“That is what really cool golf shoes look like,” I confirm. “I’m glad you picked the purple shirt, too. People love a nice matchy outfit on the links.”
She swishes from side to side again, the skirt ruffling along those beautiful, tanned thighs.
“I like it very much,” she smiles, bending over to the shoes, exposing the full length of the backs of her legs, even the pale crescent at the top, just under her ass cheek. Chance and I watch shamelessly, drinking in every detail. When she stands back up again, I hear the cashier swear for a full three seconds.
“Can I help you guys?” she calls out, her voice trembling with emotion. “Are you going to want a cart or something? Do you have clubs here?”
Chance narrows his eyes at her and stares her down for a few moments before looking at me. He quirks an eyebrow and then shakes the thousand-dollar set of Titleist clubs in the rack in front of him.
“Yes, a golf cart would be great,” he answers slowly. “And clubs. We will need three of these too.”
“You need to get clubs measured,” she snaps. “People don’t usually just buy them off the rack. A pro will be here in about an hour. Do you want to wait?”
He shakes his head. “No. We won’t wait. We’ll take these. And one set of ladies clubs.”
She looks Chelsea up and down sucking her cheeks in.
“Has she played golf before? You want a full set of clubs for her already?”
Chance walks across the room, smiling his most dangerous smile. When he is just six inches away from her, he bends over slightly so we can say this directly into her face.
“I don’t just want a full set… I want your most expensive set. For her. Who has never played golf before. And probably never will again. We will just leave them in the cart when we’re done, and you can donate them to the local school, okay?”
She breathes through her nose for a few seconds, her cheeks reddening. “You can rent clubs, you know,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answers smoothly, leaning over so far that she’s forced to step back.
“Fine,” she grins as she turns away and stalks behind the counter. She stabs the screen of the cash register a bunch of times and begins to read out a number, but Chance just hands her an American Express black card.
“We’ll need some bottled water… And a six-pack of Heineken please, in a cooler. And a few dozen golf balls, tees, markers, divot tools. You know how it is.”
“Well, why don’t I just give you one of everything!” she huffs.
Getting in on the act, Chelsea swishes over and leans on the counter, smiling angelically. “You’re so sweet! Thanks!”
She tips her chin to look up at Chance, who places a long, lingering kiss on her lips, sighing a little ostentatiously. And just to put the cherry on top, I do the same thing. Taking her from the other side, then nipping at her shoulder for good measure.
The look of horror on the cashier’s face is all I really want in life right now.
She can’t get us out of the shop soon enough, and when we head toward the first tee the attendant is already there, hurriedly ripping the plastic covers off our new clubs. He gives us a look of unconcealed surprise as we walk up.
“Anything else I can get for you guys?” he asks politely, tipping his hat like an old-timey caddy.
“I think we’re all set,” Chance smiles, handing him at least a couple hundred dollars, just because he was nice.
The first tee is basically right in front of the pro shop, so I hope the cashier is watching us as we get Chelsea all set up for her very first lesson. Chan
ce balances the golf ball on the tee in front of her and hands her the driver.
“Remember softball?” he asks her, and she nods uncertainly. “Yeah, you could hit a ball, I remember. Well, this is just like that, only at a different angle. Ready?”
She tugs on the little white glove, fixing the Velcro on the back of her hand. Damn, she is really hot.
“Do I look ready?”
“You look amazing,” I answer her.
I need to get my compliments in where I can. Looks like Chance is kind of taking over the day.