Page 16 of The Leaves In Autumn
When the ball is not anywhere to be found on the path, we walk a few more yards until he breaks the silence.
“You may be going blind, Barbra. Not once in two years have you been able to see where your balls land. We spend half the time looking.”
“I have you for that. You’re the keeper of the balls.”
And they are hidden behind those shorts, along with the main attraction. Big D energy describes Aargon to a T. He never talks himself up. Doesn’t have to wonder if he is attractive and sexy. It’s obvious. I wonder if he just read my mind. Eyes lowered to my backside a second ago. Think I will call him on it for fun.
“You men think we can’t tell when you’re sneaking a peek.”
He points to my ball, hiding in the tall grass at the bottom of the tree. My shoulders sink with the news. I line up for an impossible shot.
“What are you talking about?” he says, pleading ignorance.
“You are looking at my ass. Again. I can feel your eyes boring into me every time I walk away.”
“I was looking at your war wounds.”
“Uh huh. You’re focusing about three feet too high. I’m going to be on the green with this one. Watch and learn, my man.”
I address the ball and take a few looks at the flag. He stands arms crossed.
“Well, youlooklike you know what you’re doing.”
“Of course I do. Now be quiet.”
I pull the club back.
“What if itwasyour ass I was looking at?”
My swing takes a dogleg left with the statement.
“Shit!”
“No need to panic, Tiger. It was rhetorical.”
He chuckles, and I take off for the sand trap, where my ball no doubt is buried. Mostly, I want a minute to digest what just happened and why I am enjoying it so much. Walking away, I work on my sway, hoping to blow his concentration. Maybe it will ruin his putt.
The Clubhouse restaurant is a hundred times better than the public course’s Shake Shack. Except for the fries. Those cannot be beat.
“I’m spoiled now, you know.”
I make my point by savoring a forkful of my superfood salad. He watches.
“About what?”
“The course, the menu, your ability to get good tee off times. The fact we’re so evenly matched golf-wise is a bonus.”
He doesn’t even bother to contradict my assessment. It’s wrong of course. Any other time he would have laughed and told me I was delusional to think we are on the same level. But not today. The last of his BLT goes down with a swig of an Arnold Palmer. Then he smiles. Sly like.
“What’s that look for?”
“Nothing. Can’t a man smile?”
“See, it just got weird between us.”
“No it didn’t. What are you talking about?”
The words do not match his all-knowing expression.
