She shimmies her shoulders, her grip on her club not moving from how I had them. Her head tilts to the hole, then back to her club as she lifts it back, then hits the ball.
It goes right into the water, making Teagan shout, “Fuck off!”
I can’t help the laugh that slips out of me, and she turns to me as she’s bent over, hand in the water as she gets her ball. “Something funny?”
“Nothing at all,” I say, trying and failing to hide the laughter.
“Let’s see you do any better,” she sasses as she stands beside me, hand on her hip.
“Pfft, this is going to be as smooth as spreading melted butter on bread,” I tell her as I place my ball and line up my shot.
I’m about to hit the ball when Teagan yells, “Don’t mess up.”
It throws me off, and instead of the shot that was going to go straight over the bridge, it goes right into the water.
I turn to face her, my lips pressed into a thin line as she hides her laughter behind her hands.
“You ever hear of golf etiquette?” I ask, my tone teasing and chastising.
“Nope.”
“Golf etiquette states that everyone should be silent as someone is swinging.”
“Oh, sorry.” She giggles some more, and I can’t help in but join her in laughing as I retrieve my ball from the cool water.
We both shoot again, and this time we make it over. Thank God.
The rest of the holes go smoothly. Well, as smooth as they can for Teagan. She’s yelled more obscenities at that ball than I’ve ever heard before, but the smile on her face tells me she’s still having fun.
What a breathtaking smile it is. She seems so carefree and happy. I’d take her mini golfing every day if it means she can be this happy.
I mean that platonically…of course. As her friend. I just want her to be happy.
But there are times I question how platonic my thoughts are. Because as Teagan lines up for the eighteenth hole, I can’t keep my eyes off her perfect ass.
Goddammit.
I curse under my breath as I force my eyes elsewhere until I hear her putter make contact with the ball. There’s a skee-ball style ending to the hole, with different prizes based on what hole you get it in.
One is your money back for the course, one is a five-dollar off voucher for next time, the other a free ice cream at the stand just outside the facility, and if you miss any hole, you get nothing.
“I’m getting that free ice cream,” Teagan declares as she drops her ball on the green.
“What flavor would you get?”
“It depends. If they have soft serve, a cone with vanilla ice cream dipped in sprinkles. If they have hard ice cream, I’d get rainbow sherbet in a bowl,” she explains as she adjusts her grip on the club. Once she eyes up her shot, she lifts the club back and gently swings.
I watch as her ball goes down the green, up, and nicks the hole of the free ice cream, landing in the nothing hole.
Teagan’s shoulders slump, her lips forming a pout. “I really wanted that ice cream.”
Seeing her look of defeat after having so much fun tonight puts a sour feeling in my gut. Fuck it. I’m going to win her that free ice cream.
Of course I can afford to buy it, but it’s more fun if you can win it for free.
Dropping my ball on the green, I get into position and pray to God that it somehow makes it into the free ice cream hole.
I swing the club back, then forward, my eyes not leaving the ball as it rolls down the green and up the ramp.
