The Long Shot

by A. L. Brooks

“All right. I’ll head down to the coffee bar. Back soon.”

  Jenny waved distractedly, her attention already back on her spreadsheets and schedules.

  The coffee bar in the hotel was next to the main bar. At four on a Tuesday afternoon, there was only a smattering of people sitting at the bar itself or at one of its small tables. As she passed by, she noticed the TV screens above the bar were running ESPN, and she paused when she realized it was Gordy Spencer on screen. His ruggedly handsome face, tanned from years of being outside on a golf course, filled the screen. For a man in his seventies, he still looked good, with steely grey hair that was thick and combed back in a smooth wave and brown eyes the same shade as Morgan’s, although his were missing those amazing gold flecks.

  Curious as to what he was talking about, she sidled closer to the bar to listen.

  “And winning a major, for any golfer, is a big step forward.” He smiled at his interviewer; it looked like a live shot as part of their extended daily news segment. “I remember when I first won the US Open. Took days for it to really sink in. I kept seeing all the newspaper headlines—we didn’t have the internet back then.” He laughed. “And they were all calling me the US Open champion, and it didn’t seem real.”

  “Was that hard to deal with?” the interviewer asked.

  “At first, yes. But actually, once that first one sank in, the others got easier and easier.” He held up his hands. “I’m not saying I took them for granted, but I knew I was a good golfer, and winning majors was what I was meant to do.”

  “So here we are, two days before the Women’s PGA championship at the beautiful, Jack Nicklaus-designed, Sweet Springs course in Williamsburg, Virginia. Your daughter, Morgan, is, of course, one of the hot tips to take the win, coming off a three-tournament winning streak…”

  Adrienne’s curiosity rose as a small twitch flickered in the corner of Gordy’s eye. He nodded and smiled for the camera, but there was something…off.

  “And we at ESPN are thrilled that you are going to be a part of our team this week. Tell me, how is it going to feel watching Morgan battle it out for the title?”

  “Well,” Gordy replied gruffly, “obviously I will need to remain neutral. I’m there to commentate on all the girls.”

  Women, Adrienne mentally corrected, and she bit back the urge to tut.

  “Oh, of course,” the interviewer chipped in, chuckling. “But surely it’s going to be a tense time for you, waiting to see if Morgan can pull it off?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” It sounded flat.

  “And do you think she can?”

  The hesitation was so slight, Adrienne wasn’t sure many other people would notice, people who didn’t spend a lot of their time interviewing others, but it caused her to suck in a surprised breath.

  “Oh, yes, of course. She’s a great player. I don’t doubt her first major isn’t too far away.” That sounded as rehearsed as hell, and Adrienne’s shoulders tightened with tension and…disappointment for Morgan for having this man as her father, a man who clearly, as Morgan had already hinted at, didn’t rate her at all. Jesus.

  The segment finished, and the anchor segued into a piece about baseball. Adrienne swallowed hard and let out a slow breath. Gordy Spencer was an asshole as far as she could tell.

  Poor Morgan.

  She turned away from the TV, waving away the attentions of the approaching bartender, and stopped dead in her tracks.

  Morgan hunched down in a chair at one of the tables a few feet away. A half-drunk glass of ice water dripped condensation onto the table. Her eyes were unfocused as she looked off into the distance.

  Don’t tell me she heard all that. Oh, God.

  She could just leave Morgan alone, leave her to whatever thoughts consumed her, but the pull was too strong. Don’t do it, she thought, even as her feet moved. A few paces later, she stood next to Morgan’s table.

  “Quite the performance, wasn’t it?” Morgan said softly.

  Adrienne hadn’t realized Morgan even knew she was there. Carefully, she pulled out the chair next to Morgan’s and slipped into it. Only when she’d relaxed back did Morgan raise her head and meet her concerned gaze. What she saw in Morgan’s eyes clutched at her heart, and before she could stop herself, she reached out and gently placed her hand over one of Morgan’s.

