Page 31 of Your Fan Forever
Ten
Noah
“You’re rotation is terrible.”Preston stood in front of me. His arms crossed over his chest and a look of disgust on hisface.
I stopped in my back swing and brought the club backdown.
I took a practiceswing.
“Better, Coach?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I took the club back, rotated around my right leg, made a brief pause in my back swing for emphasis and swung down and through the ball. I didn’t bother watchingit.
The elevated tee box made the shot appear longer. The fairway consisted of overgrown vines. You hit your ball in there it was goneforever.
Given no other options, you had to put your ball on thegreen.
I’d hit it solid. I knew where it landed, exactly where I aimed. I wished my aim with Callie was better, more predictable. She had been on edge, up and down in her emotions since wearrived.
Last night was great. I finally got her to relax. Orgasms in front of postcard type views would make anyonerelax.
“Nice shot.” Preston said. The disgust turned toadmiration.
“Thanks.” I hopped in the driver seat and waited for him to joinme.
“Lucky shot.” He mumbled under hisbreath.
I shook my head. He couldn’tstop.
“That’s skill my friend.” I said and took off before he could climb in. I skidded to a stop a few feetaway.
I looked back andlaughed.
Preston stood with his hands out shaking hishead.
“Come on.” I waved himforward.
He jogged up to the cart and slid in next tome.
We’d played through the course first thing this morning. We had the course to ourselves for the morning round. With the two of us and our golf games improving over the years, we would finish a round of eighteen in under three hours, have some lunch and play another eighteen before heading back to the cabin to meet the girls fordinner.
We were on the seventeenth hole of the secondround.
“Always with the jokes.” Preston took a swig from the bottle and placed it back in the cup rest between us. This was how we did it, eighteen holes of golf and a pint of expensive whiskey. As twenty one year olds with million dollar contracts, we thought it made us gangsta. Now, we drank it because it made our old, tired, worn out bones warm in the crisp Aspenair.
Preston handed me the bottle and I took asip.
“We must be getting old.” I handed it back to him. “It doesn’t even burnanymore.”
“Yeah. We had too much of this shit at my wedding.” Preston nodded and took anothersip.
“What was the final bill on the wedding anyway?” I asked. Wondering what it would set me back in a fewmonths.
“Oh, somewhere close to three mill.” Preston stared out into theview.
“Oh shit.” I blinked. Is that what weddings reallycost?
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged his shoulders. “The studio paidhalf.”
None of us where aware that when we attended the wedding, we would become part of the cast of a reality special for E Television. The photos were exclusively sold to some fashion magazine for charity. When the super bowl MVP marries America’s sweetheart, that’sexpected.
