Fore Play

by Julie Cannon

  Several hours later, she and the other women were taken, again in handcuffs, this time secured to a chain around their waist, to a courtroom and instructed to sit in metal folding chairs in what looked like a jury box. The proceedings began, and one by one the women, along with their attorneys, faced the judge. Each one’s case number and charges were read for the record, and when asked how they pled, they all claimed their innocence. When Peyton’s name was called, she calmly stood beside Lerner and, under his specific direction, repeated that she too was pleading innocent. This had been a major argument between her and Lerner. Peyton fully intended to accept whatever was the punishment for her actions. Lerner had finally convinced her to plead innocent and said that he would explain everything to her later.

  Her attorney successfully argued that she was not a flight risk nor a risk to society, and her bail was set at three million dollars. It took another few days for her parents to post her bail, and it was well after noon the following day when she was released to a media frenzy.

  The anticipation of a trial polarized the community, the nation, and even as far away as South Africa. There was an equal split between those who wanted to see all charges dropped and those who wanted Peyton burned at the stake. People holding signs bearing the words VIGILANTE and MURDERER in bold, block letters jockeyed for position with those that were equally supportive crowding the steps to the courthouse. Microphones were stuck in her face, and, if not for her father and her lawyer, she would not have been able to move through the throngs of people on the sidewalk.

  After weeks of negotiations between the prosecutor and her attorney, Peyton pleaded guilty to voluntary manslaughter. The judge sentenced her to fifteen years in prison, and the heavy metal door, and her life, slammed behind her.

  Peyton sat up in bed, her breathing ragged, sweat dripping off her forehead. It took a few moments for her to realize she was in her own bed, not a cold, hard cot in a skanky cell. She got up and turned on the lights in her apartment, quietly chanting the mantra she’d created in Nelson to calm herself. She murmured one word per step, with fifteen steps in total. Back and forth she walked across her apartment until her heart rate slowed and her breathing returned to normal. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, so she sat down at her kitchen table and opened her well-worn deck of cards. She found it ironic that she played solitaire for hours.

  Chapter Six

  “Peyton, I need to fill in a foursome,” Marcus said.

  Peyton stepped away from the counter and looked at her brother.

  “We’ve had a last-minute scratch, and the group is asking for a single. We had one, but he’s already paired up.”

  Peyton sighed. As much as she loved playing, she’d rather get her tips from the cart. She needed the money. “Sure,” she said easily. Marcus needed her, and she wasn’t going to let him down. “Let me get my gear.”

  She hustled to her truck and pulled her golf bag and shoes from the passenger side. The clubs clanged together as she hefted the strap of the bag over her shoulder and shut the door. She hurried back to the clubhouse, mentally preparing for the round she was about to play.

  A few minutes later she joined her foursome on the first tee. Their tee time was in eight minutes, but she wanted to at least introduce herself before then. As she approached the group, two of the team looked vaguely familiar.

  One of the women looked her way and smiled expectantly. “Are you our fourth?”

  “Yes. Peyton.” She extended her hand to the woman. She was an attractive woman in her mid-forties, dressed in a royal-blue Nike golf shirt and white capris.

  “Hilde Rochelle.” The woman shook Peyton’s hand and almost crushed it, her grip so tight. “This is Jill and Leigh.” She introduced the other women, and Peyton was surprised and pleased to see Leigh Marshall was one of them.

  “We’ve met,” Leigh said, shaking her hand. “But not officially.”

  Tingles ran up Peyton’s arm, and her pulse picked up.

  “You’ve been holding out on us, Leigh.” Hilde’s eyes moved up and down Peyton’s body. “We’ll be expecting all the details over cocktails.”

  Leigh had the politeness to blush at the innuendo. “It’s not like that. Peyton, uhh…uhh…works here,” she said finally. “Jill and I met her a couple of weeks ago.”

