Page 65 of Crimson Promises
“Seriously,” she said. Her fists clenched, and the fury within her eyes looked like she was about to level me flatter than any earthquake could. When just as suddenly, her body relaxed, and she gave me a serene smile. “I can check in with Riley. I’m sure he’s going. Maybe he can save us some beers. Let’s finish this game before you bore me to sleep, shall we?”
Angelfucker.
I picked up my putter without another word and went to the next hole. If she wanted to get this over with, fine. Now this was war.
Thus far, Aurora and I had been neck and neck. Her beginner's luck carried her to the halfway mark. Slowly, I crept up to her lead, one hole at a time. We didn’t talk much throughout the rest of the way except for the odd verbal jab at each other’s technique or miss. But now, we were tied. My pride and much more that I didn’t want to acknowledge, was on the line.
The path to the final hole was surrounded by blue water on either side. Ahead, a damaged ship was moored to the shore while a white and red lighthouse kept watch on the remnants of the SS Matey. A wooden bridge led to the final course with a sign at the beginning reading: “No matter what you score, your ball will be swallowed by the sea just like the pirates aboard the SS Matey. Either treasure or failure awaits you.”
“Your turn to go first,” I said to her.
She studied this course more intensely than any of the others. “Isn’t it yours?”
“I went first last. Surely your brain cells are viable enough to remember that happened just a few moments ago.”
“Fine,” she answered sharply.
Aurora aimed her ball towards the green. The safer and more logical option. Then she glanced over her shoulder and noticed me resting both of my elbows on the wooden railing and rolled her shoulders back. She altered her course and swiftly sent her ball into the man-made tumultuous stream. Her violet ball was easy to spot as it carried further toward the metal grate. All we could hear was the plunk, plonk of the ball as it dropped down the wall before it was spat out onto the green. She left her fate in the game entirely up to chance.
Her ball rolled roughly three feet away. No hole in one for her. It would be tough for her to make par as the final green was set up with dips and grooves to stump players.
When she released her final shot, I was holding my breath. It glided right over the dip in front of her and, like magic, slid directly into the hole. Aurora held her putter up over her head in victory.
“Beat that,” she shouted from below.
Oh, I will. Refusing to leave victory to the chance of some current, I picked a path that could score myself a hole-in-one from the green. All I had to do was hit it off of the base of the white lighthouse at the right angle, and it would fly down the green hill for a seamless hole-in-one.
I tapped the ball at forty-five degrees for my desired angle and held my breath. It tapped the lighthouse and skated down the green as expected until a shocking breeze swayed the ball slightly off course. That was all it took for the ball to bounce off a ditch and into the river—everything I calculated to avoid.
A growl of frustration escaped me. I hid behind my fingers as my ball carried the same plink-plonk path as Aurora’s.
I heard Aurora’s muffled giggle. I peered over the wrought iron gate. I couldn't even see the pumpkin-colored ball. Once I reached the green, Aurora pointed with her putter to a bush, shaking with laughter. I followed her direction, and fuck. Just fuck. My ball was literally in the furthest corner possible, nestled behind a bush.
It took me four shots to finish the game.
Aurora was walking around like the putter was her cane. “Victory has never tasted so sweet,” she exclaimed.
“I get it, I get it.”
She shimmied her hips and strutted around. “You don’t understand. I never win atanysport.”
“I’m not sure that mini golf counts as a sport these days.”
She leveled a deadpanned look at me. “Don’t be a sore loser, Ben. It doesn’t suit you.”
I rolled my eyes at her back when she wasn’t looking. “You won, I lost. You’ve made your point. That doesn’t make me a sore loser.”
“No, it just makes you like every other guy who can’t handle losing to a woman.”
My eyes bulged. “I’m going to go return my putt. Take your time. I’ll wait for you by the car.” I walked away without waiting for her response. My shoulders slumped. I had no energy to continue arguing with her about a pointless subject.
I was not a sore loser. Aurora winning made my life entirely more complicated than it needed to be. I was equally excited and terrified of going through with her side of the bet. Maybe after telling her that I wanted Meg’s number, she would be so turned off her win would be enough.
As we approached the car, I waited on the passenger side until I heard the beep of the unlock button. I looked over at Aurora to try and salvage the evening, but she was already in the car.
Her shoulders almost touched her ears, and she was staring at the visor with a murderous expression.
“Congratulations on the win,” I said. Someone had to swallow their pride and break the tension. It might as well be me.
