Page 66 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“No can do. Don’t worry about it. You’re doing fine. It’s just a charity event, no biggie. We aren’t even keeping score.”
“Hunter is keeping score.”
“Pimplecock? Nah, he’s good. Just ignore him.”
Easier said than done. In fact, Iknowthat Gregorknowsthere’s no way I can ignore him. For whatever reason, I view him as my competition. As the man I need to put down. I can’t have him be better than me at anything. He’s the second choice. The second husband. The backup plan.Notthe better man.
I sigh and run my hand over my face roughly.
“Look”—Gregor turns to me—“we’ll get to the third tee, we’ll get another beer from another hot chick, and everything will seem better. Plus, you’ll get to go first since your shot was the worst.”
I nod in response to Gregor, even though I know he’s wrong. I’m not going to feel better until Hunter is eating my golf swing dust.
* * *
By the time we reach the thirteenth hole, I’m drunk. Legitimately drunk. Most holes since the third, I’ve had two beers instead of one. The girls are generous pourers and never say no to a refill. I’m borderline sloppy and I don’t even care. It’s actually good since I no longer give a fuck what Hunter thinks about me. I may whiff the ball more times than I hit it, but now I get to play from the forward tees, so I’m that much closer to the hole and it’s not even considered cheating.
Take that too, Hunter.
The other guys definitely have a decent buzz, but they aren’t as drunk as me. There’s something amplifying about drinking beer in the sun. I know it will hit me hard later and I can’t find it in myself to care. I spend most of my time flirting with the beer girls and sitting in the cart. Hunter and Andrew ignore me. As usual, Gregor is my only friend.
“I love you, man.” I slap him on the shoulder as I talk. Luckily, he’s the one driving the golf cart. I’m going to hate myself in the morning.
“And they say you don’t know how to express your emotions,” Gregor deadpans back to me.
“How many more times do we have to do this?” I ask.
“Five, including this next one,” Gregor says. “Then we can get you all tucked into a Lyft to get you home, where you can pass the fuck out until it’s time to go out tonight.”
“I gotta tell you, that sounds awesome, man. Not the part about tonight, the part about passing the fuck out.”
“I figured it would.” Gregor stops the cart and we pile out. “You’re up,” he says to me, handing me the club he thinks I should use. Because I’m the worst player, I have to go first—every time. Some sort of fucked-up golf etiquette. Shouldn’t I be punished for sucking? Really, they should make me go last. Or not let me go at all. The only good thing about having had this much to drink is my eye-hand coordination seems to have gotten better. There are even times where I hit the ball on the first swing and others where it travels far. Hashtag winning!
I place my club back in the bag and grab a bottled water from the cooler, draining it quickly. Andrew moves to take his turn, and Gregor turns to talk to Hunter.
“So, tell me about this bachelor party you’ve got planned?” he asks.
“Mostly low-key. Golf today, of course, then a nice dinner this evening, followed by scotch and cigars, after which I guess we’ll see where the night takes us,” Hunter answers. I have to admit, outside of the golf, it sounds like a good celebration.
“And what’s the little lady doing for her bachelorette?”
I grab another water bottle and lean a little closer, wanting to hear what Tabatha has planned.
“She’s shooting a movie right now—”
She is? That’s great!
“Even though I specifically asked her not to. Which has not gone over well. It’s already exceeded the expected shooting schedule, she was supposed to be finished this last week, leaving her the week of the wedding free. My thought is, she won’t have time for one. Which I told her would happen. But she didn’t listen. So typical. I honestly don’t know what’s come over her lately.”
Andrew comes to stand by them. “Tabatha?” he asks. Hunter nods in response.
“You’re going to have to get her back in line. Can’t be letting her go off doing her own thing.”
“I know,” Hunter says, giving me a look of superiority as he does. “It will not happen again. She knows better.”
She knows better? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
I ask Gregor about it once we are back in the cart on our way to the next hole. “Yeah, I thought that was a little weird too,” he says when I mention Hunter saying Tabatha should know better.
