Page 39 of By the Pint

The little circular sign said the hole was two-par, so I wasn’t surprised when my first shot took me up around the bend and onto the green.

I was surprised, however, when the ball, set on an exact path to the cup, stopped dead in its tracks twenty centimetres away from its goal.

Dima said nothing but “Hmm, interesting,” and leant against the wooden shark frame, crossing his legs at the ankles.

It was a two-par hole. It was fine.

I tapped the ball into the cup. It bounced out. I brushed it off and tried again. It bounced out again.

“I hate this course!”

“We’re not even at the best holes yet. Do you want me to show you what to do?” Dima swung his club, uncrossed his legs, and closed the distance between us. He lowered his voice. “I’ll stand behind you. Bend you over a little. Grasp your stick firmly, and guide you in.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Of course the telepath was good at mind games. I had to give him that. The exposed skin on my arms and neck erupted in goosebumps, and there was movement downstairs which I chose to ignore.

Though …

Maybe we should fuck again.

Last time, his defences slipped when he came. I could make him orgasm over and over and force my way into his mind. Plus, it’d be real fun for me.

That’s categorically not going to happen,he said.

Stay out of my thoughts.

Make me.

And then it hit me. This was part of his plan. Annoy me so much, keep forcing his way into my mind until I found a way to keep him out.

Pretty and smart,he said.

I rolled my eyes, definitely not pleased by his compliments, and tapped the ball into the cup. This time it stayed there.

I have, like, actual lessons planned. Sort of. I’m just interested to see what you can do by yourself.He shot me another wink and hooked his club over his shoulder. “Hole three now. Come on, Moonflower.”

Hole three featured a staggered waterfall over two levels. A little stream ran down one side, and then sharply cut off the top level. We’d start at the top, and effectively launch our balls down to the lower level. It was lit up luminous green from behind and would have been pretty if I hadn’t been stewing so hard.

Dima went first. His pink ball tracked along beside the mini river, flying from the side at a physically impossible angle and landing yet another hole in one. He turned to me and beamed. I wasn’t even surprised at that point.

“Catch you on the flip side,” he said, taking the little steps down to the lower level. “Might have a nap while I wait.”

Of course my fucking ball went in the water. Of course it did. I didn’t know what it was about that ball, or the club, or the course, or maybe even … was it my playing? The thought made me nauseated.

The ball rolled, or was swept, along the little river, tumbled over the waterfall, and plopped down into the gutter-pool on the other side. I took the steps down to the bottom.

“I’m not putting my hand in that disgusting water,” I said.

“Oh, really? Then do you want to stop playing? Do you forfeit the game?”

I closed my eyes, puffed out a breath.

Suddenly Dima was beside me. “Does Casey ‘The Temper’ Freckleman concede to my excellence and superior ball smacking skills?”

I pushed down the rising mutiny. I didn’t always have to be best at everything, right?Right?

“Fine, yes, I concede. You win. Three-nil.” Inwardly, I snorted, which Dima definitely heard. “Can you please get my ball out of the water? I can’t touch that.”

“As you wish.” Dima held out his hand and without moving another muscle on his body, the little yellow ball sailed right into it.

---