Page 74 of Nash

Wonder if that’s how he got his name?

“I’m going to kill him,” he hisses under his breath while we drive to the eighth tee.

“Don’t kill him yet,” I whisper. “I want the satisfaction of beating him first. Oh, and check Beaufort. That’s where he’s been hiding.”

Nash stops the cart and looks at me, questioning, “How do you know?”

“I asked Daisy where they met, where he’s taken her on dates. He’s going to all the trendy spots, so he’s got to be local. It sounds like some of his assholes live there, too.”

Nash cocks a grin. “Damn, my woman, you’re getting hotter with every hole.”

I wink. “If you’re lucky.”

As the four of us walk toward our tee-boxes, I call out, “Watch out for the water hazard on the left. It’s a doozy.”

“Thanks,” Daisy calls back.

Turner stays silent, walking ahead of us.

“What was that?” Nash side-whispers while I clean my driver.

“A trick my dad taught me. Put it in their head, and their ball will follow.”

“Good god,” Nash mutters, grabbing my ass while no one’s watching. “I’m going to thank you so hard tonight.”

Minutes later, “Fucking bitch!” Olan spews after he shanks his drive … andplunk!Right into the pond on the left of the green it lands.

Bullseye, Bridge Bastard.

Turner whips around, charging my way, poking the handle of his driver at me. “That was your fault. Keep your fucking mouth closed!”

“Me?” I mouth, smiling and pointing to myself.

But Nash growls, “Speak to her again that way,” gripping his driver tight, “and I’ll drive your fucking skull down the fairway.”

I reach for Nash’s bicep, tugging him back, just in time for a tournament marshal to pull up in his cart.

“Gentlemen? Do we have a problem?”

“No,” I chirp. “We’re just giving our balls a bath.”

Daisy giggles, and Turner collects himself, not wanting to make an ass out of himself when he wants a piece of her ass tonight.

Good luck with that.

On the ninth hole, Turner tries my trick on me. “Watch out for the three sand bunkers on the right,” he yells. “You little ladies have been shanking right all day.” But I also hear the four vodka drinks he’s pounded down too.

It was particularly delightful when he pissed in the hedgerow on the seventh hole. Dang, the dick jokes I wanted to make, but I’m making my man proud, so I told them to myself.

Your dick’s so small you’re pissing on your nuts.

Are you gonna get that wart lanced?

Soyou’rethe expert on micropenises.

Those got me through it. I didn’t snark once. But now?

“Thanks for the advice,” I tell him. “Maybe if I shoot from the men’s tee, I’ll do better.”

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