Page 6 of Sweet Spot
Her dark eyes lock on to me, and her brows rise as if I’ve totally offended her, but she doesn’t speak.
Trying to diffuse the situation, I step closer and offer my hand. She stares at it but makes no move to take it, so I shove both hands into my pockets. “I’m Lincoln Reeves. I just finished a clinic for the boys’ team. I’m a golf instructor and owner of an instructional sports website. You have power. Those shots you hit with your driver were really nice. Best I’ve seen all day.”
Her demeanor softens only slightly. “Thank you.”
“If you let me record a couple of swings, I think I can show you where it’s breaking down and help you hit it more consistently.” My body buzzes in anticipation. I really want to see what this girl is capable of. God, I love this job.
“No thanks. I got it.” She brushes me off with a flick of her ponytail and tees up another ball.
Well, that’s never happened before. Golfers tend to be open to feedback or will, at least, humor tips from pros at the driving range. It’s such a complicated and yet simple thing, hitting a golf ball.
“Are you sure? It’s no problem.” I can’t get a read on this girl. She’s out here putting in the work, so I know she’s determined, and her body language makes it clear she knows a good swing from a bad.
“On camera, it’s easier to see the nuances. You’re spinning your hips. Your timing is good, so it isn’t affecting every shot, but when it does, you’re hooking it.”
She stands tall, which isn’t really that tall, but my spidey sense tingles, alerting me to danger. I’ve pissed this girl off, though I don’t know why.
“Figures you’re helpful now.”
“Excuse me?” I smile, which is absolutely the wrong thing to do because she glowers back.
“Guys like you show up and offer all your wisdom to the boys’ team like just because they have penises, they deserve all the advantages. Did it ever occur to you to offer a clinic for the girls’ team?”
“I—”
“No, of course not. It doesn’t matter that we have a better record, year after year, or that I can out drive most of them.” She scoffs, tees up another ball, and gets into position. “So, no thanks. I don’t need another man who thinks he’s God’s gift to golf to offer advice that he probably picked up from the Golf Channel.”
Before I can speak, she draws back and smokes it. Chills run up my fingertips all the way to the back of my neck. “Holy shit,” I whisper.
A pleased smile tips up her lips.
“You’re right. Doesn’t look like you need me at all.”
She stalks off, that smug expression painted firmly in place. I watch her until she disappears from sight, the smile on my face so big and awestruck I think it might have been worth trading those Cardinal tickets for.
* * *
After leaving the golf course, I meet up with one of the guys who works for me, Heath, for a quick dinner before I head out of town.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” our waitress at The Hideout asks, her eyes not leaving Heath.
Amused, I rest an arm on the back of the empty chair next to me and wonder when she’s going to realize she hasn’t put down the beer she’s holding on her tray.Mybeer.
“Just that Bud Light you got there,” Heath says with a wink.
“Oh, right, of course.” Flustered, she sets the pint in front of Heath, gives him one last awkward smile, and then scurries off.
Heath wraps his hand around the glass and lifts it.
“Give me that.” I reach out and take it from him before he gets a drink. After a long pull of the cold beer, I ask, “You wanna get us both in trouble?”
“Relax, it’s just a beer. Besides, I look twenty-one.”
“Oh, well then, I guess it’s perfectly fine since youlookold enough.”
“I’ve drank here lots of times. It’s no big deal.”
I’m about to lecture him, or at least tell him not to tell me shit like that so I don’t have it on my conscience, as a couple of guys walk by the table and then backtrack when they notice Heath. He stands and the guys chat for a few minutes before he motions toward me and tells them he’ll meet up with them later.
