But this shit is justawkward
I had no choice but to remain completely quiet in the car ride to our first location because she gave menothing.
Not that I really tried. I cleared my throat, cracked my knuckles, tapped my fingers on the leather seats, and she watched me like I was a species in a museum she’d never seen before.
I could feel her eyes raking over me the entire drive, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of looking back at her. So I kept my eyes forward.
She watched while I tried to hand the driver the card with the address. Watched as he waved me off because he knew exactly where to take us.
And she watched as I read a text message from my manager telling me to ‘let loose’.
Whatever that means.
It’s just like Orlando to meddle and go all out when he does. Tonight is the perfect example of that.
Olive watched in complete silence, observing almost eerily, making me uncomfortable.
Not a word.
Not a smile.
Not a single sign of life.
I told the guy behind the counter at our first location,Putt Lane, that we had a booking for their next session. He handed us two golf clubs, a bucket of balls, and guided on us where to go.
Once we were both in our respective spots, she put ball after ball on her tee and swung her club like she was mad at it. She even hit almost every target she aimed for.
I, on the other hand, am no good at golf. I bounce and shoot a ball on a court, I don’t swing and hit balls with a stick.
"You’re really gonna give me nothing?" I finally ask her after she returns with her second bucket of golf balls.
"I don’t know what you mean," she says, still not looking at me as she places a new ball on her tee. How she’s able to do it so seamlessly in that dress isn’t something I want to try to figure out.
It’s dark blue, skintight with thin straps, and all I want to do is peel them off her shoulders, and let her dress pool at her feet.
I still don’t like her.
No matter what my brain—or body—might be saying.
"I don’t think I’ve even seen so much as a smile from you since you got in the car. Or ever, really." I shrug, swinging my club, missing the ball completely.
"And I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything even remotely funny to make mewantto smile." The sound of herclub connecting with the ball is something I’ve heard time and time again, but that one in particular feels like it’s aimed right for my gut, and I realize she’s right.
I’m giving her as much as she’s giving me.
"Although, something that almost makes me laugh, Avery, is your form. Because, and I mean this in the least respectful way possible, what the hell are you doing?"
I—what?
That gets a laugh out of me, a real, deep laugh that I’m sure everyone around us heard. I think it’s the first time I’ve laughed genuinely in the last twelve months. It makes my throat feel…itchy.
"I play basketball, not golf," I remind her.
Olive’s face remains expressionless. "Ah,that’swhy you’re famous."
I genuinely cannot tell if she’s being serious, and she knows nothing about me, or if she’s being sarcastic.
"If you’re so good,Olivia, why don’t you teach me?" I raise a brow, gripping the end of my club in my hand, watching as she scrunches up her nose and shakes her head.
