One Last First Date

by Kate O'Keeffe

  “Ah-ha. He’s dating other women?”

  I recoiled. “God, no! Nothing like that. We’re exclusive. He just . . . hasn’t said those three magic words yet.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “Have you?”

  “No!” The thought of saying “I love you” to someone—anyone—and not having it reciprocated made me want to run and hide, or shrivel up and die—perhaps both.

  “Why not? Why does he have to be the first one to say it?”

  My hands felt warm and sweaty. “He just does. Anyway, I thought he was going to, but instead he asked me to play golf.”

  Will leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter. “Golf?”

  I shot him a tight smile. “He doesn’t usually ask girls to play golf with his buddies, so it’s a big deal,” I protested, my voice whiney, even to my ears.

  “But still, golf?”

  I waited, my lips pursed, as Will continued to chuckle to himself. “Finished?” I enquired when he’d finally begun to calm down.

  “Yes, thank you. Did you say yes?”

  “Of course I did!”

  “Can you even play golf?”

  “Yes.” I was indignant.

  “Well then, that’ll be a nice thing for you to do together. And maybe he’ll even say those three little words you want him to say on the green.”

  I twisted my coffee cup around on its saucer. “Okay, so here’s the thing. I’ve never actually played real golf.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Real golf? You mean on a green?” I nodded. “So just mini golf?”

  I grimaced. “Try a golf video game. Wii.”

  “Are you seriously telling me you think you can play ‘real’ golf, as you call it, because you’ve played it on Nintendo Wii?”

  I crinkled my eyes. “Yes?” It suddenly seemed utterly preposterous that I could do something because I’d played a game on a screen in the comfort of Marissa’s living room.

  He shook his head, smiling. “You are one of a kind, Cassie Dunhill. Look, I’m a handy enough golfer. How about I take you to the driving range and give you a few pointers?”

  I looked at him, agog. Will Jordan wanted to help me with something? Who is this guy? “You’re offering to help me out with Parker?”

  He raised his hands, palms up, shrugging his shoulders. “Sure. Why not? Just because I’m sad and lonely now doesn’t mean you need to be.”

  “You’re not sad and lonely. At least you won’t be for long.” I nearly added the fact half the female staff were in love with him but thought better of it. Will Jordan’s ego did not need stroking.

  “We’ll see about that,” he replied mysteriously. He leaned in toward me. “Look, I know I’m a guy and not into all this emotional stuff, but maybe you need to just bite the proverbial bullet and say it first? What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “He could not say it back!”

  “Don’t you think he loves you? I mean, if you’re going to marry this doctor of yours, shouldn’t that come first?” He glanced at his phone. “Hey, we need to get back to the office. I’ve got an eleven-thirty with Marissa.”

  “Sure.” I chewed on my lip. Maybe Will was right? Maybe I needed to simply man up and tell Parker how I felt?

  And maybe I would end up watching my whole life plan blow up in my face.

  Chapter 13

  WILL WAS GOOD TO his word. One evening after work, I followed him in my car to a driving range—a place I had heard about, of course, but had never had any desire to visit in my entire life. It hadn’t been too hard to recruit my friends to come with me. I had Paige at the mere mention of Will’s name, but Marissa took a little more persuading. Marissa and ball sports didn’t see eye to eye. When I explained it was to prepare me for my next date with Parker, she reluctantly tagged along. “As long as I don’t have to hit anything,” she had warned.

  After a drive through the dodgier end of town, we arrived at the driving range and parked next to Will. As we walked into what was, for all intents and purposes, a large shed with a netted area over a big lawn out the back, I noticed all but one of the clientele were men. Undeterred, we hired a booth and Will began the expected lecture on the equipment. Paige hung on his every word, Marissa appeared to be scouting the surrounding men for her One Last First Date, and me? I spent my time fantasizing about how my imminent golfing prowess would undoubtedly elicit those three little words from Parker come Saturday morning.

  “Dunny?”