  Peyton had gotten very good at reading people and what was between the lines, and she detected more than a little unease in Leigh. Obviously, she didn’t want Hilde to know she drove the beverage cart. Fine with her. She didn’t need their approval. They could judge her on her game instead.

  “What do you do?” Hilde asked, the look in her eye conveying her renewed interest now that it was clear it wasn’t like “that” between her and Leigh.

  “I’m one of the pros,” Peyton answered. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Leigh’s surprise.

  Hilde stepped close to Peyton, running her fingernail down her arm. As she passed she said, “I’ll bet you could teach me a thing or two.”

  Peyton looked at Leigh and was surprised to see anger flare in her eyes before disappearing as fast as it had arrived.

  “Jesus, Hilde. Give it a break,” Jill said, placing her neon-orange golf ball on her tee. “Let’s play. Loser buys the first round.”

  It was clear to everyone that Hilde was not going to give it a break, and after missing her birdie putt on the fifth green, Peyton pulled her aside.

  “I appreciate your interest, Hilde, but I’m not in the market for anything or anyone right now.” Peyton kept her voice low and conversational. She’d mastered the art of saying something without really saying it loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Hilde replied, a look of surprise on her face.

  Peyton wondered if everyone Hilde came on to fell under her spell and into the sheets with her. Since losing her freedom, Peyton preferred to be the one in control in all aspects of her life, especially her sexual partners. She was the pursuer, always went to their place, and never, ever spent the night. She had an understandable yet debilitating fear of waking up and somehow being back in prison. She felt safe in her apartment, where she could toss and turn and wake from nightmares without embarrassment—or explanation.

  After almost nine months, she was still restless and slept with one eye open. At least the nightmares of her release being nothing but a dream had subsided. Now they occurred only once or twice a week instead of every night.

  “If this were a different time, it might be another story, but…” She let her explanation drop, its meaning evident.

  “I bet I can change your mind.” Hilde’s voice was husky as she stepped closer to her.

  “I appreciate it, but no thanks,” Peyton said strongly and hopefully clear enough.

  “Hilde, for God’s sake, leave her alone,” Leigh said over Peyton’s right shoulder.

  Peyton spun around more out of defense than guilt. No one had snuck up on her in over ten years, and it shook her. How had Leigh gone from the other side of the green to right behind her without her knowing it?

  “She said no, and unlike your other conquests, she probably means it.”

  Hilde shot daggers at Leigh before practically stomping to her ball.

  “Doesn’t get told no much?” Peyton asked, her nerves still on edge.

  “Actually, never, at least as far as I know, or she says,” Leigh added, shaking her head and watching Hilde stalk away. “Sorry about that.”

  Peyton waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. No big deal.”

  Leigh looked at her, dark eyes burning a trail up and down Peyton’s body. “I’m sure you get hit on all the time. Oh, God,” Leigh said, covering her face with both hands. “I didn’t just think that, did I?”

  Peyton chuckled. “Nope, and thanks.”

  “God, I’m so embarrassed.” Leigh’s hands muffled her voice.

  “No need. And thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  “I doubt you rarely need
rescuing either.”

  Peyton’s insides warmed at the sound of Leigh’s voice and the friendly, stress-free conversation. She’d had to watch what she said and to whom at Nelson, and almost as much now. No one wanted to date an ex-con, sleep with one, or even be around one. Peyton was saved from making further comment as it was Leigh’s turn over the putter.

  “You said you were one of the course pros. Does that mean you give lessons?” Jill asked three holes later. She squinted at Peyton through her thick-lensed prescription sunglasses as Leigh was lining up to hit her tee shot on the next hole.

  “Yes, I do.” Peyton had been watching Leigh swing the club for the last few holes and noted that, with some minor adjustments, she could lengthen her drive by at least twenty-five yards. With a few more changes, she could increase the loft of the ball as it traveled through the air.

  “Leigh has to play a lot of golf with the people she works with, and she has a big round with the president of her company in a few weeks that she’s really nervous about.”

