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My brow furrows asI look down at my jeans shorts and band tee, then at the country club we’d just pulled up to. “I don’t think I’m dressed for this place.”
He laughs and turns off the Bugatti, coming around to open my door. “Don’t worry, we aren’t going into the main restaurant. The bar doesn’t have a dress code and the food is still amazing.”
“Oh, okay,” I say.
The place is massive. There are trees all around and outstretched to the right is a golf course, green for as far as the eye can see. We enter through two double doors where a big reception desk is, and Carter shows a card to the older woman manning it. He leads me down a hallway to another set of double doors, these ones propped open.
The “bar” sure looks like a restaurant to me. We find our own table and are quickly greeted by a server who takes our drink orders.
“So you’re a member here?”
He nods. “Yep. I play golf here on Sundays usually when the weather’s nice.”
“But you opted for mini golf today instead?” I ask with a smirk.
He chuckles. “Yep, apparently, I did. I didn’t think you’d be interested in eighteen holes in the sun.”
“How do you know what I’d be interested in? Maybe I’m an excellent golf player but just can’t afford the fees.”
“Because I whooped your ass at mini golf, so you surely suck at real golf.”
My mouth drops open and then closes again. I lick my teeth to keep from smiling, and lift my chin. “I just let you win. You know, since you have such a fragile ego and all that.”
“You did not. Your form was totally off. You couldn’t even get the orange ball into the big clown’s mouth. And that thing was huge.”
I laugh and look down at my menu. “Okay, you have a point.”
He points outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I can teach you, if you like.”
I slide my gaze to the massive green course and the multiple men lugging golf bags around and riding on golf carts. “Looks dull. No thanks.”
It’s his turn for his mouth to drop open. “You take that back.”
“No,” I say, chuckling. “What did Rosie O’Donnell say? Oh yeah. ‘Golf is just men in ugly pants walking.’”
He tips his head back and laughs. “Thank God we don’t wear those hideous golf pants like they did in the eighties and nineties.”
I slide my gaze toward the window and point to a group of old men who have to be pushing eighty. “I don’t think they got the memo.”
“You are really something today.” He shakes his head then looks over where the server is bringing us drinks.
I had enough last night so it’s just a sweet tea for me.
“You ready to order?” she asks.
“I think I need a few,” I say, laughing, as I haven’t looked at the menu.
I look at Carter. “What’s good here?”
“The nachos are popular,” he replies.
“What are you getting?” I ask.
“Hot honey chicken and coleslaw.”
That sounds good too. I set the menu down.
“So how often do you come here? Just on Sundays?” I look at Carter’s handsome face.
