Page 10 of Hot Set

I step up to the tee with a seven iron. “Now watch. Here’s whatyoudo.” I pull off an exaggerated version of his hitchy swing.

He cocks his head to one side. “Well, that was far from lovely.”

“See, because you have that weird pause and wobble at the top of your backswing, you lose momentum. It’s power you rely on to finish the job. Let it all flow together, the power and the swing. Like this.” I feel the wind dance through my hair as I sight the exact dimple on the golf ball I plan to hit and blast the sucker toward the green. It hits the edge and rolls a short distance from the hole.

All three men applaud.

I wave a hand at them. “It’s only a par three. Don’t be too impressed.”

“If you write as pretty as you swing, Bobby here might be out of a job,” says Doolin, whacking the showrunner on the shoulder.

“Okay, coach,” says Jay. His swing is as smooth as a bird lifting into the sky. The ball rides the wind and finds a home inches from mine on the green. Jay’s face glows as warm as his hand. “That felt grand.”

“You pass,” I say and then hold up a finger. “Now, duplicate that swing ten times in a row, and you’ll own it.”

Instead of walking to the green, he straps his clubs to the back of my cart and hops in. “I never knew I paused like that. God, it was like slicing through butter coming down that time.”

“There is nothing like a good swing—the fluidity, the swishing sound, all of it.”

He’s practically bouncing up and down on the seat. “I owe you a pint. If Bobby doesn’t bury you too deep in work, I want you to give me lessons. Smooth up all my rough edges. I’m determined to beat this bitch of a game.”

I pull the cart up to the edge of the green. “Jay, haven’t you heard? No one ever beats this bitch of a game.”

He looks at me for a long moment. Too long. It takes all my willpower not to squirm in my seat. His hair shines saffron in the midday sun. The corners of his lips hitch into a smile. “If anyone could, I have a feeling it might be you, Girl.”

Bobby clears his throat next to us. “J, you’re farthest out.”

Jay grabs his putter. “Will you join me, Gillian? I think our balls are taking a meeting.” Sure enough, his day-glow yellow and my white ball wait patiently side by side to finish their foray into the hole. “I’ll bet you a second pint that I’m in before you.”

“Two pints on your dime. I’m in.” I pat the grip of my putter and stride past him. He catches up and we both squat to read the green.

“What are you seeing?” Jay asks.

I laugh. “Oh no. You’re not getting a free read off me.”

He rises, marks his ball, and steps back. “After you.”

I see the door into the hole. The green runs straight and then breaks slight right. I take my stance.

“Are you sure you want to go that way?” says Jay, his breath tickling my ear.

I lay a hand on his shoulder and guide him away from me. Yep, solid as the marble statue he will become in a gallery someday. “Sir, a little courtesy while I’m putting.”

“I mean, one of us has played this course a far sight more than the other.”

“Jay, let the woman putt,” calls Bobby, pulling the flag from the hole.

Jay’s moved in again. Heat radiates off him like he’s got a barbeque in his pants. “I’m just returning the favor for the brilliant swing correction. You think it’s breaking right, but if you squint, you’ll see it’s up and around, back to the left.”

I pretend to ignore his proximity, but the smell of salty air and freshly mowed grass coming off him is more intoxicating than any pint.

“I stand my ground.” The blasted ball rolls straight, breaks right, and curves away, coming to rest six inches from the hole.

Jay steps up and taps his ball so it rides the contours of the green straight into the hole. Grinning like a pup getting a belly rub, he yanks my ponytail. “Somebody owes me a pint.”

ChapterFour

There are many kinds of drunk. Buzzed, your basic drunk, punch drunk, sloppy drunk, passing out drunk, and a new category I’d like to introduce—fantasy drunk. That’s what I am. Hunk rhymes with drunk, and I’m sitting across from a man who qualifies on any scorecard—male or female—as a hunk. Being drunk in a country as friendly and lively as Ireland adds sparkle to the fantasy drunk category. Factor in the tournament win for teamChieftain’s Sonover the local favorite,Kilkenny Kitchen Blunders,plus a job that promises to change my life, and you get fantasy drunk.

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