Despite not playing for months, I find my swing pretty quickly. I’m stroking the ball well, and Kevin keeps remarking how impressive my game is. Cody’s been quiet most of the day, which I know is making Trevor happy. He’s riding in the other cart with Kevin, and barely saying a word at every hole—only answering a question here and there that I overhear Kevin ask. Mostly, Kevin is talking about himself.

Surprisingly, Cody’s game isn’t half bad. I can tell he’s played before. He’s hit a few bogeys, for sure, but he’s also parred a hole or two. I haven’t really been looking at the scorecard, but I think he’s beating Kevin, and I feel a strange tinge of pride at that.

The drink-cart girl pulls up, and Kevin offers to buy us all a round. She’s cute, about my age, and is wearing tight shorts and a fitted top with the buttons opened low enough to show the lace trim of her white bra. I laugh a little to myself as I notice all three guys staring at her ass when she scoops out ice. I’m watching her pour Cody’s drink, and I notice she spends a little extra time talking to him. When she’s done, he hands her a tip, and she flips her hair back to giggle. So typical, I’m ready to dismiss her. But then she leans in close and tucks a napkin in his back pocket, patting it once as she walks back to her cart to fetch Trevor and Kevin’s drinks.

Cody walks back to our carts ahead of the other two, giving us a few minutes of alone time, the first we’ve had all day. I want to be pleasant, and more than anything, I want to survive this afternoon without a full-on anxiety attack. But for some strange reason, seeing some blonde bimbo hit on Cody has me fighting to think straight. And by the time he slides into the seat next to me, and smiles, all I want to do is grab his drink and dump it on his lap.

“Hey, that guy? Kevin or whatever? He wasn’t kidding. You’re pretty good,” Cody says, his compliment for my golf game no distraction for the jealousy scorching through my veins. I don’t even have time to rationalize it before it comes out.

“Yeah, well, some girls have talents like mine, while others just sleep around with ass**les they pick up on the golf course,” I’m embarrassed the instant I hear my own voice, but it’s too late. I’ve already committed. And part of me is being honest—though, I’m pretty sure I’m not coming off well.

Trevor and Kevin are heading back toward us, so I take my opportunity to sit in the other cart, away from Cody. I’m instantly grateful for the distance from him, but it’s short-lived as he slides next to me again. I twist my face to look at him, wishing like hell I had sunglasses on to hide the petty rage I can’t mask. His eyes are hidden, and it makes me even angrier. It doesn’t matter, though. I can tell he’s feeling smug and satisfied. He’s sipping on his drink, smiling at me the entire time.

Trevor stands next to me and reaches around my body to give me a squeeze. I know he’s pissed that Cody took his seat, and now that I’m pissed at Cody, too, I decide to lay it on a little thick, leaning my head back just enough so Trevor can kiss my neck. I let out a faint “Mmmmmmm,” just loud enough for Cody to hear, and then tilt my head back right so I can start the cart. I don’t bother to look at Cody, but I catch a glance of his face in the mirror up above, and his smile is gone. I’m not prepared for the guilt that rushes in next.

God, what is wrong with me.

By the time we turn for the second nine holes, the boys are all a little tipsy. Kevin and Trevor continued to ride together, talking and bonding over law-school stories. I was left with Cody. But ever since my little display, he’s quit acknowledging me, too.

I know it’s a bad idea the second I suggest it, but much like the rest of my day, I’m flying blind, throwing caution to the wind.

“Hey, how about we play $10 a hole for the back nine?” I suggest. I’m throwing it out there, because I’m desperate for attention…and I honestly don’t even care from whom. Kevin, bless his little heart, is the first to chime in, saying he loves the idea. Though he jokes that I should give him a handicap.

Cody’s indifferent and just shrugs at me. “Whatever,” he says. I hate that word.

I turn to Trevor last. “Whadaya say?” I’m putting him on the spot. He knows I’m better than him, and he knows I’ve been holding back. I also know he doesn’t want to be embarrassed in front of Kevin, but right now, I don’t give a shit. I’m in total tantrum mode, pissed that I’m being ignored, and I want him to weep from his loss and break his clubs over his knee when he has to pay me for every hole.