  Morgan blinked but didn’t retract her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Adrienne said. It was the most useless of responses, but she didn’t know what else to offer.

  Morgan huffed out a breath and smiled wanly. “Why do I keep caring?” she asked, but Adrienne knew she wasn’t looking for an answer, at least not from her. “I know what he’s like. I know how he thinks. Yet every time he cuts me down like that, it’s like he’s kicked me in the gut. I’ve tried. So hard.” She fell silent.

  “Tried what?”

  Morgan snorted. “Tried to put up a wall to protect myself from it. All that got me was a girlfriend who cheated on me, and I still give a shit what good old Daddy thinks of me.” She pulled her hand away and stood, her face pink. “God, I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear this.”

  Adrienne attempted to re-take her hand, to keep her there for just a few moments longer, but Morgan stepped back.

  “Sorry.” She strode off.

  Adrienne watched her go, observed the tight set of her shoulders, the stiff swing of her arms, and sighed.

  I know I’m going to regret this, but I honestly can’t do anything else.

  She stood and walked quickly after Morgan.

  “Morgan, wait!”

  Adrienne’s velvet voice came from behind Morgan as she neared the bank of elevators, and she groaned. God, no, this was embarrassing enough. Couldn’t Adrienne leave her alone?

  She rapidly hit the call button a few times. “Come on, come on,” she whispered, but the elevator gods conspired against her today.

  Adrienne arrived alongside her. “Morgan, are you okay?”

  “No,” she snapped, then instantly regretted her tone. “Sorry.”

  She finally plucked up courage to look at Adrienne. Yes, there was the expected sympathy in her gaze, which twisted in Morgan’s gut—the last person she wanted to appear pathetic in front of was Adrienne—but there was also anger there, which surprised her.

  “You’re allowed to be angry,” Adrienne said firmly. “And you’re allowed to let your emotions out.”

  The elevator finally arrived, sparing Morgan from answering. Without looking back at Adrienne, she hurriedly stepped into the car and punched the button for the third floor.

  She jumped when Adrienne said, “I’m here if you need someone to talk to,” and turned to see that she too had entered the car. Before Morgan could ask her to leave, the doors slid shut.

  Great. Just great.

  “I don’t need to talk to anyone. I appreciate you trying to help, but I don’t need it, okay?”

  Why couldn’t people get this? She was better off alone, just getting on with what she liked doing best: playing golf and winning tournaments. That life was perfect.

  Okay, not perfect but definitely enough.

  “You’re lying, Morgan, to me and yourself.”

  Morgan faced her at last, her anger sparking. “Who the hell do you think you are? You barely know me! Yes, I know, I said some things down there”—she gestured vaguely in the direction of the lobby below them—“but that doesn’t mean you have the right to push me on this.”

  The elevator came to a halt, but as the doors began to open, Adrienne stepped in front of Morgan and pressed the ‘Close doors’ button. She held her finger there, glaring at Morgan.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Morgan asked, staring at Adrienne and trying to ignore the parts of her body that appreciated how attractive this infuriating woman was up close.

  “I have no earthly idea.” Adrienne shook he
r head. “But for some reason, I care about you, about what is happening to you. Your father”—she almost spat the word—“is treating you appallingly. This upsets me. Perhaps more than it should, but it’s so unfair to you, especially when you are this good and this close to winning that first major. I refuse to let you deny how that makes you feel when you could be fighting back against it.”

  “Oh, wait, I get it. This is all about that interview, isn’t it? You want me to go on national TV and bad-mouth my own father!” Morgan’s tone was snide. “This isn’t about me at all. This is all about you getting this year’s TV hit!” She was practically shouting now but couldn’t seem to stop.

  Adrienne’s eyes went wide, then narrowed. She pulled away from the elevator controls; the doors stayed closed, keeping them cocooned in the small interior. She took one step forward, her face slightly flushed. The movement brought her, and her delicious scent, within inches of Morgan. Her deep-brown eyes were almost luminous, her breathing fast but shallow.