  I blinked, coming back to earth.

  “I may need you to concentrate here, okay?” Will pulled one of his golf clubs out of his bag. “See this one? This is called a five-iron. I suggest you start with this because it’s heavier and you should be able to get some good height with your shot.”

  Marissa scoffed, having given up on her man quest. “If Cassie can hit the ball at all, that is.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence! Just you watch. Pass me the bat, please.” I stretched out my hand toward Will.

  “Hang on there, tiger. First off, it’s a club not a bat. Secondly, I think I should show you how to hit a ball before you go careening off, wielding a heavy metal golf club. And thirdly”—he grinned at us all—“I thought you ladies might like to check out my form.”

  I shook my head as Marissa laughed and Paige looked like she needed a fan and a lie down.

  He pulled a golf ball out of the tub the driving range had provided and placed it carefully on a little bit of plastic poking out of the floor.

  “This is the tee,” he explained. He stood with his legs parted, holding the club by the ball and shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot.

  I sniggered. He looked like an oversized cat about to pounce on invisible prey. Only he was a 6’2” man, trying to hit a small white ball with a long metal bat.

  Will ignored me. “I’m in position now and ready to hit the ball. I’m aiming for that flag at the one-fifty line.”

  “You look great, Will,” Paige said with a smile.

  I rolled my eyes. She’d think he looked great covered in mud and stinking of cat poop. I snorted. That would mean he’d live up to his “Poop Boy” moniker nicely.

  He lifted his club high up behind him and swung through, the ball and club making a thunk sound when they made contact. We all watched as the ball sailed high in the air, landing near the flag.

  “Nice shot!” Paige called.

  “Thanks, Millsey. Now”—he handed me the club—“your turn. Grip it like this.” He placed my hands on the club.

  I copied Will, standing the same way as he had—only I skipped the amusing cat jostling.

  “That looks great, Dunny. Now, aim for the flag right there.” He stood next to me and pointed at a flag in the middle distance, the one he’d almost hit a few moments ago. “It’s about one hundred fifty yards. That’s about how far you should be able to hit a ball with this ‘bat.’” He smirked at me, and then stepped away.

  I looked down at the ball. Get ready for a whooping. I eyed the flag, lifted the club up behind me, and swung it down toward the ball. Only, instead of hitting it, I whacked the club into the ground, shock waves ricocheting up my arm and down my body.

  I swallowed. That wasn’t quite the plan.

  “No worries. It’s your first try. Here, let me fix your grip.” Will adjusted my hands on the club. “Why don’t you practice swinging a couple of times before you hit the ball?”

  “She already did that,” Marissa said with a snigger, leaning up against the wall.

  I shot her a look. “Not helping.” I got myself back into position, lifted the club behind me, and swung through. This time it was going to be different: this time I was going to show off my skills, honed by many games of Wii Golf. My club whacked the ground once again, making my arms shake.

  On my next attempt, I missed the ball and the ground all together and ended up spinning full circle around. I was thankful for small mercies: at least I didn’t hit the ground, and I had managed to hold on to
the club. Baby steps.

  Will moved in and took the club from me. “Okay, now you’ve damaged my five-iron, let’s move onto something else.” He fished another club out of his bag, returning the five-iron—a lethal weapon in my hands, it would seem—to his bag.

  “This is a three-iron. You can hit further with this one, up to about one hundred seventy-five yards. Well, I should probably say I can hit further with this one.” He grinned at me. “Have a couple of practice swings and see how it feels.”

  “Are you sure you should be giving her another one?” Marissa asked, looking dubious.

  He shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

  As I got into position above the as yet untouched ball, I noticed all three of them took several large steps away from me and my new weapon of choice. I could hardly blame them. This golfing hogwash was proving much harder than I’d expected.

  “Okay, when you’re ready, Dunny, take a shot and aim for the next flag back.”

  I bit my lip. “This is a lot harder than Wii Golf.”

