Jennifer Colwell
“Hey!”
I frowned, my attention torn from the chip shot I needed to save par on the front side, and glanced up. A girl with dark hair and a pink stocking cap waved from a golf cart a few feet behind me on the fairway. She must be new. I would’ve remembered those striking eyes.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I realize the course is closed, but they know me here.”
Because I was Bryce Stewart, last year’s junior club champion. I was out here every day, regardless of the weather. Even on a cold, rainy January day like today. I focused my attention back on the ball at my feet, lined up my shot, and took a swing. The ball landed on the back of the green, then rolled down the hill on the far side. I grimaced, mentally kicking myself for getting too cocky to take a practice swing first.
“Yeah. I’m sure they do. Hitting shots like that, you need all the practice you can get. But I’m not here to kick you out. I just want to play through. You’re slower than my grandma.”
“You’re playing? Today?” Even if the clubhouse was open, the wind chill and intermittent drizzle were enough to keep everyone else off the course. But sure enough, she had a set of clubs strapped to the back of her cart. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Same reason as you. I want to get better.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re Tina Kwan. You won the girls’ state championship this year.”
She smiled broadly. “The year before that, too. And you’re Bryce Stewart. I recognized you from last summer’s championship photo in the clubhouse.”
“Yeah.” I gave her a respectful head nod. “Isn’t the girls’ season over?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t win state two years in a row by sitting on my butt during the offseason.”
“Fair enough.”
She tilted her head, her lips curving into a smile. “Here’s an idea. Want to finish the back nine together? I mean, as long as you can keep up.”
“Ha! You’re on.” I shoved my wedge into my golf bag and hefted it onto my shoulder. “And don’t judge my game by that last shot. You distracted me.”
“Oh, really?” She raised her eyebrows. “In that case, twenty bucks says I beat you.”
“All right. But I’ll let you play from the ladies’ tees to make it fair.”
“How chivalrous. Then I suppose I’ll let you ride in my cart. But I’m driving.”
“Deal.” I hauled my clubs over and strapped them on the back before sliding into the seat next to her. “How’d you score a cart today, anyway? Everything’s closed.”
“You aren’t the only person who knows people around here.” She winked and released the brake. “Now hang on, Brycey-boy.”
As she whipped the cart back on the path and took off toward the 10th hole, I realized how close I was sitting to this girl I’d just met. Her long hair fluttered in the wind, her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and she smelled really good—definitely better than the guys I usually played with.
We stopped at the 10th tee box. “You’re up,” she said.
I hopped out of the cart, grabbed my driver, and made sure to take a couple of practice swings first. There was no way I was going to let her get into my head this time.
“By the way,” she said as I lined up for my drive, “I caught you checking me out earlier.”
I dropped my club head so hard it left a divot. “I wasn’t checking you out.” She grinned as the heat rose in my cheeks. “Wait. You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
“Is it working?”
Ignoring her, I took a swing and connected with the ball, shanking it hard to the right. I swore as I heard chuckling behind me.
“I guess so.”
Two could play that game. We moved down to the ladies’ tees, and she set up for her drive. I let out a low whistle after her practice swing. “I haven’t seen a form that nice in a long time. Of course, I usually play with the guys.”
She glanced over and rolled her eyes. However, she still managed to hook her drive into a bunker.
This was shaping up to be an interesting round.
As we continued playing, I had to admit I was having fun. Even when she was messing with my head, I still liked the way she pushed me. And I was getting more practice recovering from awful shots than usual.
“It all comes down to this,” she said in a deep announcer’s voice as we walked onto the 18th green. “Tina Kwan and Bryce Stewart are tied, and both are looking at a potential birdie on the final hole. Who will reign as champion and who will crumble under the pressure?”
I was up first, and it was a tricky downhill putt. I had to get my speed just right, or I’d overshoot it.
Tina continued her commentary. “He goes for a one-stroke lead, and—oh! Too hard. It lips out and rolls past the hole. A disappointed Bryce taps it in for par.”
“It’s not over yet,” I reminded her as I fished my ball out of the cup. “You still have to make this putt.”
Tina’s face hardened as she lined up her shot. I held my breath as she hit the ball and watched it roll across the green.
“Tina Kwan drains it for birdie!” She raised her club in the air with a triumphant cheer.
I walked over to shake her hand. “Nice job. I guess I owe you twenty bucks.”
“Keep it,” she said with a wink. “You’ll need it to buy me a burger after this.”
I grinned. While I may have technically lost the match, it definitely felt like a win.
Spark Flash Fiction 