Page 64 of What We Break
"You're doing great," I tell her.
"I hit it fifteen feet."
"But you hit it. That's more than some people manage their first time."
"You're a terrible liar, but I appreciate the effort."
We pile into the golf carts — me and Laine in one, Tony and Walsh in another, Brennan and Kowalski bringing up the rear. Laine's driving, which — honestly? Most natural she's looked all day. Hands easy on the wheel, none of that death grip she had on the club. She just goes.
"Shotgun was the right call," I tell her, stretching my arm across the back of her seat. Not quite touching her shoulders, but close enough that I can feel the warmth of her through my fingertips. "You're a much better driver than Tony."
"Low bar."
"Very low bar. But still."
She takes a corner a little fast, and I slide closer to her on the bench seat. I don't slide back.
"So," she says, glancing at me with a knowing smile, "on a scale of one to ten, how bad am I at this?"
"You made it to the first hole," I point out. "Tony once lost six balls on the first hole."
"That was one time!" Tony yells from the cart behind us. "And there was a goose!"
"No there wasn't," I tell Laine.
“Huh.” She brushes a strand of hair off her face. "Reid, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are your friends always this..." She bites her lip, nose scrunched up.
"Ridiculous?"
"I was going to say enthusiastic, but sure." She parks the cart near what we think is her ball. Could be anyone's ball at this point. "Because this is either the most fun I've had in months, or I'm losing my mind."
"Both," I say. "Definitely both."
She laughs, and I reach over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear that's escaped her ponytail. She leans into my touch, just slightly, and my heart does this cartoonish pitter-patter thing.
"Thanks for being a good sport about this," I say.
"Are you kidding? Your friends are hysterical."
"They really are."
"I like them."
"Yeah?" Fuck she's perfect. "They like you too. I can tell."
"How can you tell?"
"Tony hasn't tried to give you a nickname yet. That means he's still deciding which one fits best. It's a sign of respect."
By the third hole, Laine's figured out that Tony's advice is complete shit, but she's still listening to it because she's too polite to tell him to shut up.
I'm standing behind her, watching her set up for another shot, and I'm definitely not staring at the way her jeans fit. Definitely not.
Golf. Focus on golf.
