I think Amy may have met her match with James. He's sarcastic, hilarious, and as quick-witted as she is. They seem to be getting cozier together by the minute. As I head to tee off for the ninth hole, I notice James put his arm around Amy's shoulders and whisper something into her ear. She giggles loudly and can't contain the huge grin on her face. That's when I know he's got her. Whenever Amy starts giggling around a guy, she wants that guy. This is her tell, her little sign of approval when she is attracted to someone. No one else would probably pick up on it, but I know my Amy almost as well as I know myself, so I definitely do not miss it.
"Are you going to tee off or just watch those two flirt with each other?" Trent asks with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
"You were noticing that too?" I set my ball on the tee and prepare to showcase my horrible swing.
"I am, and honestly, I think they'd be perfect for each other."
"Shhhhhhhh!" I whisper-yell to Trent as I prepare to tee off. "Can't you see the soon-to-be professional golfer preparing to stroke her ball into that pond over there?" I grin at him and then prove that professional and golfer will never be used in the same sentence to describe me.
"I'll give you something to stroke, smartass." Trent takes my club from my hands and wraps his arm around my waist as we head back towards the cart. I attempt to give Trent a serious look of disapproval, but my mouth betrays me. I can't help the chuckle that escapes my throat and the look of amusement that shines from my eyes. Trent is a pistol, and his sense of humor is something I truly enjoy. There really is nothing like a man who can make you laugh, and Trent Hamilton makes me laugh. All. The. Time.
James and Amy are quite the comfy little pair in the cart, and I grin at her like a lovesick idiot.
"Stop smiling at me like that. It's creeping me out." Amy is curiously gauging my reaction to her and James sitting next to each other. He's holding her hand and gently rubbing his thumb along her knuckles as they talk quietly about something. She looks so happy in this moment. I just slightly shake my head and chuckle at her before taking my place in the front seat next to Trent as we head over to the next hole.
We're finally nearing the end of our anything but ordinary golf outing. Amy and I have consumed enough alcohol to tranquilize an elephant.
Does that make any sense?
Sure it does. Everything makes sense after you've been drinking for several hours straight. Trent and James were tied throughout most of the game, but my sexy man managed to pull out the win by a few strokes. Amy and I demanded that they stop keeping track of our scores because it was a huge waste of time. She quit after the ninth hole, and I managed to lose a disturbing amount of golf balls throughout the course. My voice is actually hoarse from yelling, “Fore!” after every shot.
I'm definitely more of a mini-putt kind of girl.
Trent and James take us back to the country club where we will have a nice sit-down meal with everyone at the event. Amy is overwhelmingly giggly and clingy at the moment, and I'm concerned of the possible scenarios that could occur during this meal. My fingers and toes are crossed while I simultaneously pray that she manages to keep her shit together and not act like a boozed-up idiot in front of our coworkers. This, I know, is a shot in the dark, but I'm trying to keep a positive perspective on the situation. Luckily, James seems to be handling her pretty well at the moment. He keeps her laughing while concurrently managing to keep her from yelling drunken obscenities at everyone we pass. That's kind of her thing—the "I'm going to yell incomprehensible words of drunkenness at you" thing. Don't ask me why. It just is.
"Trent, I'm going to head to the restroom for a moment. Mind keeping an eye out?" I nod my head towards an unsuspecting Amy. Trent just gestures a yes in return as he asks that adorable boy from earlier, Jailbait, to put the clubs in his truck.
As I walk under the elegant awning that encompasses the clubhouse, I notice my ex-fiancé, John, standing near the front doors. He's having an animated conversation with Veronica. Yes, that Veronica, or Loose-Lips McGee as I warmly enjoy calling her.
Normally this situation would have my chest hurting and bile rising from my stomach, but I'm relieved to not feel overwhelmed by those feelings. The feelings of heartache and anger—the very feelings that nearly ate me alive only a few short months ago. I know that this has everything to do with Trent. He's been more than just a pleasant surprise; he's the surprise of a lifetime. He's like the winning lottery ticket, Olympic gold medal, and Nobel Prize wrapped up in one beautiful package with a giant red bow.
Can I pass that last comment off as the alcohol?