“What?” she screeches, her eyes wildly searching mine.

“Yeah, he wasn’t very happy to see me here, so I made sure to send him on his way with something to remember me by. He’ a complete tool, by the way.”

“What did you do?” she inquires hesitantly.

“Don’t worry about it. I just let him know the divorce is his loss and there are plenty of guys willing to take care of you in areas that he fell short.” I wink at her, but she just rolls her eyes.

“Oh, geez, I’m going to hear about that one.” She blows out a long exhale and roughly rubs the pads of her fingers across her forehead, her stress showing through. “I just want it to be over so we can all move on. He’s being so mean. I don’t know how much more of him I can take.”

I lean against the counter and watch the waves of despair and tension radiate from this gorgeous woman. She is so caring, so loving, even fun, but here she sits with the weight of the world on her shoulders because of a man. It’s a man’s job to take that worry away, not create it.

Jack is a piece of shit for making her feel this way and I want more than anything to make that stress disappear.

I want to make her laugh. I want to be the reason for every smile, every happy tear, and content sigh. She deserves that whether she believes it or not.

I pick up the bag of Starbursts and toss it across the room to her. “Grab your shoes and jacket; I’m showing you a good time tonight.”

“What about the movies?” she asks, fumbling the bag before finally tucking it in like a football.

“Fuck the movies, we need to get crazy.”

Carly

“Putt-Putt golf? That’s your idea of crazy?” I tease as we pull into the parking lot of Putter’s Pride.

He slides the stick shift into park and looks at me with a confused expression. “Since when is mini golf not killer?” he asks. “I offered fun, and I fully intend on following through.”

I laugh and shake my head as we both step out of the car and move to the entrance. “I have to admit, it’s been a long time since I’ve done this and I’m not very good at it, but I’ll give it a shot.”

Royce grabs my hand and squeezes, but then halts in the middle of the parking lot.

“Wait, we’re forgetting something,” he says before racing to the car and back to my side again. “We can’t leave the candy behind,” he tells me, handing me the bag and taking my hand once again. I haven’t held a man’s hand, other than Jack’s, in years. The foreign feeling causes me to pull away with uncertainty.

“Relax, Carly,” he says, pulling me back into his grasp. “We are here to enjoy each other. I won’t take anything from you that you won’t already want to give me.” He smiles reassuringly, his boyish charm setting my mind at ease.

He shakes my arm until I let out a smile. “Come on. It’s on like Donkey Kong, little lady,” he says, pulling me through the entrance.

We stop at the front counter and Royce dings the bell to alert the attendant of our arrival. We have to wait for someone to rent our clubs from, but no one answers. I step out onto the course to look around for someone, but the course is pretty deserted. Only a small group of college-aged girls on the far end. Royce gets severely impatient, bouncing his hand continuously on the bell.

I elbow him in the ribs and he bends over and groans pretending as though he’s critically injured. “Oh, stop it. You’re fine,” I laugh as I nudge him.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I shout into the back employee area.

We are met with strangled moans and grunts, sounds of papers and boxes falling onto the ground, and then the unmistakable shrill of a woman enjoying herself.

“Oh, my God, people are doing it back there,” I whisper, pointing to the back area of the building.

Royce perks up, all fake injuries magically healed, and rushes to the employee door where I’m standing.

He bursts into laughter. “Maybe that’s part of the employee benefits package,” he jokes.

“What do we do?” I ask, walking back around to the front of the counter. “Should we leave?”

Royce grabs score cards, golf balls, and clubs from behind the counter, and throws a twenty on the register. “Hell, no. We came here to golf. I’m pretty sure they could care less if we just helped ourselves. I think they would prefer this to us interrupting whatever they have going on back there,” he adds with a smirk.

A loud strangled noise of a couple climaxing spills out from the doorway and I want nothing more than to get away from this uncomfortable situation. “I’ll meet you out there,” I say over my shoulder as I walk out of the clubhouse and onto the course. I can’t get out of there fast enough, and Royce just chuckles at my discomfort with our predicament.

Just as I reach the first putting obstacle, my embarrassment level spikes to an all-time high. My eyes widen and I search for anything to look at other than what is in front of me, but I fail miserably. Walking out of the backdoor and onto the course are our sexcapade culprits. The middle-aged man is extremely large and looks as though he just got out of the shower. However, I know it’s sweat and not water rolling down his cheeks and neck. He’s tucking his collared shirt into his sweatpants and wiping his face off when he notices me.

I turn away from him as quickly as I can and act casual, hoping Royce will join me and we can start our game like we didn’t just see, or rather hear, the most unprofessional and inappropriate thing ever.

Nope, Royce walks through the main entrance arm in arm with our woman of the hour. Her hair and makeup look as though they have been recently corrected and smoothed out. She has the tell-tale post-coital glow and she looks as though she couldn’t care less that we just heard her scream out Mr. Putt-Putt’s name.

I admit to myself that I’m slightly jealous of seeing her cougar paws all over Royce. He’s not mine, but there is a voice in my head screaming, Warning, back off woman. I claim that man for myself. At the very least, I want her to unhand him and reattach herself to Captain Sweatpants.

“Look who I found,” Royce drawls with a crooked smile. “Wanda here said we were more than welcome to grab whatever equipment we needed and go ahead and start our game.”

She rubs her hand up and down his bicep and giggles. Actually giggles like an immature school girl. “Sorry I was indisposed when you all came in. I am just so embarrassed. Welcome to our little establishment. I sure hope you two enjoy yourselves.”

Lies, lies I tell you. She’s not sorry, nor is she embarrassed. She is feeling rather good and satisfied. My eyes zero in on her exploring hand and I quietly hate her. In fact, I want to hit her with my golf club. Royce notices my squinted eyes and grimaced expression and shoots a befuddled look back to me. When I attempt to correct my expression, he smiles at my dismay.

“Thank you for your help. I think we’ll get started with our game,” Royce tells her while politely taking her hand off his arm.

“Absolutely. Just holler if you need anything. Bob and I will be around,” she offers before leaving to join him at the side entrance. I watch her as she walks to him and explains her meeting with us. They both then wave to us, which only makes the entire exchange even more uncomfortable. I quickly throw my hand up and down in a stiff pathetic-looking wave and turn back around to face Royce.

His arms are folded across his chest and his smile is plastered from ear to ear.

“Well, that was awkward,” I immediately tell him.

“Mmm hmm,” he enunciates slowly, unmoving.

“What? That was seriously ridiculous. I can’t even believe we are going to stay.” I move past him, ignoring his suspicious grin.

“You were jealous,” he finally announces.

“I certainly was not!” I defend, snatching a club and ball away from him and preparing for the first obstacle. He may have a slight point. There were a few pangs of jealousy coursing through me when I saw sex-crazed Wanda fawning over him, but those feelings don’t matter. I’m in the middle of a divorce and I’m trying to hold my life together. The last thing I need is a romantic distraction, especially one like Royce. He’s the lead singer of a band, not exactly father material.