Golf Match

GOLF MATCH
Chapter One: The Blond Bomber
“The usual,” said Neri, sliding onto the stool at the Slice and Hook. The bar at
Knottybush Golf Club was empty, save for Nellie, the starter’s wife, who was
folding napkins at the far end.
“I saw ya comin’,” said Jeanette, a sturdy redhead with a lilt in her voice. She
placed a Bombay and soda on the polished mahogany bar. “I’d ask how the game
went, but that ain’t regulation attire.”
Neri followed Jeanette’s gaze down to the cleavage blooming from beneath her
blue sundress, then smiled. “You are correct,” she said, examining her makeup in
her cell phone camera. She fingered her curly blond bob and smacked her cherry
lips. “I’m here to meet someone.”
Jeanette leaned on the bar and wound her serpentine braid around her index
finger. “Anyone I know?”
“Let’s just call him Golfer #1,” said Neri. “I met him on Golf Match.”
Neri pressed the icy glass to her bottom lip and bent to take the first sip. When
she peered up through her long mascaraed lashes, Jeanette was looking back at her
with raised eyebrows. “Golf Match. The datin’ app?”
“Yes,” said Neri. “Why do you look so surprised?”
Jeanette huffed. “Because if a woman like you has to go online to find a man,
there’s no hope for a woman like me.”
“Don’t be silly.” Neri chuckled. “Lots of people find love online, and Golf
Match guarantees they’ll find me a mate … or my money back.”
“Bet ya got a lotta hits.”
“Well, naturally,” said Neri. “The app is ninety percent men. I’ve got lunch
dates lined up every Friday until Christmas, and that’s after I disqualified all the
cougar hunters.”
Jeanette snorted. “Whaddaya got against younger men? I mean, when it comes
to the bedroom rodeo, they got the giddy-up.” She winked.
Neri shook her head. “Been there, done that, Jeanette, and I’m the poorer for it.
I’m not going to support some young buck just because he can do all night what it
takes an older man all night to do; Cialis and Viagra will take care of that. I only
have a few requirements, but I’m sticking to them.”
Jeanette nodded. “So he’s gotta be a golfer and he’s gotta be rich.”
“Not rich, necessarily,” said Neri, “but definitely established. Someone I’d be
proud to have on my arm. Oh! And he has to make me laugh.” Then, suddenly
noticing they had company, the two fell silent, and Jeanette turned to greet Mini Putt
Pete and his brother Charlie—her old flame.
“The brothers Barlowe, right on time,” she said, picking up two pint glasses
and heading for the Guinness tap. “Hey, do you boys know Neri Germaine?” she
asked over her shoulder. “Scratch golfer and new president of the Ladies Golf Association?”
“Of course,” said Peter Barlowe. “Hi, Neri.” Then he turned to point at his
younger, scruffier sidekick. “You know Charlie, right? Greenskeeper
extraordinaire?”
Charlie ran his work-worn hands through his sandy brown hair, then nodded
Neri’s way. He always felt inadequate at times like these, although he knew that
didn’t make sense. Knottybush wasn’t the most exclusive club in the Jupiter area,
but it was inarguably the most manicured, due to Charlie’s extensive knowledge and
tender loving care of all things green. Still, he couldn’t help comparing himself to
the high-rolling members of the club, and especially to his brother. No one
commanded more respect at the club than Pete, a self-made man who’d turned a
single mini-putt business into one of the best-known franchises in the state of
Florida—Wee Putts.
“Actually, we’ve not formally met,” said Neri, stretching toward Charlie. He
wiped his sweaty palm on his olive boilersuit, then accepted her hand.
It was true, they hadn’t formally met, but of course he knew who she was—
everyone did. She’d only been a member for six months but had already earned the
nickname The Blond Bomber, due to her take-charge attitude off the course and her
quiet confidence, buoyed by natural ability, when on it. Every Tuesday morning,
when the ladies played a scramble, Charlie made sure his office window on the
south side of the cart barn was open, so he could hear Neri approach the first hole.
