by Jaime Maddox
Table of Contents
Synopsis
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five:
Chapter Thirty-six
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Bouncing has always been a way of life for Alex Dalton. The former basketball star and new coach likes to keep life simple, bouncing from woman to woman, with no responsibilities and no complications. Then a summer fling opens her eyes to other possibilities, and now Alex wonders if a relationship might be what she really needs. There is an instant attraction to her new assistant coach, Britain Dodge, but for some reason, Brit wants nothing to do with Alex. Then a spontaneous kiss under the stars forces them to admit their feelings and work on their issues. Their love grows, but so do the outside pressures that influence them, and they have to decide if they should forfeit their love or play until the final buzzer.
Bouncing
Brought to you by
eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Bouncing
© 2015 By Jaime Maddox. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-388-2
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: May 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Agnes
The Common Thread
Bouncing
Acknowledgments
The people at BSB do a wonderful job in creating their books, from helping with concepts to making sure my name is spelled correctly on the cover. Thanks to Rad, Sandy Lowe, Cindy Cresap, Stacia Seaman, Ruth Sternglantz, and everyone else who made this book possible. Thanks to Sheri and Rad for the cool cover. Shelley Thrasher, my editor, is always encouraging and wise and helpful, and if this book is any good, it’s because of her help.
I took some liberties with the Pennsylvania high school basketball calendar. They were necessary to help this story flow, and I ask forgiveness from the coaches, players, and purists who took note.
I’m a huge basketball fan, but not such a great player, and never a coach. I owe much gratitude to my friends and family who are players and coaches, for sharing their insight with me—Bob Bessoir, Billy Bessoir, J, Carolyn, and Jamison. Likewise, thanks to my teacher friends who helped me out, Elizabeth Abdalla, Maria Hubbler, and Karlee McConnell.
Thanks to my niece, Tiffany Maakestad, for sharing her adventures in Brazil with me, and to Billy B once again, this time for perfecting Anke’s accent.
The thing I liked most about writing this book was transporting myself to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, my favorite place on earth. I’ve had great times there, thanks to so many great people who’ve shared my adventures—my former roommates, J, Wallstreet, and Chris; my landlords Sandy and Patty; my golfing buddies Lisa, Kimmer, Al, Nina, and Jag; and my dear friends, Clara, Kelly, Jan, and Sue.
My alpha readers Margaret and Nancy are wise and wonderful women and they helped with major issues in this book. As always, the lunch conversation was a hoot.
Finally, but most importantly, thank you to Carolyn, Jamison, and Max. There’s a line in this book somewhere that sums it all up: It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, if I’m with you, I’m happy.
To Yankee—my playmate in golf, and basketball, and life—thanks for letting me win sometimes
Chapter One
Cheaters Never Win
The sun was shining in her eyes and the wind blew through her hair as Alex Dalton pulled her Jeep into the parking lot of the golf course just north of Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. It was the Thursday before Memorial Day, a glorious, warm afternoon, and Alex hummed to the tune on the radio. She’d spent her morning at the beach, reading. She had nine holes of golf on the agenda for the afternoon and hundreds more in the coming months. She would enjoy cold beer afterward with a good friend. Life was easy and relaxing and fun, exactly how she wanted it, and for the seventh consecutive summer, that pleasure would be hers.
She’d begun coming to Rehoboth after her first year at the University of Delaware, when a friend had invited her. She’d been awed back then, and the magic hadn’t faded. The beaches were still pristine, the restaurants fabulous, and the bars hopping. Even better, it was the most gay-friendly beach within driving distance of her home in the Poconos. Same-sex couples walked hand in hand on the boardwalk beside vacationing families—some of them sporting two moms or dads. The majority of businesses flew rainbow flags beside their front doors.
She felt free here, like she did in the Jeep. She’d bought it at a military-surplus store and it was older than she was, bare bones with a quarter-million miles. The ride was awful on her back, but the complete freedom of driving without sides and a roof made it a good trade.
Alex pulled on her golf sandals and plucked her bag from the seat beside her, then headed toward the driving range. The cars in the lot were much different from hers—expensive, foreign, new. Alex didn’t care. She’d quit thinking about material possessions like houses and cars years ago. She focused on living, on the fun she could have each day and the joy she could take in coaching a basketball game or shooting a round of golf under par. Those were the things that mattered.
It was a short walk to the range, and one stall opened just as she approached. After stretching, she began to hit practice shots.
