Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Sean cut our post-sex nap short to drag me to the golf course. Honestly, it was pretty damn beautiful here. The cloudless sky and expansive course were the perfect backdrop to the nearby mountains. There was a crispness to the air that set our surroundings in relief, as if we were part of a landscape portrait.
I swiped a bead of sweat from my brow. “Right. And we’re playing golf…in the desert…in one hundred degree heat. Look at me, I’m schvitzing.”
Sean lowered his aviator sunglasses and shook his head in mock sympathy. “I told you not to wear black. I’ll buy you a polo shirt at the clubhouse so you’re more comfortable tomorrow.”
I snorted. “Fuck that. You’d have to kill me to get me in a polo shirt. And I’ll warn you now, I would haunt your ass until the end of time. So not worth it. Also, I’m not golfing tomorrow. This is your one and only shot to show me what you know.”
Sean handed me a golf club, then pulled one out of his bag for himself. “I thought you said you’d give it a try.”
“I’m giving it a try now.” I cast a quick glance at the older couple standing at a nearby golf cart. They looked very prim and proper in their pressed matching shirts, plaid shorts, and white caps emblazoned with fancy fonts. The woman took one look at me and blanched, turning away quickly when I met her tepid smile with a megawatt, shit-eating grin. “I think she’s going to call the golf cops on me. Will I get kicked out?”
“No such luck. This is the driving range. We’re just practicing your swing and—what are you doing?”
“I’m swingin’.” I did a jitterbug dance move, twirling the club like a baton, and finishing with a flourish.
Sean pursed his lips in amusement. “Are you done?”
I sighed theatrically and nodded. “Yeah. How does one hit that tiny ball with this big pole?”
“Behave,” he warned in a no-nonsense tone. “Now listen. Before you attempt to hit the ball, you need to get your grip and your stance down. Put your left hand on the club…like so. Curl your fingers and leave your thumb on top. Good. Now move your right hand above your left and—no, move it lower on the shaft.”
“Hmm. How’s this? Am I gripping my shaft correctly?” This time I kept my tone for Sean’s ears only.
He snickered. “Yes, you’re very good at that, baby. Don’t grip it with your palm. Good. Next…your stance. Your feet should be shoulder-width apart, knees bent, chin up. Excellent.”
“Can I breathe?”
“Please do. Now…your stroke.”
I quirked my head up. “Seriously? You want me to grip my shaft and stroke? Golf, where have you been all my life?”
Sean threw his head back and laughed. The older couple gave us a bemused once-over before slinking to their cart and driving away. I expected Sean to scold me for my pervy ways, but he couldn’t seem to pull it together. I set my hands on my hips and waited out his burst of hilarity.
“Oh, wow,” he sighed. “What are we doing?”
“You’re teaching me golf, and I’m pretending to care because I don’t want to hurt your feelings and admit I have zero interest in learning,” I replied matter-of-factly. “Golf isn’t silly enough for me.”
“Silly? It isn’t supposed to be silly. It’s a sport.”
“Yeah, but aren’t sports supposed to be fun?”
Sean cocked his head. “This is fun.”
“If you say so. I think it would be better if they piped music in. You could walk up to your ball when it’s show time and, whoa—is that my song?” I put my hand behind my ear, tossed the club in the air, then held it like a guitar, and proceeded to rock out to the Foo Fighters song I’d had in my head all day.
Now, I was obviously no expert on golf protocol, but I had a feeling I was probably in danger of pissing someone off. Thankfully, not Sean. He grinned like a loon, shaking his head every so often in a universal, “I give up.” The goofier I got, the more he seemed to relax. And when he gave in and laughed aloud, I upped my antics, strumming my golf club with attitude as I pranced around our section of the driving range. A few people stopped their cart to watch the crazy dude lose his marbles, but they moved on, leaving me with my amused and slightly exasperated lover.
“Are you finished?” he asked when I fell onto my knees on the grass with my face raised to the sky.
“Woohoo! Yes!” I jumped up and took a bow, waving at a passing cart. “Your turn.”
“For what?”
“To do something silly.”
“No,” he replied sternly.
“Sean, this is an exercise in the absurd. Look at me. This golf thing the way you see it, probably isn’t going to happen. We might as well make it fun.”