  Peyton frowned, trying to see what that had to do with her previous question. “What does she do?”

  “She’s a big VP and does something in IT. It’s too technical for me, but she’s obviously really good at it.”

  Peyton still had no clue how this all tied together. Maybe it didn’t, she thought. Maybe Jill was simply making conversation. The pace of the changes in technology since she’d been in Nelson was absolutely mind-boggling—and scary. She’d had one of the original iPhones before she went in, but Bluetooth, iCloud, and web mail were completely new to her. Her current iPhone was two models old and a hand-me-down from Olivia.

  “What does she have to be nervous about? She seems rather confident and sure of herself, and she has a pretty good game.” And the combination was nothing short of sexy, Peyton thought.

  “They’re playing here, I think. How ridiculously old-school chauvinistic is that?” Jill’s question contained more than a little sarcasm. “No offense against your club.”

  The familiar whack of hitting the ball squarely in the center of the club was unmistakable, and Peyton watched as Leigh’s ball sailed into the air. Several seconds later it landed squarely in the center of the fairway. “With a shot like that, she’ll have nothing to worry about,” Peyton commented.

  “Maybe, but the other day she mentioned she should probably take a few lessons.”

  “I’m not here to solicit business, Jill,” Peyton said uncomfortably. “I’m just your added fourth.”

  Thankfully it was her turn on the tee, effectively ending the conversation, however, not before Peyton admitted to herself she wouldn’t object to spending more time with Leigh.

  * * *

  “You told her what?” Leigh asked, walking with Jill toward her ball. They were approaching the green on the twelfth hole.

  “I was just trying to help.”

  “But did you have to tell her I was nervous? Why did you tell her at all?” Leigh struggled to keep her voice from carrying to Peyton, who was walking a few yards behind them.

  “Because you mentioned you wanted some lessons.”

  “I said I was thinking I might benefit from some,” Leigh said. “God. She probably thinks I’m trolling for free advice.” And that possibility made her more uncomfortable than she cared to admit.

  “Don’t worry about it. She said she wasn’t playing with us to solicit business. Chill, Leigh. She seems really cool.”

  Chill and cool were not the words Leigh would use to describe her body’s reaction to being near Peyton. When Leigh had seen her approach them on the first tee, she knew Peyton was their fourth. She’d been more than a little surprised, having expected the beverage server to do little more than serve beverages. At least that was her experience at other courses where she’d played. Leigh had revised her narrow opinion when Peyton drove her ball farther and straighter than anyone else and had nine birdies on her scorecard. She, herself, had two bogeys, which put her two strokes behind Hilde and six ahead of Jill.

  Leigh had always wondered how the scoring of golf originated. Each hole had a set number of shots that the designers believed would take the golfer to get the ball in the cup. If they made it in that number, it was called par, which made sense. Where it got squirrely was that fewer shots were called birdies and more shots were bogeys. On the previous hole, Peyton had sunk her ball in the hole in three shots instead of the set number of four, while she, Jill, and Hilde had made par.

  “She must play a lot,” Jill commented. “Her form is perfect. And her body isn’t too bad either,” she added, bumping Leigh with her hip. “I’d love to have her arms wrapped around me showing me exactly where to put my hands.” Jill fanned herself with her gloved hand.

  “Jesus, Jill. First Hilde, then you. It’s like playing with horny teenage boys. And you’re married,” she added. Like Jill needed any reminder. After two kids she was still crazy in love with her wife.

  “Just because I’m off the market, I’m not dead. Come on, Leigh. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

  Leigh had done nothing but notice, which was evidenced by her score. Peyton’s swing was graceful and the intensity of her commitment to her game evident. She approached every shot the same way, looking from her ball to where the ball was going to land, then back at her ball. Leigh had the impression Peyton was visualizing exactly where she planned to place her ball. She hadn’t deviated from her routine on any of her shots. Maybe that’s why she was eating their lunch in this round.

  “Looks like we have a crowd ahead of us.”

