Eight

We were sipping our third ten dollar lemonades in the clubhouse when Mike and Lisa finally ambled in. Mike stared at his feet a fair bit between his bafoon grins and I returned my iced stare. All attempts at polite conversation between Nina and I had died long ago. I had finished fantasizing about the amazingly witty blog fodder I had amassed during the afternoon and I couldn't wait to unleash it.

Lisa pulled an errant leaf out of her bra and dropped it on the carpet while keeping her fake-tinted eyelash bordered eyes stuck on me. She should have known better.

'Saving the trunks for later?'

Her mouth flapped but I grabbed my cap and stalked to the car. After I went back to the clubhouse to get my clubs Mike dropped me home. I sat in front of my computer screen, fingers poised on the keyboard. After ten minutes of nothing I typed "God golf sucks", published, then sought consolement in the refrigerator.

What the hell was Mike thinking? I'm as up for a rumble in the bushes as the next guy, but there's etiquette to be followed when a mate's isn't likely to score too.

Chapter Nine