Chapter 2: The First Tee Showdown
The sun was a hammer on the first tee box, the air thick with humidity and quiet anticipation. "Ladies first," Derek said, his voice cutting through the stillness as he gestured for Jane to take the honor.
Jane’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile, her silver hair catching the sunlight like a polished putter. She adjusted her grip on the club, the sun glinting off her manicured nails—a deep, wine-red that matched the flush creeping up her chest as she caught Derek’s lingering gaze.
She stepped forward, her hips swaying just enough to make the fabric of her sleeveless golf shirt pull tight across her plump breasts. The breeze carried the faintest trace of her perfume—something warm and musky, like sandalwood and vanilla—mingling with the scent of cut grass and sunscreen. She bent at the waist, slow and deliberate, planting her tee into the turf and delicately placing her golf ball on top. There was no need for haste—she knew the game, knew the course, and knew the way men’s eyes lingered when she wanted them to.
Jane took position over her ball and steadied herself in preparation for her first drive. A gust of wind blew over the group causing Jane's skort to reveal her plump ass underneath. Derek swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his club. Brittany, standing beside him with her arms crossed, huffed and shifted her weight, her pink golf skirt clinging to her thighs in a way that was meant to be distracting.
But Derek barely noticed. His stare was locked on Jane as she began her motion, her hips twisting as she swung with effortless power and tempo. Her ball rocketed down the fairway in a high, drawing arc before it landed in the middle of the short grass and bounced forward another twenty yards.
"Damn," Derek muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His club thudded against the ground as he shook off the unexpected jolt of attraction. Brittany slipped her arm through his, her fingers digging slightly into his bicep as she leaned against him. "That was impressive," she purred, her voice dripping with false admiration.
Jane straightened up, stretching her arms overhead with a satisfied sigh before glancing over at them. She caught Derek’s eyes again and held them for just a beat longer than necessary before flashing him a slow, knowing smile.
Forty minutes later, Jane's ball is in a fairway bunker on the third hole. Nearby Margo is parked in their golf cart enjoying her margarita.
Across the fairway is Derek and Brittany engaging in an on-the-course lesson. Brittany sliced her drive deep into the rough and Derek is trying, without much success to coach her into making a safe shot. Brittany is visibly annoyed with her situation and Derek's babying tone.
"I just don't get why this is so hard," she whined, shifting her weight between her pink spikes as she dug her club into the unruly grass. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of sunblock across her forehead. The way Brittany swung her hips as she complained was almost comical.
Derek exhaled through his nose, trying to keep his patience intact. "Good try, honey," he said, nudging her shoulder playfully.
"Don't touch me," Brittany snapped. "I can figure it out on my own." With that she shoved her club back into her golf back and sank back into the golf cart. Derek gave a heavy sigh and gave Jane the nod for her to proceed with her turn.
She looked across the fairway at him and gave him a slow wink and a smile. Jane proceeded to step into the bunker with her wedge in hand. With one smooth motion she dug the club into the sand and struck underneath the ball causing it to pop up and onto the green a mere ten feet from the pin. Derek let out a low whistle and Brittany scoffed from the golf cart. "So that's how it's done," Derek said in a joking tone as he adjusted his hat to shield his eyes.
Jane trotted back to her golf cart where Margo was watching the exchange with eager eyes. "Oh my god, Jane. Did you see the way his jaw just hit the ground?" Margo gushed as she handed Jane a bottle of cold water. The ice cubes clinked against the plastic bottle as Jane took it, her silver bangles chiming softly against the metal.
Jane wiped her brow with a small white towel, her cleavage rising and falling with each breath. "Mmm, I thought he might need CPR after that shot," she replied, her voice rich with amusement. She took a long sip of water, deliberately letting a drop escape down her chin and fall onto her cleavage.
It was a small, deliberate act—just enough to make Derek’s eyes flicker with interest from across the fairway.
