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He nodded. “Good. Then let’s kick some ass today.”
“We will.” I gave him a fist bump.
When we finally teed off, I actually ended up driving my ball farther down the course than anyone in our group. “Good shot, Axe,” D said as we took off, walking down the greens to our next shot.
“Told you I was good to play.”
He nodded in confirmation, as if we were on the football field together and knew we had each other’s backs during the game. “Let’s do this.”
At hole five, we were three under par while Roman and Marco were two strokes behind us. Dmitri and Roman were fucking fangirling Marco like crazy. Marco was a three-time Super Bowl champion, in addition to receiving every damn award possible in football. He was a legend who would eventually be inducted into the Hall of Fame.
They were still chatting it up as we made our way to the next hole. I took it as my chance to test out the waters and pulled out my phone, typing out a text.
Me:What’s up, Hardcore?
Dot. Dot. Dot.
Natalie:Who is this?
I grinned. She knew who it was. She answered quickly enough.
Me:Your favorite running back.
The dots showed up, then disappeared. Then popped up again and disappeared again. Finally, a message came through.
Natalie:Trey?
My blood started to rumble, and I stared off into the distance in frustration. But I unwillingly had some admiration for her sass.
Me:You know who it is.
Natalie:What do you want?
“It’s your shot, Axel. Quit playing with your phone,” Dmitri grumbled behind me, peering over my shoulder.
“Bro, get out of my personal space.” I clicked off my cell before he could see anything. Taking my time, I stepped over to my golf bag and deliberately contemplated which club to use.
“I’m going to personally kick your ass if you don’t hurry up,” Roman piped up like a bitch with his arms crossed at his chest. “I have zero patience for this shit. You’re throwing off my rhythm.”
“Maybe that was my plan.” I raised an eyebrow, taking even longer to decide when I already knew which club to use. I just liked to piss him off. Not my problem he had the patience of a toddler.
Marco watched us with mild amusement. “I’d go with the five iron.”
I already was. “Thanks.” I lined up in my stance, did a practice swing, and then hit it. The ball landed on the putting green, one foot from the hole.
“Damn. Great shot.” Marco nodded in appreciation.
While the other guys took their shots, I fired off another text.
Me:My hamstrings are tight. Could we meet later today to do a treatment?
Natalie:Are you joking???
Me:No. I don’t joke about taking care of my body.
Natalie:Find someone else.
Me:I don’t want anyone else.
