Page 63 of Sweet Spot
“Keira?”
“Will you sleep with your shirt off this time?”
* * *
It’s just as beautiful as the weatherman predicted. The sky is a brilliant blue, the few clouds look as if they were painted on, and there is just enough of a breeze to need long sleeves. I do a lot of small clinics at my home course, and today, I’m teaching a bunch of Pop’s old friends and students how to adjust their putting speed.
This kind of thing is far more laid back since most of the guys have known me since I was a kid following Pop around. The country club was my daycare and my playground far before it became my office, and these guys will never let me forget it.
“Hey, Linc, the wife said you turned down our Franny.” Darrell raises his head to see my reaction before he takes another putt. “My granddaughter not good enough for you?”
“My Angel, too,” Lance pipes in. “Something wrong with your equipment, son?” He uses the end of his putter to point toward my crotch.
“The wife says he’sbroodingafter the divorce.”
“I’m not brooding, and my equipment is just fine. Your lag putting, on the other hand, is shit. Focus on that, Darrell.”
The guys snicker, and I shake my head.
As we are finishing, Keira arrives wearing a black skirt that shows off her toned legs and a blue zip-up that’s skin-tight, highlighting her athletic curves without revealing any skin.
Her sunglasses sit on top of her head, hair still down, though I know from the many times I’ve watched her play or practice, she’ll take the unicorn scrunchie from her right wrist and secure it back before she starts.
“Hey,” she greets me and glances over at the guys and gives them a shy wave. They’ve all stopped what they were doing to check her out. Our clientele is very strongly in the sixty-plus age bracket, so they aren’t shy about their interest in her. “I thought I’d hit the driving range if you’re still working.”
“It’s all right. We’re done here,” I say loudly enough that the guys can hear me. “Nice work today, guys. See ya next time.”
With a wave and a few personal goodbyes, I collect my stuff, and Keira and I head toward my golf cart. “Do you still want to hit a few balls or are you ready to go out?”
“I actually already hit a small bucket. I got here early and didn’t want to disturb you,” she says as she slides into the passenger side.
While we wait to tee off at the first hole, Keira takes a long drink from her water bottle.
“Hung over?”
She gives me a small, rueful grin. “A little. Sorry for the late-night call.”
“Don’t be. You can always call me. Besides, you’re a funny drunk. What was the occasion anyway?”
“Just some girl time. Seems like I have less and less time every week. Not that I’m complaining,” she adds quickly and then elbows me. “My coach is a real hard ass.”
“Yeah?”
The wind blows her hair around her face, and I push it back with my fingers, resting my thumb on her cheek. When she leans into the touch, it answers the question I’ve had all week on whether or not I imagined the chemistry between us last weekend. Her eyes fall to my lips.
Another cart pulls up behind us at the tee box, and I let my hand fall away.
Forcing myself from the cart, I stand and grab my driver from my bag in the back, and then toss her a cocky smirk. “Your hard ass coach is about to kick yours.”
We zip through the course, playing through other groups. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. I don’t coach her unless she asks for specific feedback, and instead, we take turns launching bombs down the fairway and enjoy being on the course together.
As we finish on eighteen and head into the clubhouse, Darrell and Lance are standing behind their cars while the kid from the pro shop puts their bags in their respective trunks for them.
“Well, look who it is,” Lance says. He smiles at Keira. “Lovely day for golf.”
“It was.” She smiles back at them, sun-kissed skin alive with excitement.
“What about you, Linc? Did you have a good time?” Lance asks, a hint of humor in his tone. He places his white golf glove in his back pocket.
