You shoot a flirty smile to an older gentleman as you hang him his Arnold Palmer. He had just told you to keep the change as a tip for "working so hard in this Nashville heat"
Sure, your job has to deal with 'watering' creepy old men and their jealous wives or mistresses but damn, the tips alone pays the bills better than stripping does.
You smile as you pull the cover down on your beer cart, bringing your oversized sunglasses down to your nose before sliding back into the drivers seat.
"Fore!"
You look around, that word not registering in your head until you suddenly get hit in the head by a golf ball.
For the first time since you started this job three years ago, you get hit in the head with a golf ball and fuck does it hurt.
You drop to the green, your head throbbing and your hand covering the growing goose egg.
"I am so sorry! Are you okay!?"
"Does she look okay!?"
"Shut up, Chris!"
A guy drops to his knees next to you, probably the guy who hit you. He gently wraps an arm around you and pushes your hair back, getting a look at the damage done.
A bruise is definitely going to grow.
The stranger moves your sunglasses from your eyes and you squint at the bright sun.
"Are you okay?"
"You hit me with a golf ball." You state, glaring up at the stranger before scrambling out of his arms.
"Listen, I'm so sorry. I just-"
"You really should-"
You cut both guys off with a sharp look.
The tall guy likes that fire.
"You should wait til someone gets here to check you out, y'know?"
"I'm fine." You steady yourself before slowly getting back into your cart.
"No-"
"I have to get back to work." You say, your head throbbing.
"Miss, if you'd just-"
Chris, the shorter guy, swoops in to stop you from hitting the ground when you start leaning over.
"Okay, yeah. C'mon." The taller one scoops you up and heroically carries you to their gold cart, sitting on the back seat with you secure in his long arms.
"Uh, what's going on, boys?" The clubhouse manager asks when he sees you in some stranger's arms.
"She got hit in the head with a golfball." He says, following the manager to a chair in his office. "Tried to keep working but almost fell outta her cart."
"Did you call the paramedics?"
"She wouldn't let us."
The manager shakes his head. "I'll call 'em just keep (y/n) conscious or something."
The two guys sit across from you in an awkward silence.
"Hey, what's this golf course called?" Chris asks.
"The Troubadour." You mumble back, your eyes squeezed shut as you hold your head.
"What city are we in?"
"Nashville."
"What's your name?"
"(Y/N)."
The door opens and a paramedic comes in with your manager. "Please move, sir."
The taller one steps aside and watches intently. "She's-"
"(Y/N), I'm gonna ask you some questions okay?" The paramedic says, his gloved fingers gently pressing the bump on your head.
"'Kay."
"Where are you?"
"The Troubadour in Nashville." You grumble back, shooting everyone a dirty look. "I'm in fucking Nashville at the goddamn Troubadour."
"What is today?"
"Thursday."
The paramedic nods. "You have a concussion and it's a bad one but you don't need to be hospitalized. Just take it easy..." As he rattles off what to do, your eyes trail up and down the tall guy's body.
He's cute.
Whatever his name is.
"Thank you." Your boss says, holding the door open for the paramedic and he follows him out, leaving you alone with the two guys.
"Listen, I'm so sorry-"
"It's fine." You say, a small smile on your face. "I'm (Y/N)."
"Chris." The short guy says.
"I'm Matt." The tall one smiles.
You can't help a small blush at his smile and butterflies erupt in your belly. Chris takes the hint from the giggle you let out and slides out of the room.
"Listen, I'm sorry I hit you with a golf ball, I really didn't mean to."
"I know." You nod, your hand still on the bump. "It happens. It's a golf course."
"And, uh, I wanna take you out to y'know, apologize for almost killin' you." You laugh then wince. "So here. Gimme your number."
You can't handle looking at a phone screen right now so he punches in your info for you.
"See you later, then, huh?"
"Definitely." You chuckle. "See ya." He waves goodbye then slips out of the room, shooting his name in a text to your phone.
He's cute and sweet, a little clumsy but damn, he seems like a goofy guy.