“I’m probably a little rusty. So, do not make fun of me.”
My lips twitched. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Becca adjusted her grip on the club, which was all wrong. It looked like she was holding a garden hose instead of a club, but I didn’t dare say a word. She pulled the club back and swung. The ball skimmed across the grass, probably no more than twenty feet, before it came to an embarrassing stop.
She turned to me and winced. “That was just a warm-up.”
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. “Gotcha.” I grabbed my 3-wood from the stand and wrapped my hands tightly around the rubber grip. I adjusted my shoulder, lining up the stance, and took the club back. I could feel Becca’s eyes on me as my club connected with the ball with a sharp clicking sound. It flewacross the open field, landing about two hundred and fifty yards in the open green.
She let out a little huff. “You are so annoying. Do you have to be good at everything?”
I set my club down. “I golf a lot during the off-season.”
She walked back up to the mat, still clutching the same useless wedge.
“Give me that.” I took it from her hands and swapped it for an oversized driver. “Here,” I stepped closer, “try this.”
She planted her feet together. I could see the determination in her stance, but it was still off. So, I stepped behind her, adjusting her grip on the club. “Loosen your fingers,” I said, sliding my hand over hers.
She stiffened from our close proximity. “Like this?”
I reached around her, flexing my hands on her hips, making sure she was aligned right. “There. That’s better.”
She inhaled a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re trying to help me improve my golf swing or are you just looking for excuses to touch me?”
“Both. Now spread your legs a little wider,” I said into her ear, guiding her hips into position.
She gasped. “Jesus! Thank God there is no one here. That came out all wrong.”
I laughed into her hair. “Actually, it came out pretty good when I said that to you last night.”
She gave me the side-eye. “Stop trying to distract me on purpose. If I miss this shot, I’m blaming you.”
I stepped back, giving her some space. She moved around me, lined her ball up, and swung the club.
The ball actually went into the air this time as opposed to rolling along the ground. It wasn’t as far as mine, but it was a decent shot.
Her head snapped to mine. “Did you see that?”
I smiled at the pride lighting up her face. And damn, if that didn’t hit me square in the chest.
“See what a difference using the right club can make?”
We spent the next thirty minutes swinging clubs and sending balls flying across the range. Her game didn’t improve much, but Becca was a good sport. She was laughing, happy, and having a good time. Which was exactly what I wanted.
I glanced down at my watch. “Okay. We only have an hour left. Do you want to keep hitting balls, or move over to mini golf?”
“Mini golf, and you better not show off over there too.”
“I can’t make any promises.”
We walked side by side toward the mini-golf course, adjacent to the driving range. I was thankful that the weather held off today. There was a slight chance of an afternoon shower, but so far, the sun was still out, and the temperature was warm enough that we didn’t need a jacket.
The day couldn’t be any more perfect in my opinion.
“You know,” Becca said casually as I opened the gate to the fenced-in area, “I think we should make things more interesting. How about the loser has to buy drinks later?”
My forehead creased slightly. “You feel confident enough to pull that off?”
