“Did he just call you, ‘Destino?’” I asked.
“Damn skippy I did, Kit Cat!” Chip interjected, picking up right away on my new nickname.
“Oh no,” I said because two people saying it meant it was athing.“That’s not my name.”
Dustin and Chip made eye contact.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Chip asked.
“Oh yes,” Dustin answered.
Chip pressed a couple of buttons on his phone, and ten seconds later the two of them literally broke into song, as they danced around the putting green like a couple of goofs and sung to the Ting Ting’s songThat’s Not My Name.
“They call me Sta-cy. They call me Jane. That’s not my name. That’s not my ... name!”
Phoebe died laughing, and although I tried to resist, I did too. And it felt good.
I stared at Dustin—Destino, now?—and I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t help the way my heart warmed. There was something about two muscular, good-looking guys doing a goofy coordinated dance (where did they learn it?) to a ridiculous pop song. I couldn’t help but smile.
Just then, a camera crew and a group of people came upon us.
“Uh, hey, sorry we’re late. Are you about to tee off?”
Chip and Dustin stopped dancing, and Chip turned off the song.
“Fun’s over, girls,” Chip said. “We’ll dance more, later. Don’t you worry.”
We teed off and started the first of eighteen holes. As I watched Dustin hit an expert shot, I couldn’t stop my heart from fluttering. But it still drove me crazy thinking about how he had turned down my invitation last night.
After an hour of pretending we’d never seen each other before and exclusively chatting about golf, pop music, and which holiday is the best, we’d had a few drinks and I felt bold going from hole seven to eight.
“So are we going to talk about last night?” I blurted out. He didn’t take his eyes off the green as he drove the cart.
“I had a great time. Did you?” he said.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “But why didn’t we ... you know?”
He stopped at the next tee. Phoebe and Chip were already teeing off.
“Why didn’t I what, Kit Cat?” He seemed to revel in asking the question to which I was sure he knew the answer.
“Why didn’t you want to come in?” I breathed, spelling it out.
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Is there something wrong with me?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Something I said?”
Phoebe and Chip drove off to find their balls on the fairway.
“Anyone ever tell you that you overanalyze things?” Dustin said as he set his ball on the tee, and lined up his shot.
“I’m a doctor, that’s what I do. I analyze things.”
“I like you, Cat,” he said. “I think you’re great.”
