Page 73 of Nash

We let Turner win the first hole at one over par. “That’s a thousand,” he boasts at the green after putting his ball in. “At this rate, you’ll owe me eighteen by the end.”

Nash nods. He’s an iceberg while I’m hot and tempting, “Let’s make it interesting. Let’s double it on the back nine.”

Turner raises a brow. “Twenty-seven thousand? That’s how much you want to lose today?”

Arrogant little prick.

I shrug. “Maybe I’ll play better if I’m under pressure. Anything to cure these shanks. If not, I’m playing Army golf all day.”

“Army golf?” Daisy asks.

“Yeah,” I joke. “Left. Right. Left. Right. That’s my game lately. I can’t drive it down the middle to save my life.”

“You need to adjust your hips when you swing.” Turner ogles them.

No, shit.

“Oh, is that it?” I sound dumb while Nash clears his throat, fuming at Turner noticing my form.

“Yeah,” Turner sneers, raking his glare up my bare legs before boldly staring right at my cleavage. “Bet those get in the way of your swing, too.”

“God, Olan, you’re such a bad boy,” Daisy giggles. “Keep your eyes where they belong.”

“Your mouth, too,” Nash warns.

Shit, we won’t make it eighteen holes in four hours if Nash murders Turner on the first green. Thankfully, the attendant at the drink cart calls out, asking if we want anything, and Turner takes the rookie bait. He orders a John Daly—lemonade, iced tea, and vodka—and I turn, winking at Nash.

We’re off to a good start.

During the next five holes, I get to know Daisy. We let our “stupid little gossip,” as Turner calls it, annoy him and fill me with hopes that I can get some intel for Nash.

“So, where did you two meet?” I whisper to her while we watch the men take their swings. They’re silently ignoring the other.

“Hemingway’s Bistro down in Beaufort,” Daisy whispers back. “I was there with my sister. She spotted Olan first, but once I saw him, I told her he’s mine.” She elbows me. “But I’m making him work for it. This is our third date. He won’t get lucky until the seventh.”

Beaufort.I note.Maybe that’s where Turner has been hiding.

“Good for you,” I tell her. “Don’t show him the promised land until he’s ready to worship it.” She winks at me, sipping from her water bottle. “Where did he take you on your first date? That’s how they prove themselves.”

“The Ribault Social Club,” she answers, and I nod approvingly.

“Did he top it with the second date?”

“Not really,” she answers. “We met up with some of his friends at Ladys Island Dockside. The place is cute, but I swear some of his friends are slicker than owl shit. They were hitting on me like I’m fair game. I made Olan take me home. He was in the doghouse until this date, so we’ll see how it goes.”

Yep, Beaufort, South Carolina. That’s where he and his crew were hiding.

“What about you and Nash?” she asks. “Where was your first date?”

Do murderous car chases followed by a quarter pounder with cheese qualify as a date?

I roll my lips. “It’s complicated.”

“Honey,” she whispers, eyeing them, eyeing us. “That man of yours is so fine, bringing all those hot zaddy vibes when he looks at you. Girl, he could complicate me like a Sudoku puzzle.”

Mental note: once Daisy’s wicked date is dead, take her out for mint juleps and gift her with arealdate—a Vibe from Maude vibrator.

At the seventh hole, I need a needle and thread to sew my lips shut. I’m dying to say something. I want to bust Turner in front of Daisy because he’s eye-fucked me so many times Nash is gnashing his teeth.

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