Page 42 of Sweet Spot
He left his phone in the cart with me. Light music he turned on earlier still plays and I’m starting to get an idea of his taste in music—mostly rock, like dudes with big hair screaming about drugs and rock and roll. It makes me giggle.
I’m enjoying being in his world and learning these small things about him. When he finally walks over to me, his demeanor changes with each step as if he’s retreating back into himself and only allowing me to see the serious and professional side of him.
“I’m just gonna grab some water, and then I’ll be ready.”
“There’s no rush if you want to get lunch.” He made sure I ate but I haven’t seen him eat anything all day.
“I’ll grab something later.”
He returns from the clubhouse with two waters and gets into the driver’s seat of the golf cart. When we pull up to the tee box at the first hole, there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Let’s see what you got.”
“I get to play?” I’m giddy as I step out and grab my driver before he can change his mind.
This course, what I can see of it anyway, is breathtaking. Nicer than any other I’ve played.
Lincoln gets out of the cart but stays off to the side as I set up. For some reason, this is more nerve-wracking than having him pick apart my swing all day, every day. All our work will be graded here on the course.
“Just relax. It’s going to take time to translate everything from practice to playing. There are more distractions and your old tendencies are still going to show up. Relax, focus on only one swing at a time.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, he’s standing closer. His masculine scent and the smell of grass wrap around me, adding another distraction I should ignore.
“Let me see you at the top of the backswing.”
Once in position, he walks a circle around me. “Good. Now pull with your lead leg. Focus here.” He places a hand on my left thigh. “Here,” he says again. “Got it?”
I’m holding my breath, the skin-to-skin contact doing funny things to me while he seems totally unaware and completely focused on golf. He removes his hand and stands tall. I realize I still haven’t answered when he steps into my line of vision.
“I got it.”
“All right.” He steps back. “Show me what you got.”
By the third hole, I finally relax, and by the sixth, I’m smiling at how much more consistent my drives are. I still have work to do, but I’m playing the best round of golf in my life.
We catch up to a couple of guys just ready to tee off at the seventh.
“Lincoln?” An old man in the standard-issued country-club getup of polo with khakis walks toward us. “I thought that was you.” He flashes a smile under his Sam Elliott style mustache.
“Hey, Bob. Nice to see you.”
“Are you playing today? Hank and I could use a little friendly competition.”
“Nah, just working with a client. Bob, Hank, this is Keira.”
“Pleasure to meet you, young lady.” Bob’s brown eyes twinkle as he smiles at me. Based on first impressions, he’s impossible not to like.
“You too.”
Hank shakes Lincoln’s hand and then nods to me. “You two go ahead and play through. If I get back to the clubhouse before five, I’ll have to go to dinner with my wife and hersister. That woman sends back everything. The water is too warm. The burger is too rare. The vegetables are touching the rice.” He rolls his eyes and puts the cigar in his left hand to his mouth.
I look to Lincoln for my cue on whether I should go ahead. He smiles, a crooked grin that makes my stomach flutter. “Go ahead, Keira.”
As I’m grabbing my driver, I overhear Bob ask Lincoln, “How come you aren’t playing today?”
“It’s been a while. Maybe he can’t hack it anymore, Bob,” Hank says on an exhale of smoke.
I fight to keep my lips pressed together and laughter inside.
Lincoln shakes his head. “Today is just about Keira. She has a tournament coming up this weekend.”
