“He’s an angel, I can’t believe you’d blame such a thing on him.” My mom’s Puerto Rican accent comes from the back of the room, where her office is located. “A drive-through would be a waste. Then how else would I see your beautiful face, hm?”
“You might get more customers that way.” I press my hand into my hip as I lean into the counter, watching her walk closer to me before she ushers me away from the machine. She never lets me make my coffee. Anytime I’ve come to pick up an order for Cass and me, I lean in pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before she shoos me away.
She scoffs at me but scoops two heaping spoonfuls of sugar into a large Styrofoam cup, pouring a small amount of coffee in with it and stirring the mixture into a frothy deliciousness which only she can do. “I want people to come in and enjoy Sweet Bean. If they don’t want to come in, then this isn’t the place for them,” she says, continuing our conversation as she pours the warm milk and the remainder of the coffee, before she pops a lid on and hands it to me.
“I know, Mami, but still—” She raises her hand to stop the rest of my sentence.
“Must you argue through life, mi querida.”My dear.She brings her hand to my cheek and rubs her thumb in the motherly way all moms do. “You heading to the course today? Take two quesitos and a sandwich. They’re fresh.”
“They’re always fresh.” I poke at her, a childlike smile on my face like always, when it's just Mami and me. “Thank you, and yes, I am. I better get going too, before I miss my tee time.”
The door chimes, alerting us to a customer. I give her a quick peck on the cheek as I turn on my heel and make my way to my car. The greenare calling my name, and I can’t wait to embrace the peace swinging my driver gives me.
Crack!
My eyes track the tiny neon pink sphere as it soars through the air. I hear the golf ball shuttle out into the sky in precisely the direction I want it to go, as I enjoy the feel of the wind whipping through my short magenta locks. I inhale deeply, savoring the smell of the freshly cut grass. Since opening the bar, Shaken Tropes, with my best friend, Cassidy, I haven’t had much free time to golf. I miss it.
However, with the tournament coming up, I wanted to make sure I was still familiar with the place as much as I was when I worked here. After finishing my Bachelor of Business Administration I took a break from school. Working here was so different from focusing on classes; learning to play golf taught me discipline and patience, two things I needed in every sense of the word.
Mossy Oaks Gold Club gave me something easy to focus on while I was having a come-to-Jesus moment. Now, it feels like coming home. I also feel kind of badass being able to drive around on Penelope, our custom golf cart. She’s a bad bitch, and I’m most definitely catching a few glances.
Since my first reluctant golf lesson, I’ve played with this brand of golf balls. I remember looking up the company after my first few rounds andrealizing they were a pro golfer favorite and a sponsor for some of the biggest names. Dropping another one of my neon pink balls, I line up my feet as I shake my hips side to side to find my grounding. I’ve tried my best at switching but my game never felt right without these specific balls.
A salty breeze coasts over my skin, and when I close my eyes to take in a deep breath, a memory flits through my mind. Of calloused hands atop my own, adjusting my fingers before releasing them and softly gripping my waist. Shivering from the phantom touch, I shake my head, wanting to get out of my thoughts. Stretching out my arms, I take a test swing with my driver, nodding to myself when I feel like I’m on target, and take a deep inhale. As soon as I exhale the breath, I connect my club with the ball and watch it soar.
“I still got it,” I whisper, elated with where the ball landed.
It’s been a couple hours and I’m finally at my last hole. It's been the perfect morning. I pull off my visor and rest on the seat of Penelope. Having our own golf cart has been such a treat. Swiping away the sweat collecting at my brow, I leave the visor and step out, grabbing a club from my golf bag.
My eyes scan the green to confirm this is in fact a par five; 520 yards is light with how I’ve been hitting the ball this morning.
Planting my feet, I say a little prayer and take the shot as a group of golfers pass by, taking their time to mosey past me. The shot is clean and veers slightly left, exactly where I wanted it to go.Hell yes!This day may be one of the best I’ve had in terms of how well I’m hitting the ball, which is saying something considering it's been quite some time since I’ve been out here. There is only so much I can do at the range.
The golfers walking by have now paused their game to interrupt mine,as they come to a stop next to my golf cart. Both are older gentlemen—one who could be handsome behind the mustache taking over his face, and his shorter friend with a bald spot, who I just know is going to piss me off. He has thatlook.
“Nowthatwas a beautiful swing,” Pornstache compliments me. “Where did you learn to hit like that?” He chuckles.
“Practice, and I had a really great instructor.”Hisgolden eyes flash in my mind for a second. My voice is light. It's been a beautiful morning and I don’t intend to ruin it, but the hairs on my arms are starting to rise. Warning me.
“Maybe you could give me a couple of pointers.” His voice is flirty and it takes everything in me not to gag. I love older men but not when their eyes are glued to my legs, as if already imagining my thighs wrapped around their face before even asking for my name.
“Sadly, I don’t give lessons, but the club has some amazing instructors,” I reply, attempting to deflect them while still remaining polite. It grates on my nerves to feel as though I need to be polite to men who are so clearly not giving me the same respect.
“Aw, come on. A pretty thing like you, I’m sure you can give us some instruction onsomething.” His friend with the bald spot the size of the Bermuda Triangle answers as he steps out of his golf cart, angling toward where I’m standing. Men like this piss me off.
I say under my breath, “Ay! Aquí vamos de nuevo,”Oh! Here we go again.Getting into Penelope, I turn to face them. “A pretty thing like me, hm?”
“Yeah. We could maybe meet for a late dinner orsomething else.”Their eyes brighten at whatever prospect they’ve created in their minds, one that is so light-years away from happening.
“I think I’ll pass.”
Right as I’m about to pull off, I hear the one who has an island for a head say, “A girl her size should be grateful for any appreciation.” I knew his face was punchable. I can’t help myself when I pull my foot off the accelerator and allow the cart to roll to a stop. All I wanted to do was play a round of golf, unbothered by old creeps, but here we are. Before I head home to wash the grime and sweat off, I’m going to put these two in their place.
“You know what, imbécil? Maybe if you gave up the ghost and cut off the hair wrapping around the top of your head like a miniskirt, a girl ofmy sizemight be bothered to give you any time at all. Andyou,Pornstache, what a waste of a decent face. You both can go suck on a bag of dirty dicks.” I press on the gas with a satisfied grin plastered across my face.
3
Chuck:Yup. Called it. Straight into the rough.
