My Spy

Long Game

I slice my golf ball through the fluffy oak tree, sitting to the left of the eighth hole and watch as it lands with a bounce before rolling another fifteen feet in the wrong direction. I curse under my breath and resist the urge to toss my golf club behind me.

"Hide your crazy Sawyer," my mother utters to me as she takes her stance at the tee box. I shake my head in frustration as I stuff my driver back into my golf bag

"Long game isn't workin' for ya today?" Tate asks as he rifles through his golf clubs that are strapped in tightly to the back of his golf cart. He's very polished today, in a neat navy-blue polo with crisp black golf shorts. He has a bright white glove on his right hand and he uses it to smooth down a few pieces of his golden hair that have come loose from the hair gel.

"Short game hasn't been awesome either," I whine back with a small smile. Tate pats my shoulder as he takes his spot in line to tee off. I watch as he has a perfect drive and his ball lands feet to the right of the hole. He's humble with his victory and doesn't show more than a small smile as he turns to us. He's as good as I remember...I am not.

I climb back into the golf cart and let Tate drive us down the fairway. I welcome the breeze as we whiz down the path and I take a long drink of water from my bottle before grabbing another club. Tate and I dip out of the cart at the same time and I stomp my way through the trees and down the hill to search for my hidden bright-yellow golf ball. I continue to curse, annoyed that this day hasn't gone as planned.

I woke up yesterday completely refreshed and motivated to start new. I shoved all hatred for Whitney deep down into the pits of my soul and swore to myself that I would focus on myself from now on. I called Tate up to officially make a plan with him and I casually mentioned my day date to Austin during breakfast this morning.

I also decided that Ryan is in the past. I wallowed with a tub of ice cream, flavored with my tears and finished off a fine bottle of Chardonnay before passing out alone in my bed. I woke up this morning ready to move on and Celia helped me prepare for my date with her hangover cure. I chatted to her about how excited I was to see handsome Tate and enjoy the sunshine on the green. I hardly even noticed that Ryan was within earshot of our conversation- or at least pretended to.

Unfortunately, in my preparing to see Tate, I did not foresee my mother dropping not-so-subtle hints about how available I am and how I was very much raised to be wife material. It's making things extremely awkward between Tate and I. His mother Betty, is just as excited about the possibility of Tate and I dating that she constantly asks Tate to physically help me with my swing. And even though his hands have been all over me today, I haven't come close to making par.

I shake my head again in annoyance as I find my ball nestled in a bunch of weeds and look around to see if anyone is watching me. I pick up my ball and throw it as hard as I can up the hill and hope no one witnessed me cheat. I hike up the neatly groomed hill and see I managed to toss my ball close to the green. I catch my mother's loud laughter at something Tate said as I continue back to the golf cart to grab my putter from my bag. I use my arm to brush the sweaty strands of hair I now have stuck to my forehead away and I pull my light pink polo away from my sweaty chest to fan myself. I am not feeling attractive and my mother is hardly helping the matter.

I know I only have to get through one more hole and then I very much plan on trying to get some alone time with Tate. I grab my putter and strut over to my ball. While taking a deep breath in, I angle my club with the hole. It still takes me three attempts to sink the ball and I am more than done as we approach the ninth hole.

"Tate, you need to sink this in two if you want to take the lead here," my mother says as her competitive side creeps through and Tate smiles to her as he grabs a club. "Sawyer darlin', I stopped counting for you after the fourth hole, so even if you sink this in one shot, you still won't beat any of us," my mother tells the group and I plaster on a smile to appease her. I rip my driver out of my bag and use my frustration to smack the crap out of the ball. It ends up soaring past the green and I accept defeat.