Page 58 of Sweet Spot
He should be cleared to drive at this appointment, and I’m both looking forward to him regaining his independence and already missing the time together.
Dad retires to his chair and puts on the game, so I take that as my cue to head back to the dorm.
“Hey you.” I nearly run into Abby as she opens the door to our dorm before I can.
“Hey.” She smiles and backtracks into the room.
“Headed to Smiths?”
“Study group then Smith’s.” She points to a box next to my bed. “That came for you.”
“To the room?”
“Yeah, they brought it straight up because it was taking up too much space in the mail area downstairs.” She raises a brow and looks to me, expecting answers. “What in the world did you order?”
“I didn’t.” I try to lift the box, but it’s heavy. Really heavy.
“All right, well the suspense is killing me, but I have to go.” Abby heads to the door. “Text me later.”
“I will. Bye,” I call over my shoulder as I search for my scissors.
Once I find them, I sit on the floor next to the box, cut the tape, and peel back the flaps. I find a piece of plain, white copy paper on top.
For your dorm. Let me know if you need anything else.
Lincoln
I set his note on the floor and dig through the contents of the box. Foam golf balls, a chipping net, a hitting net, a small putting mat, and a much larger hitting mat. A nice one. It’s way nicer than the one at my dad’s. There’s even a pair of ear plugs that I’m guessing are supposed to be for Abby. He thought of everything, because of course he did.
He calls as I’m working on a new trick shot. I place the phone on my desk so I can show him before grabbing my wedge and a ball. “Prepare to be amazed.”
“What is it you’re trying to do exactly?” Lincoln asks, dark brows raised and a smirk on his lips. Those lips . . . now that I know what they feel like against mine, I can’t look at him without doing an instant replay of our make-out session.
“No look into the cup.”
“I can’t see the cup,” he says.
“It’s on the floor by the wall,” I say as I bounce the ball off the clubface and turn so that my back is to the cup. I tap it into the air, flip the club, and hit it over my shoulder. I turn in time to see the ball hit the rim of the cup and bounce away. “If you didn’t see it, I guess I can pretend that went in.”
The ball continues to bounce around the room noisily, and we both laugh.
“I just need a little more practice.” I grab the phone and my laptop. “You want me to log into the site?”
“Nah, it’s fine as long as I can see you. I’m reviewing the videos you sent this morning now.”
“Check out my new setup.” I angle the phone so he can see how I’ve pushed my and Abby’s beds farther apart and put the net between them. My mat is on the floor in the open space.
“I have just enough room to swing my club.” I move the phone again so I can show him where I put the putting mat and chipping net. “Thank you. This is ridiculous, but I love it.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Now that you have a decent setup in your room, I’m going to up the intensity.”
“Do your worst.”
Lincoln shakes his head and laughs before going back to analyzing my swing videos from earlier. “Swing looks pretty good. I see what you’re talking about with your arms not being at full extension past impact. Let me see it. Can you position the camera so I can see your swing from the front?”
I spend the next hour taking swings in my new makeshift training area while Lincoln coaches me. He tweaks and nitpicks, but he’s encouraging as he does it.
“We have our home tournament in two weeks.”
