Page 31 of Sweet Spot
“What do you mean? The training plan says two hundred reps.”
“That’s why I’m calling. Scratch that. I want you to go back to practicing without a club. And double the reps. That turn and weight shift need to be perfect. Your power is your best asset, but in order to swing as hard as you can, everything else has to be dialed in.”
“But—” I start to object and think better of it. “All right, whatever you say.”
For the next hour, I continue to bite my tongue and follow his instructions. Lincoln insists I need to slow down and rebuild my swing—something few people would dare try to do in the middle of a season.
But it’s listen to Lincoln or keep hoping Coach Potter suddenly notices how much I deserve to be out there. And the latter seems as likely as Lincoln telling me to take tomorrow off and enjoy a nice bubble bath.
“Pause at the top of the turn and concentrate on using your legs—your arms are just levers.”
It takes a few minutes of him nit picking every single part of my body.
“Your knees are bent too much.”
“No, now not enough bend.”
“You’re tilting too much.”
“Your pushing with your right.”
“Your shoulders are too stiff.”
But I listen, and soon, his commentary falls silent and I settle into a rhythm, focusing on the feeling of my body and trying to commit it to memory.
“I think I have it,” I tell him once the correct way starts to feel natural. I stop and face the camera, waiting for the next step or maybe a compliment.
“Keep going. I’ll let you know when to stop.” He steps out of view, and I stick my tongue out at him.
The door from the house into the garage opens, and my dad smiles as he sees me standing on my golf mat.
“I’m gonna heat up a frozen dinner. Are you staying to eat, sweet pea?”
Oh God.I don’t dare look at my phone to see if Lincoln is watching. “Oh, uh. I’ll make dinner for us. Don’t eat that garbage. Just give me a bit to finish up first.”
He waves me off. “I’ll cook two Hungry Man dinners so I can prove that they aren’t garbage. Frozen packages of delight, those things are.” He shakes a finger at me as he goes back in and then lets the door fall closed.
I glance at the phone and find Lincoln almost smirking.
“Don’t say a word,” I warn him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,sweet pea.” He smiles, and I consider picking up a club and throwing it at his head, but don’t want to destroy my phone. “Go, have a delicious dinner with your father and then get another three-hundred reps in. Message me later and let me know how it goes.”
“Three hundred?” My eyes widen and my brows rise, but Lincoln’s face remains completely serious.
“Take advantage of the setup at your dads while you’re there. It’s better than your space in the dorm. We really need to figure out how to make it where you can hit balls there when the time comes.”
“Yeah, my neighbors would love that,” I mutter quietly, but the man misses nothing.
“Enjoy your Hungry Man.” He full-on smiles, and it looks good on him. I forget how annoying he is when he smiles like that.
“What are you having for dinner? Do you cook? Pizza delivery? Or are you more of a takeout kind of guy?”
“Actually, I’m having dinner with someone.” He lifts his arm and checks the time on his expensive-looking watch. “I should get going. Have a nice night, Keira.”
Irrational jealousy heats my face. He’s going on a date and I’m having a microwavable dinner with my dad. Figures.
Focusing all my frustration, I set the camera up to record and do all three hundred reps. And then fifty more.
