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“At least I’m not twelve. Nice braids.”
Palmer reaches over and tugs on one of the two French braids I plaited this morning after I parted my hair down the middle, thinking it would keep me cool in the hot summer sun and, I don’t know, maybe keep my neck wide open in case someone wanted to nuzzle it. Instead, it’s given him the perfect opportunity to call me a child all day and bring his hand right by my boob to gently yank a braid without even giving me the curtesy of a nipple graze.
I swat his hand away, pretending like he’s an annoying gnat instead of a nipple tease.
“Did you even remember the baby powder?”
“Shit!” I glance over by the 10th hole cup, where there’s already a six-foot in diameter white circle of powder, and then cross my arms when I look back at a smiling Palmer.
For any type of competitions like this where a golfer needs to hit their ball within a certain area in order for his or her shot to count toward the competition and be measured, we usually mark off the area with baby powder, because it doesn’t ruin the manicured greens and it’s easily washed away.
“You had one job to do.” Palmer scoffs playfully as he hands me the list of golfers competing in the Closest to the Pin competition and what color their assigned golf balls are that will be sailing in our direction in a little bit. “You’re lucky I keep a bottle of Fresh Balls in my golf bag at all times and was able to save the day without your help, since you don’t do any work around here.”
“Balls been chaffing a little, have they?” Bodhi asks around a mouthful of food as he steps up next to us.
“Don’t really enjoy friction in the testicular area, and ball sweat isn’t very pleasant either.” Palmer nods, reaching down into his bag next to him and holding up a yellow plastic bottle, which used to hold the… ball powder that is now in a circle around the cup.
“Your ball sweat is particularly unpleasant,” Bodhi agrees, wiping mustard off his cheek with a napkin balled in his hand after he takes another bite of his hot dog then looks over at the powdered circle and chuckles. “Remind me to tell you guys about that one time we were in Columbia for a stupid golf tournament, and I was hanging out with some caddies at the end of the day after Pal went back to the hotel. We played Closest to the Pin, but that wasn’t baby powder or Fresh Balls we used. Ahhh, golf is so much more fun in Columbia. My nose tingles just thinking about it.”
“Why are you even here? You’re not a teacher, and I know you didn’t buy a ticket,” I say, right when I hear Adam radio to me that the first golfer is teeing up.
“Uh, free hot dogs, duh.” Bodhi laughs. “I like enjoying a little mystery meat while watching adults grip their shafts and play with their balls all day.”
And just like that, my head goes right in the gutter as the three of us move over behind the roped-off area and out of the way with everyone else, my mind filled with nothing but Palmer’s shaft.
I felt some of that shaft on the beach the other night after cornhole when I couldn’t take it anymore as I started walking away from him, wondered why I kept torturing myself and launched myself into his arms. With his body and his smell and the tight hold he had on me like he never wanted to let me go, and how he told me how much he missed me in such a cracked, guttural voice, it all became too much and I couldn’t breathe without wanting to kiss him and blurt out everything I’ve felt for him. I quickly untangled myself from around him and slid down his body. And since he was wearing thin athletic shorts and there wasn’t an ounce of space between us, I felt a little bit of what he’s packing slide between my spread legs that had been around him and then graze my stomach.
Sweet Jesus, someone get me out of here.
Palmer’s hip bumps against mine, and I’m gripping the piece of paper with the list of golfers in my hands so tightly it rips halfway down the middle.
“You okay? You seem a little distracted.”
“Here, have the rest of my hot dog,” Bodhi speaks over Palmer, leaning around him to hold out his half-eaten mystery meat.
Taking a giant step to my right and away from both men, I stop being distracted by my friend next to me and get to work. Quickly lifting the air-horn I did remember to bring with me from my office above my head and closer to the men standing next to me while they’re busy talking about something, I press and hold the button and let the loud shriek of the horn signifying the start of the competition blast through the course, and I find some pleasure in the fact Palmer jerked so hard in fright that he smacked Bodhi’s hot dog right out of his mouth to flop upside down in the grass at his feet.
