GOLF WAR

Chapter 3

2pm. Eighteen holes behind the slowest group on the course can really be frustrating. In golf etiquette, you can always complain to the marshal that the group in front is either playing too slow or won't let me pass, but I can't speak up for myself, so I simply wait in frustration till it's my turn to play.

2:30pm. A quick lunch at the clubhouse is the trophy after a long golf game. So, I order the biggest clubhouse burger with chips. Waiting probably like ten minutes, out comes the employee with a mountain of a burger on the plate and it's heading my way.

"Finally!" I thought with a huge smile on my face.

"Wish you could smile like that when you see me too" its him again.

"You're not covered in cheese and grease I guess." I sound so flirty. What am I doing?

"Okay, noted." He winks at me.

"Is it okay if I join you?"

"Um, I guess."

"Perfect." You would imagine he sits opposite me, but no, he decides to sit next to me. as if they aren't three other chairs available around this clubhouse table.

He continues to try to make conversation, "How did the round go?"

I sigh. "It wasn't bad, putting was much better today. Wish I played like this the other day."

I take a huge bite out of my hamburger, not caring how big my mouth must look like to him.

"You didn't play bad that day! I just think you got into your own head. You forgot who you are playing for."

Who? I'm playing for myself, I thought.

"I didn't play for someone? If I count myself, then yes, I played for me, to win the trophy. The title. So, actually I played for a 'what'. "

"You were only playing for a trophy, a couple of bucks, and a title? It's okay, I completely understand. It just seems very lonely."

"When you play, you play against yourself, when you win, you win alone. And I'm quite happy with that!" this might have sounded rude to him, but I just blacked out and it just unleashed within me.

"Okay, relax. I just think you will be enjoying the win much more if you were to play for someone. To make someone proud. Like a loved one."

I thought about it for a moment. "I play for my mom and my coach."

He laughs and grabs my leg underneath the tablecloth. "Hah, no. I mean the type of love you would die for. Someone who makes your heart sink faster than your putts. Someone who makes your heart skip a beat like you're playing a par 3 and hoping for a hole in one. That type of love."

I actually enjoy the way he compares love to golf terminology. Seeing my only love is golf.

"I understand, but I have no time for 'that type of love".

He was about to say something, but one of the Proshop Assistants calls him to assist them with a problem amongst the members and their green fees.

"Olivia, before I go, would you like to practice a round with me tomorrow?"

His eyes are big and it reminds me of puppy dog eyes, as if he is actually begging.

"Sure, I tee off at eight o clock. Don't be late."

"Of course not." He winks and walks away before I could have the last say.

Yet again, douchebag.

3:30pm. The day is still young, so I decide to finish my lunch peacefully with no rush. I signal the waiter with a swift hand motion to bring me the bill and I receive a quick thumbs up, suggesting he is on his way with it.