  Peyton’s voice right beside her startled Leigh, and she stumbled. Thankfully Peyton caught her around the waist before she did an embarrassing face-plant.

  “You okay?” Peyton asked, their bodies pressed close together.

  The feel of Peyton’s hard body against hers sent Leigh’s pulse racing and her heart running to keep up. She fit perfectly under Peyton’s arm, her eyes level with Peyton’s lips. Leigh watched them move as Peyton spoke. She tingled with the sensation of what they would feel like on her. She definitely needed to get laid, and soon. No, she was anything but okay, but no way in hell was she going to tell Peyton that.

  Peyton released her and stepped back, but not before Leigh saw a flash of desire in her eyes.

  Leigh had admittedly found Peyton extremely attractive from their very first meeting, the moment Peyton pulled up in her cart two weeks ago. Whereas most of the women that drove the cart were straight, Peyton was anything but. Judging by the confident way she carried herself and the way she made and held direct eye contact, she was obviously a lesbian. She hadn’t tried to flirt to increase her tips, and her aloofness wasn’t negative in a standoffish kind of way but simply showed that she was all business and didn’t get too familiar with the members or their guests.

  Peyton had been dressed similarly to what she was today, in knee-length golf shorts and a light-blue polo shirt with the Copperwind logo just above her left breast. She looked extremely professional and hadn’t done anything to indicate otherwise in their first twelve holes. She hadn’t offered any unsolicited advice to any of them about how they could improve their game, nor had she joined in the familiar camaraderie and teasing that friends do when their ball couldn’t hit the cup after eight strokes. She pretty much kept to herself, and the conversation that she did join was completely appropriate.

  The heat must be getting to me, Leigh thought as they dropped their bags behind a foursome that was already waiting. The players in front of that group had just teed off and were walking down the fairway. The two couples in front of them glanced over their shoulder, and Leigh detected more than a little interest as one of the women appraised their foursome, her eyes lingering a little too long on Hilde and even longer yet on Peyton. Her eyes lit up with familiarity, and Leigh felt a surge of jealousy, however unwarranted it was. There was no reason for it, it made absolutely no sense, but it was there nonetheless.

  Leigh felt Peyton stiffen be
side her as the woman left her group and stepped forward.

  “Peyton, it’s so good to see you again.” Her voice had a soft, Southern drawl that reminded Leigh of Scarlett O’Hara, the heroine in the 1939 movie Gone with the Wind.

  “Hello, Denise,” Peyton replied politely. “How are you?”

  “I’d be much better if you’d join our group. I’m afraid I don’t play as well without you as I do with you.”

  The woman’s meaning was more than innuendo, and for some bizarre, shocking reason, Leigh wanted to step forward and smack the smirk off the woman’s face.

  “I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

  “Oh, I am, sugar, but I’d love to be better.”

  Leigh couldn’t believe the audacity of this woman. She was hitting all over Peyton as if they weren’t even there. She had no idea if Peyton was with any of us, but then again maybe she did. Maybe she knew Peyton was single. Maybe she knew Peyton would take her up on her offer. Maybe Peyton already had, and she was looking for a repeat. But something told Leigh that wasn’t the case.

  “Jill, Hilde, Leigh, this is Denise Jamison, one of my clients,” Peyton said, introducing them.

  “Nice to meet you,” Denise said, but didn’t take her eyes off Peyton. Obviously, she didn’t care who they were.

  “Are you making notes on your game like we talked about in last week’s lesson?”

  “Of course, sugar. I do everything you tell me to do, and ask me to do,” she added suggestively.

  Her sugary drawl with emphasis on the endearment sugar was turning Leigh’s stomach.

  “Maybe we can get together at the clubhouse after we’re done here, and I can divulge all my weaknesses, and you can give me some pointers.”

  Jill tried to stifle a laugh at the absurdity and ridiculousness of Denise’s approach. Good God, Leigh thought. Why don’t you just say let’s meet in the clubhouse and fuck?