  Morgan could feel the heat emanating from her, and something stirred in her, something deep down low.

  “How dare you?” Adrienne’s voice was as taut as piano wire. “You say I don’t know you, but you really don’t know me if you think that’s what this is about. Right now I couldn’t care less about my TV documentary. This is all about you, Morgan.” She moved another step forward and exhaled in a huff. “I think all this shit from your father is affecting you more than you know, and I hate to see it happening to you. You deserve so much better,” she finished, her tone passionate and her voice half an octave lower.

  She was so close now; her gaze bored into Morgan. Her heat and her perfume overwhelmed Morgan and any sense she might have possessed only moments before.

  Morgan’s hands moved a millisecond before the rest of her, but it all came together in one heated rush. She clutched at Adrienne’s lush hips as she pulled her in and kissed her hungrily.

  One agonizing split second later, Adrienne responded. A low groan leaked from her throat as her arms wrapped around Morgan’s shoulders and pulled her even closer. Adrienne flicked her tongue over Morgan’s bottom lip, and she opened willingly to let Adrienne in.

  The heat that flashed through her at the first touch of Adrienne’s tongue on her own seared her inside and out. For one fleeting, exulting moment she thought she would immolate from it. Instead, she sunk deeper into the kiss, consumed by the need to take as much as she could from the gorgeous woman in her arms.

  Adrienne gave back as good as she got and more. They crashed against the wall of the elevator car, Adrienne pressed between it and Morgan. As their mouths devoured each other, Morgan tried to connect to every inch of Adrienne.

  And then it was over.

  Adrienne wrenched away, a hand on her mouth as she stared at Morgan from two paces away.

  “Adrienne…” Morgan’s voice cracked.

  “No…no, we…can’t.” Adrienne spun around and pressed the ‘Open doors’ button.

  The doors slid slowly open, and Adrienne squeezed through them before they’d finished parting.

  “Adrienne,” Morgan pleaded, as she took a step forward. Her body hummed, but her mind was an utter blank.

  Adrienne fled the car without even a backward glance.

  Chapter 10

  Morgan stared at her breakfast tray, the congealing apple-and-cinnamon oatmeal—usually her favorite—looking decidedly unappetizing. She threw her spoon down and leaned back in her chair. At least eating breakfast in her room had been the right move; God knew she wasn’t in the mood for company. Morgan knew Charlie was getting suspicious, having blown her off for dinner the night before and now breakfast this morning, but after the elevator incident, she just needed to be alone.

  Kissing Adrienne had been a particularly dumb move. Her face heated with embarrassment thinking about it. Her rational mind knew that, for a few moments at least, Adrienne had kissed her back, and so the mistake wasn’t only Morgan’s, but that was little comfort. The look of horror on Adrienne’s face as she’d pulled away made it abundantly clear there’d be no repeat.

  Which really was a shame, given how completely mind-blowing that kiss had been.

  Naomi’s spiteful words about Adrienne had played in Morgan’s mind on a regular repeat ever since she’d stepped out of the elevator and stumbled to her room. Which had then led to a whole flood of unwelcome memories of her time with Naomi, from both last year and Saturday night in Chicago. Sleep had been a rare commodity as a result.

  She sighed. Emotions swamped her, but in a little over two hours, she’d be out on the course for her second practice round. Harry would rip her a new one if she turned up in this frame of mind. So she did what she’d become exceptionally good at since she was a kid: locked all these confusing feelings up tight somewhere in the back of her mind. And yes, that made Naomi’s words come back to her, but it had worked for years, and there was no point doing anything else now.

  After pushing the breakfast away, she stood up and walked to the wardrobe. Her fitness gear sat in a neat pile on one of the shelves, and a couple minutes later, she was ready. She grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar and headed out.

  Half an hour later, she slowed the treadmill and settled into a walking pace to cool down. Sweat tickled her forehead, and she brushed it away with a towel. She wasn’t alone in the suite, but she’d kept her eyes focused only on her machine and plugged in her iPod to make sure the other guests got the message. She was, therefore, surprised when someone tapped on her arm. She only just held back a glare as she faced her unwelcome visitor.

