Page 94 of Calling the Shots

“Got it. Night, Mack.”

“Night, Firecracker. Sleep tight.”

We fall asleep together, twisted up in each other’s arms, a united front.

CHAPTER31

GRACELYN

Try as I might, I don’t manage to get out of the golf outing. Even after confessing how terrible I am at sports.

“Gracie, you can drive the cart. C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Mack’s dad ushers me out of the house amidst my protests.

And that’s how I end up being Mack’s golf cart driver and caddy. Emma Kate and Tinsley have another cart, and Mack’s parents share a third. We’re only on hole five and I’m already bored out of my mind.

Playing golf—or rather, spectating—makes watching paint dry seem downright exciting.

The cart girl motors by and Mack’s dad flags her down, buying a round of drinks for everyone. I opt for a bottled water, as does Mack. Tinsley, Emma Kate, and Mack’s mom all order mimosas, and Mack’s dad gets two shots of bourbon to throw in his iced tea.

Pretty sure the alcohol’s not going to improve anyone’s golf game. Maybe that’s how Mack managed to win two back-to-back tournaments. Everyone else was drunk.

At least the sun’s shining because the air’s chilly, especially with the light breeze. I’m a little bit cold, despite my chunky sweater and cream leggings.

“Atta boy!” Mack’s dad whoops as he stripes his ball straight down the fairway. “Look at ‘em go!”

I have no idea where the ball lands, but he seems happy about it. Must have been a good shot.

Mack’s mom hits next. Her ball flies a decent way, but she shakes her head and curses under her breath. Clearly not happy about the shot.

“Emma Kate, go on. We haven’t got all day.” Mack’s dad waves at Emma Kate. Tinsley elbows her, stopping her cell phone scroll.

“Sorry, Daddy.” Emma Kate pops a cute little pout and sidles up to the tee box. She hits the ball firmly and there’s a nice thwack, which I take means good things.

“Beautiful, darlin’. Tinsley?”

Tinsley hops right up, driver in hand. Sashaying past us, she swishes her ass back and forth in her tight white pants, directly in Mack’s line of sight. She bends down and tees up her ball, moving like a limber cat stretching in a patch of sunlight. Leaning over the club, she wiggles her round ass side to side for a solid fifteen seconds.

“Hit the ball already,” Mack mutters under his breath and I snicker.

Tinsley steps away from the ball, not taking the shot. She lowers her designer sunglasses and shoots me a withering glare.

“Quiet, please.”

I hold up my palm. “Sorry.”

Then she goes through the whole process again, this time even slower.

For fuck’s sake.

After an age, Tinsley finally hits the damn ball. It flies through the air, landing in the middle of the fairway.

“Great shot, Tins!” Emma Kate cries.

“Yes, nice ball.” Mack’s dad bobs his head in appreciation, and Mack’s mom smiles.

Of course Tinsley’s great at golf. Of fucking course she is.

Mack unfolds himself from the cart and crosses to the tee box. Tinsley bends over as he gets closer, giving him a full, unbridled view of her ass.

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