Page 37 of By the Pint

Dima ignored me. “Two to play mini golf, please,” he said to the teenage attendant in the booth.

The werewolf didn’t look up from his phone. “Course closes in forty-five minutes.” He pushed to his feet, grabbed two clubs from the wall, leaned into the opening, and froze. “Mr Black! I’m so sorry! Jean said you were on site.” He dropped the clubs on the counter. One slid off next to Dima’s feet.

He raced out of the booth to the front, presumably to pick it up, but Dima already held the stick in his hand. I didn’t see him bend down.

“Tom, why don’t you finish your shift early tonight? Fully paid, of course,” Dima said, helping himself to two balls. He chose fluorescent yellow and pink ones to match the clubs.

“Sir?”

On site? Sir? There was something so odd about the werewolf’s behaviour, even for a teenager. I cast my eyes across the open shutters of the shed to the vinyl signage detailing the opening times and rules of play. Right at the bottom, it said:

‘CONSTELLATIONS MANOR HOTEL AND SPA. A SUBSIDIARY OF BLACK HEART ENTERPRISES’

Black Heart Enterprises? It was Dima’s company? Did that mean he owned the hotel?

Without breaking conversation with the teenage werewolf, Dima shot me a wink.

Damn, he owned the hotel. Why was that so hot?

Don’t be obvious, I told my dick.

“Are there any other guests on the course right now?” Dima asked Tom.

“There was one family, but they left ten minutes ago.” The poor werewolf thought it was a test of his observance. His ears twitched and his tail was tucked so tightly against his thigh, it was almost wrapped around it.

“Excellent. Well, you lock up now, and I’ll take care of the rest,” Dima said, plucking the other club from Tom’s over-firm grip.

“Yes, Mr Black.”

“Go ask out that boy you like. What was his name again, Riley?” Dima said, and Tom nodded because he couldn’t believe an important man like Dima would bother to remember the name of his crush. “And Tom, call me Dima. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to tell you all.”

Tom stood frozen to the spot, staring at Dima, who made a shooing gesture with his hands, although his face still bore his friendly smile.

“Right!” Tom said, gulped loud enough for me to hear, and turned on his heel. As he turned, he looked at me for the first time.He looks familiar, he thought before heading back inside his booth.

“Do you want the pink or yellow stick-thing?” Dima said to me, holding up a club in each hand.

“Stick-thing? Have you ever played before?”

“Once. This will be my second foray into the world of smacking a little bumpy ball into a hole with a stick-thing. I don’t really do extreme sports.”

“I wouldn’t consider mini golf to be a sp—”

“Actually, I want to be pink. You can have yellow.” He thrust the yellow club and ball to my chest. His tongue popped out of his mouth when the back of his fingers brushed against my pec.Ooh, hello, muscles.“Um, oops. Didn’t mean to think that.”

I ignored the involuntary reactions my body had to his touch, and his words. “Shall I get a scorecard?”

“No need. How many holes are there? Eighteen? That’ll be eighteen points for me. And …” He paused, obviously doing some sort of mental calculation. “Zero for you.”

Oh no, don’t think he’s cute.

“That’s not how it works, grandpa.”

I followed him to the start of the first hole. Considering the other holes awaiting us, hole number one looked fairly unobstructed. It had a small, slightly humped bridge over a moat which spanned the entire course. I puffed out my sigh of resignation. Okay, I’d kick his ass really quickly and then we can get started on the actual lessons.

Dima placed his ball in the teeing box and flashed me one final grin. “You ready to eat my cobwebs?”

I held out my hand, inviting him to try, not letting my smugness show too much on my features or in my thoughts.

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