“That’s what I said,” he said while winking.
“While your accent is new, I am kind of partial to this club,” I said, allowing my stubborn nature to show.
He stood behind me, his hard parts braced against my soft ones, his hands coming over mine. “Feel that. The tautness coupled with a slight bend in the knee?”
I nodded, this time I understood his words but had no idea what he was saying.
He let go of my hand and poked at my back elbow before bringing his hands to mine. In a slow stroke he showed me how to swing. “Like that. With precision…”
He rambled on with some other tips, none of which I caught because he smelled really good. A combination of mint and tea tree swirled the tiny hairs in my nose, and it twitched. I resisted the urge to rub it because it would mean losing contact with Daniel.
“Hey guys, I’m going to join this team,” he was shouting all of a sudden, half twisting but not letting go of me.
“We want to win,” his teammates argued.
“I’ll come over in a bit and hit some balls,” was all he said.
His back still to my front, I was paralyzed until Sella spoke.
“Can I get a turn?”
“Of course,” he said, stepping away from me and holding out his hand again with a solid, “Daniel.” No Danny explanation with it.
“Sella, and I don’t need any help. Dad plays golf. Dragged me out all my life to hit balls. Wanted a son. Got me.”
With his hands in the air, Daniel backed away toward the table. “Tell me, Wren, what do you do when you’re not golfing?”
We stood around the table and he eyed me like I was prey. Surprisingly, I wasn’t mad. “Pretendgolfing. I don’t really golf.” I put my foot in my mouth again. I should’ve just twisted my leg up and shoved the other one down my throat…
“Right. Pretend golf. What is it you do otherwise?”
His accent rumbled off his tongue and found mysterious nooks and crannies in my body swooning. Nooks I didn’t know existed. “I go to school.”
He raised an eyebrow, making sure I knew he wasn’t letting me off the hook so easily.
“Pre-med. I study a lot. I’m in the advocacy group against animal testing. Yoga.”
He nodded. “A true animal lover and type B?” He said the last part like a question…
“Regrettably, no. Type A, but I try to instill some B in myself.”
“I have a dog,” he said, bypassing my vitriol. “Cutest guy…Brutus is his name.” When he looked at me his eyes were bright and optimistic, like he found the Willy Wonka golden ticket in my sarcasm.
“I bet you do have the cutest dog. Does that work with all the ladies?”
Not going to lie, it was working with me—but I wasn’t telling him that piece of information.
“You’re up, golfer boy,” Sella hollered over our conversation, and I sauntered behind him as he got up.
We went on to watch him hit the ball flawlessly again and again. His balls all sailed to the far end of the green, his points soaring on the computer screen. It was real golf. This place was a live-action video game to him, and not meant for a dork like me.
He was back and holding out his hand to help me with my turn, and even I couldn’t resist a little jumping up and down when my ball sailed over the green.
“Must be your lucky panties,” Sella whispered to me as I passed by her near the club exchange.
I couldn’t resist the smile forming on my face, which was pretty much how the evening went from then on—a striking combination of my reluctance to allow myself to have fun, my sarcasm making an appearance, and me actually enjoying myself.
Daniel would chat with me while Sella shot, then take his own turn. I watched in awe before he would make an attempt at helping me. Rinse and repeat. A few times he went over and shot with his guys, who all hooted and hollered when he wandered their way, slapping him on the back.
