“How’s my disguise?” I ask her as we walk side by side in the parking lot.
“You can rock the long hair, I must say.” She giggles, making me flip my fake, shoulder-length hair over my shoulder.
Since the news isn’t out to the world, and we don’t want to be caught by paparazzi, we both decided to dress up in disguises. Me, I opted for a red trucker hat with built-in extensions that made it look like I had dark, long hair, paired with my sunglasses since it’s summer and the sun is still out at seven in the evening. It’s a bit chillier for a summer night, though, so I threw on gray joggers and a matching sweatshirt.
“And how’s mine?” she asks, putting a hand under her chin as she smiles.
Teagan put her hair in a bun and topped it with a blue bucket hat and sunglasses, making her look bald. And I got to say, the girl can pull it off.
She looks pretty in everything.
“For two,” I tell the worker as I pull out my credit card.
“I can pay for myself,” Teagan pipes up from beside me.
“And I can pay for both of us.” I turn to her with a smirk as she shakes her head.
Once I pay, the worker hands us our clubs, and then we each pick a colorful ball, orange for me, blue for her.
“Are we doing the tricky course or the easy one?” I ask her as we get to the sign that points in the direction of said courses.
“The hard one, of course. It’ll be more fun,” she muses, walking in the direction of said course.
We get to the first hole, which has a bridge over a water stream that we need to get the ball over in order to get to the hole.
“Ladies first,” I say as I gesture with my hand for her to go ahead of me.
Teagan places her ball on the fake grass, then attempts to line up her putter with the ball when I notice her hand placement is all wrong.
“If you want a better shot, you need to fix your grip on the putter.”
She turns to me, and even though I can’t see her eyes, I know they’re rolling in her head.
“What’s wrong with how I have them?”
“Mind if I show you?” I ask as I take a step toward her. “I’ll have to touch your hands.”
She thinks it over for a second, then mutters, “Fine. I want to be good, so I can beat you.”
A low laugh spills out of me as I rest my club on the ground, then step up behind her.
I reach my arms around her, placing my hands on top of hers.
“Your hands shouldn’t be on top of each other,” I say, my breath brushing the side of her neck, and I don’t miss the slight shiver of her body.
Pride washes over me knowing I have an effect on her, and while I’m tempted to see what other reactions I can pull out of her, I know it’s not the right place.
I grab her top hand and lift it up, placing it below her other hand. “You should have them placed like this, one near the top of the club, the other just below so that the thumb of your top hand is under the base of the thumb of your bottom hand.”
She does as told and places her hands as directed.
“Keep your hands like this, and when you swing, use a gentle flick of your wrists. We’re only putting. If you use your hips, it’ll go farther than you want.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice low as she gulps.
I’m playing with fire being this close to her, and I need to stop myself before I’m no longer able to hide the effect she has on me.
I let go of her hands and step back, grabbing my club as I watch her.
