Till Summer Do Us Part(29)
“Yes, but remember, you’re the one who got us into this, so don’t be the one who screws it up. You can’t blow up our spot.”
“Please, if anyone is going to screw it up, it’s you.”
“Want to bet?”
“Sure,” I say. “First one to misstep has to hand over five of their Nerds Clusters.”
“Only five?” he asks. “Scared you might mess it up?”
“No, scared you might mess it up several times. This is so you don’t lose them all.”
“We’ll see about that.” Then he reaches out his hand and says, “Deal.”
I take it and give it a shake.
Game on.
Easy win ahead for me.
Which is good, because I’ll need all the candy I can get to see me through the next eight days.
“This is stupid,” I say as I stand with my back to Wilder’s chest. Our ankles and our hands are tied to each other, plastering us together and making it nearly impossible to move. “If we fall, we have to roll, or else I’m taking the earth right to my nose.”
“We’re not going to fall,” Wilder says, his lips so close to my ear that his breath tickles me, sending a shiver all the way up my spine and causing goose bumps to spread over my skin. “We just need to communicate when we move. See, like them.” He nods toward Finky and his wife, Lindsey, who are moving through the mini golf course with ease.
There are five holes to play, and said holes are pretty simple, flat, nothing too dramatic when it comes to slope and obstacles. We were told before we started that the best score wins a prize at the end. No one knows what the prize is, but you can bet with a camp full of embroidered vest–loving freaks, they’re gunning for it. And yes, because I don’t want to feel like the loser of the bunch, we’re going for it as well.
“It looks like he’s whispering in her ear as they move along.” Then he points to Duncan and his husband. “Let’s not be like them.”
“Is that dirt in his nose?”
I feel Wilder lean closer to get a better look. “Shit, it is,” he says. “Okay, if we end up falling, tuck and roll and I’ll take the hit. But for the record, I don’t plan on falling. I’m sturdy as an ox. All we need to do is take our time, concentrate, and work together. This isn’t a race. This is about communication.”
“Understood.” I lightly nod. “But given our situation, don’t you think we should bicker a little? You know, to show everyone that we’re here for a reason? But then surprise them when we end up pulling out the win? Like classic chaos on the outside, but when push comes to shove, we excel at everything we do.”
“Yeah, I like that.” He pauses for a moment and then says, “Chaos I can do.” He clears his throat and speaks slightly louder so the couples around us can hear. “Can you not do that?”
Brad S and his wife, in front of us, glance in our direction from the sound of Wilder’s voice. A look of surprise and understanding falls over their expressions. Almost like they’re trying to say been there, done that.
Well then, I guess it’s time to put on a show.
Squaring my shoulders and wanting to match his energy, I say, “Do what? Tell you exactly what to do so we can win?” I derisively snort. “Remember, I’m the one who works for a putting company, not you.”
“Yeah, you edit content written by others,” he shoots back. “Strike me if I’m wrong, but you’re not out on the greens, teaching Tiger Woods how to zone in his putting. You have no idea what you’re doing when you have a stick in your hand. Trust me.”
Hey!
I glance back at him, murder in my eyes.
I know exactly what to do with a…ahem…stick in my hand.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He lifts his chin. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I make a mental note to talk to Wilder about insults that we can toss at each other while not going below the belt, if you know what I mean.
“Not what you were saying two weekends ago when you were panting and squealing from my…hands.”
“Squealing, really?” he asks with a gigantic eye roll that I’m pretty sure could have been spotted from space.
“Yeah, squealing. People thought a farm walked into the apartment building from the amount of hee-hawing coming from your lips.” I nearly let out my own impression of the donkey braying sound that’s on repeat in my head, but Sanders clears his throat in front of us, bringing our attention back to the golf course and the competition. “Sorry,” I whisper with an apologetic smile.
“Apologies,” Wilder replies, but then after a few seconds, he clears his throat, and in a very sarcastic voice, he says, “Wife, you’re so good at this. I can’t wait to see how you eat up all these men, just like you swallowed all those men in college.”
Jesus, Wilder.
He pokes me in the back, encouraging me to shoot back. So I turn to look at him and say, “Pretty sure you were the one eating in college.”
“You’ve never had a problem with my munching.”
Ugh, why does he have to be so quick?
“And you, uh, you’ve never had a problem with my, uh, swallowing,” I shoot back, proud of myself, but that pride quickly vanishes as Sanders walks right up to us this time, blocking us out from the rest of the couples.