Margo let out a breathy laugh, fanning herself with her scorecard. "Oh honey, you’re playing with fire. That poor boy doesn’t even know what hit him."
On the sixth hole, Jane, Margo, and Derek waited patiently on the green to putt while an agitated Brittany negotiated a tricky uphill chip in the rough. Even a seasoned player would have difficulty.
It took Brittany three attempts to simply get the ball out of the rough and onto the green. Each time she swung, the club head would dig too deep and send grass divots flying, her frustration mounting with each failure.
Jane adjusted her weight between her feet, watching the blonde’s performance with an amused tilt of her head. She could see the tension in Brittany’s shoulders tightening beneath her tight pink polo, the way her hips twisted with each failed attempt. The girl was all looks and no skill—a walking fantasy for Derek, no doubt, but Jane had already decided she was nothing more than a temporary distraction.
Margo followed Jane’s gaze, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.
“Poor thing looks like she’s about to throw her club in the lake.”
Derek groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Brittany, maybe we should—”
“No,” she snapped, already storming toward her ball like a woman on a mission. “I’m doing this.”
Jane’s amused gaze flicked to Derek. He looked exhausted, his shirt damp with sweat, his dark hair slightly tousled. Jane watched as Derek took a deep breath that make his muscular shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt in the most flattering way. He went through his routine for putting and the group silently watched as he dropped his 20-foot putt into the hole.
"Nice roll," Margo said and went about hitting her putt, which she barely missed. "Can't get 'em all." She muttered as she tapped her ball into the cup and bent over to pluck it up.
Brittany was up next. She still had a 10-foot putt to make and while she had been trying to calm down during Derek and Margo's turns, it was clear she was still rattled. Jane saw this as an opportunity.
Derek was calmly standing with his putter and golf ball in hand watching Brittany line up her putt. Jane pretended to be reading the surface of the green, gauging the slope to determine which direction to aim her putt, but she was slowly creeping towards where Derek was standing.
Brittany's head was down as Jane made her move- she was intensely focused on her putt not paying the group any attention.
"You know, I've been meaning to ask you something," Jane said softly, her voice carrying just enough volume to make Brittany perk her head up, her blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Derek leaned in slightly, his muscular frame bending toward her as he tried to catch the words. Jane's delicate perfume swirled around him, something intoxicating and rich that made his head spin just a little.
"I noticed you watching my swing," Jane murmured, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she spoke, "Most men compliment my stroke. I've worked really hard to get it where it is. Experience is a wonderful teacher. Wouldn't you agree?"
Derek’s breath hitched, his grip tightening on the putter.
The way Jane’s voice curled around the words, the implication of *experience*—it sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. His pulse thrummed in his ears, drowning out the distant laughter from the clubhouse.
Brittany’s head snapped up, her lips parting in a sharp inhale as she caught the tail end of Jane’s words. "Uh, what’s that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her voice laced with suspicion.
Jane didn’t even glance her way. Her focus remained locked on Derek, her silver lashes fluttering as she licked her bottom lip in a slow, deliberate motion.
"Nothing,” she replied, her voice a husky purr that made his stomach clench.
Brittany’s eyes narrowed further, her fingers twitching against her putter like she wanted to hurl it across the green.
Jane barely suppressed a smirk. She could see the flush creeping up Brittany’s chest, the way her jaw clenched as she took in the proximity between Jane and Derek. The girl was territorial, possessive—but she wasn’t the one in control here. Jane was.
"Ugh, whatever!" Brittany spat. She turned her attention away from Jane and Derek and back to her putt. She took a hurried practice swing, stepped up to her ball, and struck it. It rocketed by the hole and stopped the same distance away it had started.
"Oh my GOD! Just mark me down for a TEN!" Brittany stormed after her ball, picked it up and stomped off back to the golf cart.
"Yikes," Margo said for only the trio to hear and turned to see Jane put her hand on Derek's arm as if reaching out for safety. Margo chuckled, "She has him in her trap and he doesn't even see it."