  “You mean you actually have to get up off the sofa,” Will replied.

  “Cassie’s the reigning Wii Golf champion, you see,” Marissa explained.

  “Yeah. No one can touch her when it comes to that game. Not that she’d ever brag about it, right, Cassie?” Paige added.

  “Moi?” I laughed. It helped release the tension. As I lifted the new club up behind me, I held my breath, closed my eyes, and swung through. As my club made contact with the ball and shot off the tee, I got such a surprise I let go. Will’s three-iron hurtled after the ball, bouncing along the grass until it came to an abrupt stop.

  I was torn between elation and embarrassment. I had just hit my very first real golf ball, but I’d also possibly broken one of Will’s clubs. I turned to look at Will, Marissa, and Paige. They were all watching me, agog. No one said a word.

  I gave them a shy thumbs-up. “Yay. I hit the ball.”

  “Yup. You did that,” Will replied, looking at his club, lying on the grass.

  I followed his line of vision. “Sorry about your club, Will.”

  He let out a sigh, shaking his head. “I think we have a lot of work to do here. When are you playing with this boyfriend of yours?” He used those annoying air quotes around the word “boyfriend.”

  “Parker.” I shot him what I hoped was a withering look. “We’re playing next Saturday.”

  Will let out a puff of air. “Can you delay it, maybe make it sometime later?”

  “I don’t think so. Is it that bad? I mean, I just hit the ball pretty well, don’t you think?”

  Marissa and Paige laughed. I pursed my lips at them.

  “Sorry, Cassie,” Paige had the grace to say. “You’ve just started learning. I think it takes a long time to get really good at golf. Right, Will?”

  Will scrunched up his face. “More than ten days, that’s for sure.”

  “How long do you think I need?”

  “Err . . . a while,” Will replied evasively.

  “What’s ‘a while’? Do you think we should come here again?”

  Will put his hand on my arm, smiling down at me. “Let’s put it this way, Dunny. Either you have some serious, serious beginner’s luck when you play your round with him or you need to spend every waking moment between now and when you play with him practicing.”

  I bit my lip. “Oh.” I thought for a moment. As much as it riled me to do so, having Will teach me how to play would be incredibly helpful—and help me look good in front of Parker. “Will? Do you think you could . . . err . . . help me out?”

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” he replied, leaning into me, cuffing his ear.

  I kicked the floor. He was making me work for this. “Would you please help me?”

  “Help you, did you say?” He crossed his arms as he looked at me. “Would you be willing to put the time in? Every day after work?”

  I glanced at my friends. Spending every evening for the next ten days with Will “Poop Boy” Jordan was hardly my idea of fun. “Well, we have that girls’ dinner on Thursday, right?”

  “I’m sure we can reschedule that,” Marissa commented, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth. She’s enjoying this!

  “Yeah, no problem.” Paige shrugged and smiled. “We can do it in a couple of weeks. We might be able to get into that new place on the waterfront then, anyway.”

  “But . . .” I searched my brain for another excuse. Sure, I wanted to be good enough at golf to dazzle Parker, but spending that amount of time being told what I’m doing wrong by the person I’m competing against for the Regional Manager’s job felt like cruel and unnecessary torture. I was torn.

  Will slotted his iron back into his golf bag. “Put it this way, Dunny. You either take me up on my very generous offer to impart my golfing wisdom or you should go home and pray. A lot.”

  * * *

  So that’s what I did. I went home and visualized myself hitting that ball with style and elegance, impressing Parker with my golfing proficiency and natural charm. In my mind, I was the consummate golfer, hitting effortlessly great shots every time, congratulating Parker on his good shots, and commiserating with him on his bad. At the end of every visualization, Parker would take me by the hand, look deep into my eyes, and tell me he loved me and could see us playing golf together for many years to come.

  As part of my prep, I flicked the channel over to one of the many sports channels I’d never visited before and fell asleep watching the not-exactly riveting world of professional golfers in bad clothing each night, making it look easy.