  Charlie stood by the machine, her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face.

  Uh-oh.

  Morgan stopped the treadmill, wiped down her face once more, and tried a smile.

  “No, that smile isn’t going to cut it.” Charlie kept her voice low, but her words were sharp. “Why are you avoiding me?”

  “I’m not.” Morgan flinched as Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Well, okay, I am, but—”

  Charlie raised a finger. “Why don’t we take this up to your room?”

  Knowing there was nothing she could do to escape her doom, Morgan nodded and stepped off the treadmill.

  They rode the elevator in silence, Morgan all the while trying to figure out what she could tell Charlie that would pacify her without revealing the entire embarrassing story. Her mind refused to cooperate, however, and no plausible story had formed in her brain by the time she unlocked her room and ushered Charlie in.

  “Are you sick?” Charlie asked, as soon as the door was closed. “In trouble with the law? Pregnant?”

  Morgan, who had been on the verge of a strong denial to the first two options, instead burst out laughing at the third and rolled her eyes when Charlie said quietly, “Gotcha.”

  “Sit down.” Morgan gestured to the armchair by the table, wincing when she realized the remnants of her abandoned breakfast sat there, looking definitely worse than they had when she left them.

  Charlie merely shoved the tray out of the way, then looked up at her expectantly.

  “I kissed Adrienne.”

  Okay, that hadn’t been the plan at all.

  Charlie’s mouth fell open. “Adrienne? The hot TV lady?”

  “You think she’s hot?”

  “Morgan, I’m straight, not blind.”

  Morgan chuckled despite the mortification heating her face. Then she slumped down on the edge of the bed and sighed.

  “Yeah, her.”

  “Okay, this should be a happy Morgan, but I’m not seeing that. Is she a bad kisser?”

  Morgan shook her head. “Hell no.”

  “Then what?”

  She took a deep breath then told Charlie everything—from the TV thing with her dad through to the scorching kiss in the elevator to Adrienne running from her so fast she’d left a sonic boom in
her wake.

  “Huh,” was all Charlie offered at the end of the tale.

  “That’s it?” Morgan threw up her arms in disgust. “That’s all I get?”

  “I’m thinking.” Charlie glared at her. “Shush.”

  Morgan glowered but leaned back on her hands on the bed. She swung her legs in her impatience to hear Charlie’s wisdom on the events. As she waited, it slowly dawned on her that she’d never really had this, a female friend to share this kind of stuff with. It was kind of scary but nice.

  “Stop with the feet.” Charlie pointed at Morgan’s swinging legs, her eyes narrowed.

  “Jesus,” Morgan muttered, but she stilled her legs and did some light stretches of her back and shoulders before she tightened up too much after her run.

  “Okay, here’s what I think,” Charlie announced.

  Morgan sat up straight, her heart pounding.

  “I think she’s into you but doesn’t want to be.” Charlie sat up straighter too. “Could be the whole age thing. Could just be because you’re working together. Not sure.” She rubbed one finger over her chin. “You could push it, but that would probably make her run more. So I think you’re just going to have to give her some space. You’re going to be seeing more of her anyway over the next few weeks, so you can take your time.”

  “Take my time with what?”

  “Wooing her.”

  Morgan snorted, then guffawed and clutched at her sides. “Woo…wooing her?” she eventually managed to squeak out.

  Charlie looked affronted. “Yes. You want this woman, don’t you? You really like her. I can tell. And trust me, if she kissed you back that hard, she’s got some feelings for you too, whether she wants to admit it or not. So, yeah, you woo her. Slow and easy.”

  “Charlie, I love you, but really, I’m not the…wooing kind.”

  “Have you ever tried?” Charlie’s stare was piercing.

  “Well…no, but—”

  “So there you go. Nothing to lose, everything to gain.”

  “I wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to start!”