She’d grown up at the country club, playing golf as a child just as other kids rode bikes and played baseball. Her swing was textbook, her shots perfect. After a dozen balls landed close to the target flag, she switched clubs, with the same results. Near perfection. Finally, she picked up her driver and placed the ball on the tee. Her back swing was slow, the turn of her hips quick, and as she rotated her wrists her arms followed into a smooth finish. She made solid contact, and as she looked at the flag positioned farthest away from the tees, she saw her
ball land near it, some 250 yards away. After a dozen more similar shots, she put her clubs back in the bag. No point wasting such beautiful shots on the range. She needed to save a few for her golf round.
A stop at the practice green was next, and Alex chipped and putted until she knew the speed of the green. Alex felt loose, and relaxed, and she had the feeling she was going to shoot a great round of golf.
Walking back toward the clubhouse, she searched for her playing partner.
“There you are!” Sally Conklin greeted her when Alex finally found her, hidden in a convoy of thirty golf carts.
Alex set down her bag and was quickly pulled into Sal’s arms for a ferocious, playful hug. At six feet tall, Alex didn’t look up to many women, but Sal was one of the few.
“It’s good to see you,” her mentor said, and Alex returned the sentiment.
Sal wasn’t just her mentor but her confidante as well, and one of the few people in the world she trusted. Sal was the only one except her parents who knew Alex’s secret.
“It’s great to see you, too. How are you?” After they caught up for a moment, Sal nodded to the clubs standing beside Alex. “Let’s get those loaded on my cart—we’ll be starting soon.”
“Riding a cart these days?” Alex asked.
“It just makes it easier. They’re all paranoid about the pace of play in the league, so they encourage us to ride.”
“Fair enough.”
“Hey, nice sandals.” Sal looked down at Alex’s feet. “Does this mean your toe’s better?”
A rash on the second toe of her left foot had been the start of it all, back when Alex played on the high-school girls’ basketball team that had won Sal a state championship. The doctors had treated her for athlete’s foot, and then eczema, and then staph before finally admitting they had no idea what was causing the painful blisters that itched constantly. Through the years the rash had come and gone, sometimes forcing her into sneakers on the beach to protect it from the sun. Since she’d started her newest medication, though, it came less often.
“Yeah,” Alex said, wiggling them in proof. “They’re perfect.”
“Will I be seeing some nail polish this summer?”
Alex stopped and faced Sal, glaring at her. “If you ever see nail polish on my toes, you better start CPR.”
Sal didn’t crack a smile, but her eyes twinkled. “Chest compressions, maybe. But no mouth to mouth.”
They found their cart and Alex secured her clubs on the passenger side, then took a seat beside Sal. A scorecard was pinned to the steering wheel. “Who are we playing? Anyone I know?” Although Alex hadn’t played in the league before, over the years she’d made quite a few friends in Rehoboth, and many of them were golfers.
“I don’t think so.”
Alex glanced at the scorecard, noted their opponents’ high handicaps, and chuckled. “It looks like an easy victory tonight. How about a wager? Just to keep it interesting. Loser buys the first round.”
Sally shook her head. “Don’t be so cocky, Alex. The match will be challenging. Ann Marie Abbott tends to play a little better than her thirty handicap.”
“Sal, c’mon. A thirty? Does she use a driver on the par threes?” Alex couldn’t keep the smirk from her face.
Sal chuckled. “I don’t want to color your judgment, but I’ll say this—she’s never lost a round in the league. Her team has won the championship five years running.”
“With a thirty?”
Sal shrugged. “Like I said, she tends to play better than her handicap.”
“Hmm,” Alex said, and turned to look at Sal, hoping for more information. Before she could ask, the starter took his bullhorn and made the customary announcements about pace of play and sportsmanship. Then they were off. Because of the shotgun format, Alex and Sal headed to the eighth hole, a hundred-and-fifty-yard par three, nestled into a copse of trees and landscaped with a half dozen sand traps.
“This plays true, but the green breaks right,” Sal advised her as they exited their cart. Although Alex had played the course before, she wasn’t as familiar with the subtleties as Sal was. She appreciated the advice.
The twosome they were playing was already there, impeccably dressed in golf skirts and matching shirts, chatting as they took their practice swings. Alex suppressed a smile as she looked at her own rather plain black shorts and blue shirt, and Sal’s outfit, which was similar.
