusiasm. It felt nice.

  “Cassie, this is Hunter and Geoffrey. Friends from medical school and pretty poor golfers.”

  They chorused their hellos, and I watched as Parker and his two friends enjoyed some friendly bant
er about golf, most of which went completely over my head.

  As we walked across the lawn to our tee, Hunter and I chatted. He was the shorter and dumpier of the pair, with a kind smile and round, tortoise-shell glasses. “How long have you been playing golf?” he asked.

  “Not long.” Eleven days, to be precise.

  “Oh, I thought Parker said you were a golfer? I must have gotten that wrong.”

  I smiled at him and changed the subject. “You’re a doctor, too, Hunter?” Doctor Hunter. I almost giggled.

  “Yes. I did my training with Parker and Geoffrey at the University of Auckland back in the day. I moved into obstetrics, though.” He raised his voice so the others could hear. “None of this easy general practitioner stuff. Obstetrics is actual work.”

  “Ha! Try strep throat, possible bird flu, and a bad case of hemorrhoids. And that was all before lunch.”

  And so the doctor banter continued until they all fell silent when the important business of teeing off rolled around.

  “Would you like to go first, Cassie?” Parker asked. “This hole is a par three, so shouldn’t be too taxing to start off.”

  “No, no. You all go first. I’m crashing your regular match.” My smile dropped when I noticed all three men shared a look. Did I say something wrong?

  “All right. In that case, Hunter, you tee off first, followed by myself, and then Geoffrey. You’ll need to go last, Cassie, is that okay?” Parker’s eyes were soft, encouraging.

  “Fine by me.” I smiled at him. That way I could study their form and copy it. Perfect.

  Hunter placed his tee in the ground and the ball on top. I watched as he plucked a bit of grass out of the ground and threw it in the air. Some weird golfer’s ritual, I assumed. Something to do with wind. In Wii Golf, they tell you the speed of the wind. This could be tricky.

  I watched as Hunter pulled out a club and got into position, doing that same cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof move Will had done at the driving range. With his plump midriff, white pants, and black golf shoes, he looked a lot like a penguin about to dive into the ocean. I was forced to stifle another giggle.