Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 10

"Oh, I'm not playing..." I interrupt. I was about to protest the "your lady part," but Harry waved his hand flippantly, as if telling me to buzz off. He fingered some bills out and handed them to the old man with a cordial smile.

"Driving range is down the sidewalk. Follow the arrows, and you'll see the black diamond course sign. Right next to it," he offered, plopping two buckets full of golf balls on the counter for us.

Harry quickly grabs his clubs, bending his knees expertly before moving to grab both buckets. I tried to reach for one, but he shrugged me off and started for our spot at the range.

"You play golf?" He asked. I shook my head no. "Ever played before?"

"Um, not really," I shrugged. "I mean, I guess I played putt putt when I was little."

He chuckled. "Miniature golf and regular golf are very different, Olivia."

I followed behind him carefully, taking in the sights and sounds as we meandered our way towards the driving range, but I couldn't help but look on past us to where the sprawling course continued, separated by a simple fence between us and the start of the fairway.

I saw the sign for the black course, which issued a harsh warning that it was only for experienced golfers. I wondered just how experienced Harry was.

When we finally got to our spot at the range away from everyone else, there was only one other man there. He was playing on the far end, leaving us with quite a bit of our own real estate at the other, ensuring that we would have plenty of peace and quiet.

A bit of an awkward silence fell between us, and I felt myself scrambling to fill the gap. "Have you played here before?"

He hummed in response, deciding not to elaborate. I think back to the warning sign and eye him curiously.

"When you play regular golf here, did you play the black course?" I ask.

He smirked, getting his bag situated on its tripod and getting his cleats gloves out from one of the side pockets.

"Yup. I should have listened to the sign," he chuckles.

I found a bench further back from the bays, deciding to take a seat since my feet were hurting a bit. It wasn't the best idea to wear ballet flats and hike across the country side to go to a driving range.

I watched as he slipped his gloves in his back pocket over his perfectly perky bum before he approached my bench, plopping down next to me. He dropped his cleats to the ground and started to change shoes. I averted my eyes to look at the buckets of golf balls, wondering just how many were there and just how long this was going to take us.

Once he had on his golf shoes, he stood up, wiggling his legs to even out his perfectly pressed black slacks. He smiled at me expectantly before making his way to the bag, using his toe to knock over the bucket of balls. I watched in shock as they rolled everywhere, but he didn't seem to care. He picked up a wedge and expertly pulled a ball to the tee.

Before he swung, he pulled the gloves from his pocket, resting the club against his crotch. I bit my lip and looked away briefly. By the time my eyes returned to him, he was masterfully slipping the white gloves on his manicured hands, noticing just how thin and boney his digits were, albeit in the most masculine way.