After introductions, Sal offered them the tee first. Alex looked to the blue sky and the late afternoon sun filtering through the stand of trees along the fairway and closed her eyes. She breathed in the fresh air, and felt her body relax. Then she opened her eyes and watched as Pearl Lennox hit a five wood left of the green into a trap and tried hard to keep a straight face as she listened to the series of expletives that followed. And then, to her surprise, Ann Marie Abbott, who tended to shoot lower than her handicap, approached the tee with an iron in her hand. Alex knew the average golfer with a high handicap would need a wood to reach that distance. Amazed, she watched the smooth swing and clean contact Ann Marie’s club made with the ball, sending it high into the air. It landed on the green, a few yards short and to the right of the flag.
“Nice ball,” Alex said. I bet that’s the best shot she’s ever hit, Alex mused.
A half smile appeared briefly on Ann Marie’s face as she headed back to her cart. Sal and Alex both used irons to put their balls on the green as well, and as they drove along the cart path, they assessed their next shots. Both had short birdie putts. Ann Marie’s putt was longer, but uphill, while Alex and Sal had to go down to the cup. After Pearl chipped on, Ann Marie lined up her ball and nailed the putt.
“Very nice,” Alex said with a nod.
The compliment was barely acknowledged as she pulled the ball from the cup and deposited it in her pocket, then stood back to watch as Sal and Alex finished the hole. Sal’s ball lipped the cup and fell out for a par. Alex’s putt ran true, and she pumped her fist as it fell in the hole for a birdie. She’d needed that putt to tie the hole, and it felt good to make it.
“Nice one,” Sal said, patting her back as they walked off the green toward their cart. “But Ann Marie gets a stroke. We lost the hole.”
“Ah, shit. I forgot about giving her strokes.”
Alex carried the lowest handicap in the group—one. It meant she scored the best but also that she had to give everyone else strokes to level the playing field. Because Ann Marie had a handicap of thirty, Alex had to give Ann Marie a stroke on every hole and, on the hardest holes, two strokes. That didn’t worry her, though. She’d never lost to someone with a thirty handicap, and she wasn’t planning to make this night the first.
“Lucky hole, Sal. No worries. We have eight more to make that up.”
The number-nine hole was a long par five, and all four of them approached the tee box with drivers in hand. Since their opponents had won the previous hole, they took the first shots, and Alex’s jaw dropped when Ann Marie whacked the ball two hundred yards down the middle of the fairway. She and Sal did the same, and as they climbed back into the cart, Alex squinted at her. “I smell a rat,” she said.
Sal’s expression was neutral as she looked into Alex’s sunglasses. “Much worse than a rat. A sandbagger.”
Alex sat up and took off her glasses, then slammed her hand onto the dashboard of the golf cart. “Well, we cannot have this! The integrity of the game is resting on our shoulders, Coach. Let’s kick some butt.”
Sal chuckled. “If anyone can bury her, it’s you.”
Ann Marie’s next shot was short of the green, and Alex’s was right. They both chipped on and two-putted for par, but Alex had to give Ann Marie two shots on that hole. Her team was two down through two holes.
Their third hole played out the same. “Fuck!” Alex said as she turned to Sal on their way to the number-two hole, a short par four. “We need to start playing as a team, Sal. You play conservatively for pars, and I’ll let loose and go for birdies. We need
birdies to win.” Sal nodded, and after Pearl and Ann Marie both hit their drives in the first cut of rough, Sal put hers on the fairway. Alex put a little extra effort into her drive and found herself just short of the green. Their opponents’ shots missed the green, and everyone except Alex scored a bogie. She made a birdie, and they found themselves only two down.
Alex and Sal won the next hole and then split a few before winning again. As they stood on the tee box on the final hole, the score was tied. Before them, a short par four curved to the right around a tall stand of oaks. Sal hit a perfect iron shot into the landing zone but was still left with a hundred yards into the pin. “I’m going to try to slice this around the corner,” Alex told Sal.
Sal winked and Alex pulled her driver from the bag. She teed the ball higher than she normally would and pushed her hips through the ball a little faster, too. The resulting shot not only curved around the trees, but it flew over them as well, and although they couldn’t tell where the ball had finally come to rest, both of them knew it was a magnificent effort. “Wow,” Sal said as Alex sat down in the cart beside her.
Alex turned to her and grinned. “I couldn’t do that again in a million years!”
“Since this is the last hole, you won’t have to. Ties are final.”
“Well, then. Let’s see what Miss High Handicap can do with those trees,” Alex said, nodding in the direction of the formidable wall of timber blocking the path to the green.
Pearl put her drive in the fairway, close to Sal’s. Apparently thirty-handicappers could make four pars and a birdie in eight holes but couldn’t slice the ball over trees at will. Ann Marie’s effort to match Alex’s shot fell short, landing deep in the woods. Alex’s par was good enough to win the hole, and the match.