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I don’t check.

Zane asks, “That the lawyer?”

“No.”

“Becca?”

“Likely no.”

“That inheritance shit still messy?”

I pick up my disc. “What gave it away?”

“You threw three over par and lunged at a squirrel.”

“The squirrel deserved it.” I wipe dirt from the edge of the disc. “Yeah. It’s all messy.”

Zane waits.

“The dude’s lawyer is shiny.”

“How shiny?”

“Practically glistens. Looks like he charges in spray tan.”

“Rich folks.”

I nod at that.

“Paul keeps acting like he’s being reasonable, which is worse than just being a dick.”

“Mm.” Zane crouches to line up his putt. “Reasonable people are annoying. Harder to punch.”

“He’d have to be in the same room with me for that.”

“He’s ghosting?”

“Not exactly. Just filters everything through the damn lawyer like he can’t be bothered.”

He sinks the putt and points at the basket.

“Maybe distance is better.”

I think about the party, the pergola, Paul’s eyes turned up to me. Then his eyes moving down.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The trail slopes down through trees toward a more open stretch where the sunlight hits hard. Beyond the course, I can hear basketballs from the courts. Thud. Thud. Metal rim. A burst of laughter.

My grip tightens around the disc.

“So what’s the rich boyfriend want?” he asks.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“The dead guy’s boyfriend, doof.”

“He says he wants time,” I say. “Needs to assess. All the bullshit people with multiple houses say before saying no.”