Against You

Top Golf

Oscar POV

I pull different shirts out of the open wardrobe and hold them against my body. It's not as though I'm going anywhere special, but I've heard I'll be spending the evening in close quarters with Lando Norris, so I have to come ready for battle. I settle on a white button-up shirt with tiny blue swallows flying across it, along with faded black jeans and white trainers. I fix a necklace around my neck, Australian wooden beads, and spray myself with cologne. Top that, Lando.

As I drive towards the venue I try to psyche myself up for the evening. Somebody once told me golf was Lando's favourite hobby so I'm probably in for a humiliating evening, having never swung a golf club in my life. At least they say there's a good restaurant and bar. Forced fun isn't much fun at all when you're exhausted from months of travelling and training.

I arrive on late and one of my engineers thrusts a bag of golf balls into my hand. Connor, I think his name is. It's heavier than it looks, but I drag it to our private booth where the whole pit crew and stupid Lando Norris are waiting.

"This is my new nine iron," the little brat says, holding up a golf club. Some of his team mates look interested, but I bury my nose in the menu and order some jerk chicken wings.

The place is pretty modern, with comfortable leather sofas for when you're waiting your turn and big interactive screens where you can check the scores and order food. And the menu is long. I order a cocktail to help get myself through this ordeal.

The game starts and it's as boring as I could have expected it to be. We take it in turns hitting special electric golf balls off our tall platform, trying to shoot them into differently numbered holes in the ground. Generally, the further the hole the higher the score.

I don't really care about the game, mostly because Lando is winning and looking pretty unstoppable. He's in his element and any attempt to beat him would be futile and embarrassing for me. I really don't care, and I can tell my indifference annoys my rival, so when my chicken wings arrive I wave away the others and decide to skip my turn.

"Are you sure?" Connor asks. "You're getting better!"

I smirk and shake my head. "I'll just stick to racing, thanks. Have you tried these wings?"

Lando scowls and I smirk into my napkin. He's so easy to wind up.

The night is going well, or as well as it could be. Of course we'd all rather be at home but corporate forced fun has to come first sometimes. As the night goes on, however, I notice myself getting more and more bored. The same thing over and over and over again, hit your ball and wait fifteen minutes for everyone else to have their turn. It's bowling but less intuitive. It's darts but less fun.

Each of us has a bucket of golf balls which are programmed to track our individual scores, so I decide to have some fun. I pad across the booth and sneak some of my own balls into Lando's bucket while he's not watching. The others are so engrossed in his cocky showmanship that only Grace notices, and she gives me a sly wink for my trouble.

I smirk as Lando picks up my ball to take his second shot. Now this is satisfaction, not some stupid golf gimmick.

Unluckily for me, the shot goes completely wide. Lando curses and checks his club as if that inanimate stick of metal could be the problem.

Unusually for Lando he's drinking alcohol tonight, and a lot of it. I wonder if I could slip him some extra drinks to increase the fun, but it doesn't look like I need to. The result it that he doesn't notice me stealing more and more of his balls and swapping them with my own, and as my name climbs the leader board and Jon catches Lando up, I see him getting more and more frustrated.