Page 10 of Forever Wild

Chapter five

Bryn

“Okay, ladies,” Kelsey says to the group of women who have reconvened on the driving range after dispersing post-dinner. “The game is simple. You want to get your ball past your yardage marker. Each time you do, it’s one point. Every time you fall short of the fifty-yard marker, you have to take a shot. If you whiff it, Becca, you have to do two shots.” We all laugh as Becca groans. “As in an actual round of golf, we’ve handicapped everyone into skills-based groups. Group one, as the newbies, you have to get your drive past the 150-yard marker. Group two, 175. And you lucky bitches in group three with me, we’ve got to get it past that pretty blue 200-yard marker. Whoever has the most points at the end wins. Whoever has the least amount of points”—we all turn to look at Becca, who never golfs—“streaks. Everybody understand?”

We all nod, laughing at the look of sheer terror on Becca’s face.

I move my bag to where Kelsey indicated group three would be, pulling out my driver and stowing the head cover in the side pocket of my black and red golf bag. Lifting the club above my head, I take a few seconds to stretch out my back, knowing this game has forced me to use my heating pad to soothe an injury more than once before. No matter how many times I tell myself to just swing easy, there is something about drive contests that makes me take the hardest swing I can.

Kelsey clears her throat, drawing our attention back to her. “Before we start, everyone has to take one shot. We’ve got two shot options—whiskey or tequila. Just grab the one you want.”

Throwing my arm around Izzy’s shoulder, I ask, “What’s your poison for the evening?”

“Whiskey, definitely whiskey. I already had two milkshakes with it. I can’t switch it up now.”

I laugh, tightening my hold into a one-armed hug before I let her go so we can each grab a shot glass. Noting the height of the caramel-colored liquid in the glass, I’m pleased to note they are at most half-shots. We are not twenty-one anymore and have had a long day of sun and booze.

At Kelsey’s signal, we all clink glasses and toss back a shot, the burn setting my throat on fire before it travels down to warm my belly.

As the birthday girl, Kelsey hits first in our group. She flies it over the 175 marker, but it sticks and doesn’t make it past our line.

I grab my driver, ready to take my turn. I step up to the tee, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. I feel the club connect with the ball, the sound ringing in my ears as it soars through the air. The ball lands just a few yards short of the blue 200-yard marker, and I let out a sigh of frustration. I knew I should have swung easier.

Kelsey pats me on the back, a smirk on her face. “Not bad for a first shot, but I know you can do better.”

I grin at her, feeling good from the amount of liquor we’ve had today and the thrill of the game. “Still tied with you, aren’t I?”

We all take turns teeing off and occasionally throwing back shots, though no one is really holding anyone to the shot rules at this point. We’ve definitely had enough to drink today.

The newbie group has dissolved into a fit of giggles, Kelsey’s friend Skye deciding to forgo even attempting to hit the ball. She takes a sip from a shot glass each turn instead. Becca is still valiantly giving it her all in group two, but she misses the ball more often than she makes contact with it. Her lack of skills has led to more shots than if she had just accepted her fate and followed Skye’s example.

As the game goes on, the sun begins to set, and the sky turns a deep shade of orange and pink. The air grows cooler, and I pull my sweater tighter around me. The whiskey has gone straight to my head, and I’m feeling a warm, happy level of intoxication. I’ve managed to rack up a few points, but Kelsey has managed to keep pace. Iz hit a decent shot last round, so she’s not going to be streaking tonight, but she’s definitely out of the running for first.

“Last shot, ladies,” Kelsey calls out, holding up a bottle of tequila. “Becca and Skye, you better start stretching. I think you’ve got a sprint across the putting green in your future.”

We all laugh, including Becca and Skye. They both knew this was their likely fate. Plus, they are both bombshells who run on a regular basis, so they’ve got nothing to worry about showing off to any lucky old men who happen to glance out the window of their cottage.

Groaning inwardly at the thought of more shots, I set up for my final drive. Even though the ground has become a bit wobbly and I’m having a bit of trouble getting the ball to stay on my tee, I can’t resist the challenge.

I line up my shot, trying to steady my hands. I take a deep breath and swing. This time, I feel the ball connect solidly with the club, and I watch in amazement as it sails past the blue marker, landing almost at the edge of the range.

“Yes!” I shout, pumping my fist in the air. I turn to Kelsey, grinning from ear to ear. “Beat that.”

Kelsey looks at me with a smirk. “Oh, I intend to,” she says, grabbing her driver and setting up her shot.

I watch her take her backswing, the club moving gracefully through the air. She connects with the ball, and it rockets off the tee, soaring high into the air. We all watch in amazement as it lands past the 200-yard marker, rolling to a stop just a few yards short of 215.

I stare at her in disbelief, impressed despite myself. “How the hell did you do that?”

Kelsey grins, taking a victory shot of tequila. “It’s all in the hips,” she says with a cocky grin.

I roll my eyes, laughing. “Well, I guess that means we tie, then.”

Kelsey nods, looking pleased with herself. I almost always win when we play. “Looks like it. Becca and Skye, you ready to run?”

We all head over to the putting green, Becca and Skye already stripping down to their underwear in anticipation of their impending streak. Izzy hands me a beer, and I gladly accept, taking a long sip. The sun has set entirely now, leaving us in darkness, except for the lights that illuminate the range and putting green.

Becca and Skye take off across the green, their arms outside like airplanes, asses shining in the moonlight like they don’t have a care in the world.

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