Page 14 of Wedge

“Hey. Eyes on me.” He is full out panting now. “Right now, though, we are playing golf. Okay?” He nods frantically. “Whatever is playing on repeat in your head, hit pause, okay?” More nods. “Good boy.” His mouth sags open. Okay, maybe don’t use that phrase on the golf course. “Pause.”

He swallows. “Okay.”

“Okay. Now then. You have a ball to hit. And thirteen more holes to play. Can you focus on that for me?”

He swallows again. “Okay.”

“Okay. Little white ball. Go look at the lie.”

He walks off toward his ball like I gave him a lifeline, shoulders finally dropping an inch, and I stand there a full fifteen seconds more, willing my cock to settle the hell down before I follow. The wind cools the sweat on the back of my neck. Helpful, for once.

Good boy. Christ. Where did that even come from? I’ve caddied for fifteen years and never once called a client that in my life.

By the time I catch up, he’s already got his line picked out on the twelve footer, crouched low, squinting at the break. The green ripples silver where the wind combs the grass. I read it before he can ask, glad for something procedural to hide behind.

“Left to right,” I tell him, keeping my voice even. “Little more than it looks. Play it a ball outside the right edge.”

He nods, doesn’t look at me just because he’s locked in like I told him to, and that’s its own kind of relief.

He take a practice swing, steps up, sets his feet, and strokes it clean. The ball rolls out toward the high side, catches the slope, and curls back down the last three feet dead into the center of the cup.

“That’s a birdie,” I say, and this time I don’t stop my hand, I let it land on his shoulder, brief, easy, double-pat, the kind of thing I’d have done all day yesterday without thinking twice. “Good work.”

He goes still under it, like he’s absorbing the touch instead of flinching from it, and then he huffs out something that’s almost a laugh.

“Yeah?” I ask, an eyebrow up, testing. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

I’ll take it. I got that consent back.

We walk off the fifth hole with him one under on the day, and if he’s not exactly meeting my eyes yet, at least he’s not actively avoiding them either. Small progress. I’ll take that, too.

“Six is a par three,” I tell him, pulling the yardage book out as we head for the tee. Past the dark shoulder of the pines, I can just see a flash of blue water. “Over trees and water. You’ll like it.”

“I like anything that isn’t uphill into the wind,” he says, and it’s the most normal thing he’s said to me all morning.

I’ll take that, too.

The dining room is bright with afternoon sun, and Adrian has claimed a table by the window and covered most of it in plates. The guy can pack it away. Ben slides into a chair next to me, a grin as he looks over the array, and plucks a cherry tomato from one of them.

“Good round?” Ben asks.

“Fun Day is a riot,” I answer. “Cher ended up putting her hair into a golf cap, the funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

“A drag queen?” he laughs. “They’re fun. And I’m glad they are here.” He turns to Adrian. “Ready for Day One, then?”

Adrian gives a head bob. “Yep. Stephen’s great. I’m learning a ton.”

“Perfect,” Ben says. “Man knows his stuff.” He rises and moves away, clapping me on the shoulder as he goes past. “Make sure you hit the breakfast buffet tomorrow, too, Adrian. Fuel up before you go out there.”

Adrian’s eyes go wide, and I suppress a laugh.

“Guess I’ll meet you at the buffet, then?” I say. “Our tee time is ten. See you at eight? Eat, chill, warm up and hit the course ready to go?”

He swallows the bite of pasta he was chewing and gives me the short head bob again. “Eight.”

I drive south of Denver to the swinger club I know, Club Vermillion. I need to get laid, and I can usually find a willing woman or maybe an orgy. Another reason to keep the fat off. Women like a hard body to escape from their hubby’s mid-life dad bods.