Captain Murdoch is all knowing smiles and semi-official salutes. He takes Chelsea’s hand to help her out of the gondola and Chance slips him a tip of folded hundreds that is so thick it’s kind of ridiculous.
The driver opens the door for us and we all practically fall into the back seat, still blissed out and exhausted from our ride through the sky.
Luckily, I did kind of think ahead. The Red Bulls are still ice cold in the cooler, and I pass them around. Chelsea cracks hers open immediately, guzzling it so fast that a trickle of liquid escapes from her lips and slides down the side of her cheek.
“Wow, thanks so much,” she breathes heavily. “That took a lot out of me!”
“Not me,” I counter. “I’m ready to go again. How about you, Chance?”
Chance squints at me, accepting the challenge stubbornly.
“Yeah, I’m hard as a rock,” he snarls. “That was just an appetizer.”
Chelsea looks between us, amazed, her head swiveling back and forth. “You guys are amazing!”
I lean in close, eager to kiss her again. Maybe it is that thing that dogs do, where they have to go where another dog has just been. Something about having Chance here makes me feel like I can never stop wanting her. I can never stop getting on top of her, kissing her, touching her. I can’t get enough.
The driver takes us back to Eagle Ridge, letting us out near the pro shop. When we get out of the car, we all stretch like we just emerged from a year-long nap.
“Golf?” Chelsea yawns. “You were serious about that? I don’t think I have golf apparel, if that is a thing?”
I reach out for her hand, caging it in mine gently. I like that feeling. It’s nice.
“The pro shop has one of everything. Tops, skirts, shoes… Just pick out something you like.”
“Oh, fancy!” she smiles. “Kind of expensive, right? What about clubs?”
“Um, hello?” Chance interrupts. “Fabulously wealthy boyfriends? Money is no object? Any of these things ringing a bell?”
“Oh, right,” she chuckles. “Ronnie was always more of a money is no option kind of guy.”
Chance picks her other hand up and pats it against his. “Last time I want to hear that guy’s name, deal?”
She widens her eyes in surprise. “Are you serious? You don’t want me to mention Ronnie ever again?”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m possessive.”
She pulls a surprised face and turns to me. “And you? What are your feelings on the matter?”
“Also possessive,” I confirm. “But, ultimately, that’s up to you, Chelsea. You’re the boss.”
She looks around for a few seconds, nodding to herself and thinking. It’s a beautiful view, sweeping hills and trees. Golf carts dotting the picturesque landscape.
“Well, all right… Since I am the boss, let’s go buy me something expensive!”
The lady at the pro shop keeps squinting at us judgmentally, but then catching herself. I can see her thumbing the front of her cell phone vengefully, probably texting a friend. Do we give off a scent or something? I don’t know why she would be so outraged about three perfectly normal people dropping a few hundred dollars in her establishment.
But when Chelsea comes out of the locker room with her hair tied up adorably under a visor, posing in her new outfit of a bright violet, sleeveless golf shirt tucked into the cutest little golf skirt I ever saw, I swear I hear the cashier snarling under her breath.
“Is this what I’m supposed to look like?” Chelsea chirps, shifting her weight from side to side, posing like a fashion plate.
“Absolutely perfect,” Chance confirms before I can.
“Size seven?" I ask, picking a box of Footjoys off the shelf.
She takes the box for me and opens it, her mouth circling into an oval of delight. Separating the tissue paper, she pulls out a sparkly purple golf shoe and turns it slightly to catch the light.
“Is this what golf shoes look like?” she asks, amazed.