Page 70 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
Both Hunter and Andrew sink it on their next shots, leaving me up again.
I take a deep breath and focus.
See the ball go in the hole.
I almost have to giggle, because ball and hole. Except that I’m a grown man despite the fact I’ve had way too much beer today and I’m perpetually immature. Today, I’m a golf-god.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
And . . . tap.
My ball rolls nowhere near the hole.
Fuck!
This bullshit fucking sport is fucking bullshit.
I one-hand it.
And it’s a miss.
Kick it with my toe.
Sink the motherfucker like a boss.
That’s what I’m talking about.
Yes!
Except the guys have moved on. The par was three. I’m way over that. No one cares. Not even Gregor.
Why am I here again?
* * *
Gregor convinces me to go back to his place before we meet Hunter for dinner, not trusting that I’ll show up for the bachelor shindig after drinking all day. I’ve done my absolute best to sober up, and I think I’m pretty much there. I shower and change into the clothes we stopped for at my place. Gregor makes us both an espresso from his fancy machine, reminding me of when we were younger and would pound energy drinks before going out.
“Okay,” I say, feeling fired up. “So, is tonight gonna be like the Gregor and Pax show, or are we respectful and shit?”
“We’re respectful and shit. My agent said that I have to lay low before the season starts.”
“Why? It’s not like you ever get into trouble?”
He shrugs, like that’s an answer.
I order a Lyft to bring us to the restaurant Hunter has chosen for dinner. I’m still dying to know where we are supposed to enjoy cigars and scotch afterward because Washington is notorious for its lack of cigar lounges. Want a smoke shop? Done. Dispensary? No problem. Cigars? Oh, now there’s the brake screech. Supposedly, this place we’re meeting Hunter at has a backroom for rent, and smoking is allowed.
I love a good cigar as much as the next guy. I mean, a glass of Macallan neat, and a Padron Anniversario—I’m in fucking heaven. And before cigars and scotch, we get a big cowboy steak, medium rare? Fuck, yes. Bring on the night.
We arrive at the steakhouse. Hunter and the rest of his friends are already seated. It’s clear that Gregor is his guest of honor, since the seat directly to his right is open. Me? I have to ask the hostess for another chair and then squeeze in between two other computer guys at the opposite end of the table. Gregor is used to this. He has his Gregor persona that he puts on and he charms the fuck out of everyone around him. It’s a gift.
I don’t have that same gift. So, I introduce myself to Geek Number One on my left, and Geek Number Two on my right, then I order an entire bottle of pinot noir, just for me. And when she brings it, I tell her to make sure my glass is never empty, but do not afford the same courtesy to my neighbors.
Drinks flow heavily, and we all get a little loose-lipped. Before long, Geek Number Two is asking me how I know Hunter.
Because I am the epitome of grace and class, I answer with, “I used to fuck Tabatha.”