  And because my mama didn’t raise no fool, I took Will up on his offer, despite my reservations. We went to the driving range every evening after work. And I turned up prepared. I bought a set of clubs second-hand online and even purchased a shirt-skirt ensemble from the pro golf store I passed on my way to work each day—a store I never imagined I would ever enter, let alone exercise my Visa card in.

  Will let out a whistle as I slipped my new, pink golf bag off my shoulder in the driving range cubicle. “Don’t you look the business.”

  “Why, thank you.” I turned and pulled my five-iron out of my pretty pink bag, removed its pink fluffy cover, walked over to the tee, and put my golf ball (pink, of course) in place. I was ready for my first shot.

  Will leaned back against the wall of the cubicle. “Hit it, tiger. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  I got myself into position, did the little wiggle I noticed in my TV research all pro golfers seem to do, then looked from the ball to my target and back again. In short, I was feeling it. And it was good. I swung my club up behind me and let loose, hearing the satisfying clunk of club hitting ball. I watched my girly pink ball soar through the air, eventually landing close to the one-fifty flag.

  A surge of pride rose up my chest. I tried my best to suppress a smile.

  “Wow, Dunny. What an awesome shot! Are you sure this is your first time back at the range? You haven’t been cheating on me with another coach, have you?”

  “No. I guess I’m just a natural, that’s all.”

  “A natural, huh? Okay, let’s see that again.”

  “Sure. No problemo.” I took another pink ball out of my bag, placed it on the tee, and got myself into position once more. This time, however, I clunked my club into the ground, entirely missing the ball and tee.

  Will pushed himself off the wall and rolled up his sleeves. “Okay. We’ve got some work to do.”

  We spent the next hour and a half taking shot after shot, Will frequently offering advice, and me frequently scowling at him. But I listened to him and did what he said. My shots, although not exactly at pro level, had improved by the time we decided to call it a night, and we even began to have a little bit of fun together.

  On our way back to our respective cars, Will proposed we grab a bite to eat together at a burger bar down the road. My tummy grumbled as I thought of the depressing state of my refrigerator back home. “Sure, why not?
I could eat.”

  At the restaurant—a fifties-inspired American diner—a waitress showed us to a darkened vinyl booth near the bar. In my skirt, my bare legs stuck to the seat as I tried my best to shimmy around to the back. I picked up my menu, and my mouth instantly started to water at the long list of burgers, from vegetarian to fish to beef and everything in between.

  “What are you going to get?” Will asked.

  “I can’t decide between the Tex Mex, the Double Cheese, and the Bacon and Avocado Burger.” I looked at him over the top of my menu. “Do you think I could get all three?”

  He grinned. “Why not?”

  In the end, I ordered the Bacon and Avocado, a side of fries, and a lime milkshake. My excuse? I’d worked up quite an appetite at the driving range, not only playing golf, but having to be in Will Jordan’s presence for an hour and a half more than was necessary. I deserved a medal.

  “How did you know I loved burgers so much?” I asked.

  “I took a wild stab in the dark. You and I have more in common than you think.”

  I guffawed. Will and I were poles apart as human beings. What was he thinking?

  I changed the subject. “So, how am I doing with the golf?” I asked once we’d ordered and the waitress had delivered us our shakes.

  “Actually, I know I give you a hard time out there, but you’re doing great.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, swelling with pride. “I do appreciate your help, you know.”

  Will nodded. “It’s really important to you, impressing this guy. Right?”

  I turned my glass around, feeling the cold condensation with my fingertips while thinking about Parker. “Yeah. It is.” I looked up at him, suddenly embarrassed. “Is that so bad?”

  “Of course not. I mean, you’ve got to make up for that first date underwear malfunction, right?”

  I pursed my lips. “You can’t be nice for more than a minute, can you?” I asked, my tone harsh.

  Will looked surprised. “What? You’re the one who told us about it. Remember?”