He never got tired of watching her flow through her tee-off routine. A sway of her
round bottom, a glance at the target over her left shoulder, a gentle arch in the small
of her back, and a slow steady takeaway. Then FWAP! As nimble as a forest
creature and as accurate as a marksman.
Neri shook Charlie’s hand, and he realized he’d been staring at her. He cleared
his throat. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Germaine. Your reputation precedes you.”
Neri slapped her knee, threw her head back, and laughed. “Oh gee, I hope not.”
It was such an unrestrained, joyous response, it made Charlie laugh too, and he
immediately relaxed. And as friendly banter bounced between the four, the to and
fro between Neri and Charlie became increasingly and conspicuously effortless.
“I’ve heard that one,” she said, giggling at Charlie’s inept attempt to tell a racy
golf joke. “You know what a condom shot is?”
But just then, her reason for being there tapped her on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt. Are you Neri?”
Startled, Neri spun on the stool, then blinked. It was Golfer #1, tall, dark, and
smartly dressed in a navy sports jacket and khaki pants. He looked nervous.
“Yes, I am,” she said, with a formal bow of her head, her ceremonial manner an
indication she considered this serious business. She gestured to a table along the
glass wall overlooking the 18th green, and they walked away without further
introductions.
“I have to head out too,” said Peter, patting Charlie’s shoulder. He could see his
brother deflate at Neri’s abrupt departure. He rose from his bar stool and placed his
cap on his head. “Put Charlie on my tab,” he added.
And just like that, what had felt like a celebration of sorts was now just a lonely
landscaper sitting at an empty bar.
“Can I get ya somethin’ to eat?” asked Jeanette, filling the awkward silence.
“Um, yeah,” Charlie said. “Just a hot dog with mustard.”
Jeanette headed for the kitchen, and Charlie fixed his gaze on Neri and her
animated companion; he appeared to be explaining something complicated and
profound. Initially, Neri leaned her elbows on the table, nodding, as if listening, but
now slumped back in her chair, her arms folded in front of her. Shortly thereafter,
the two were out of their seats shaking hands, and Neri was on her way back to the
bar.
“That was fast,” said Jeanette, placing Charlie’s lunch in front of him.
“Guessin’ you won’t be teein’ off with Golfer #1.”
“A complete waste of time,” said Neri, reclaiming her seat next to Charlie. He
smiled, although he had no idea what they were talking about. He pretended not to
care, turning his attention to his meager feast.
“He’s married,” Neri went on, throwing her hands up. “Talked about his wife
and her deficiencies the entire time.”
Unintentionally, Charlie snorted, prompting the two women to glance his way.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said, wiping mustard from the corner
of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Golfer #1?”
“Neri went on Golf Match—the datin’ site,” said Jeanette. “Can ya believe
that?”
Charlie frowned. “No, I can’t,” he said, meeting Neri’s beguiling baby-blue
eyes. “I mean, you’re so … well, it’s hard to believe you can’t find a date.”
“It’s not that I can’t find a date,” said Neri, squeezing the juice from the lemon
wedge into her gin and soda. “It’s finding the right date. No point hooking up with
someone who isn’t a serious golfer; obviously, it’s more than just a hobby for me.
Golf Match helps to narrow the field.” She shrugged.
“Hey, too bad Golf Match doesn’t specify the size of the putter,” said Jeanette,
and Charlie joined the teeheeing with a weak chuckle.
“Yeah! And the size of the bank account!” Neri said.
Charlie winced. Clearly, any bonding between them that he’d considered late at
night, his dick in his hand, was not in the realm of remote possibilities. This
afternoon she’d gone to his head like a strong drink, but he’d have to guard against
any further scope creep in his feelings for her; he’d already suffered one such soul-
crushing defeat at Knottybush.
“Maybe you’ll have better luck with Golfer #2,” said Jeanette, taking Charlie’s
empty plate.
Neri lifted her drink. “Here’s hoping,” she said.
“To Golfer #2, then,” said Charlie, half-heartedly. He tapped his glass against
hers, then finished his drink.
“To Golfer #2.”

Chapter Two: The Chemistry Between Them
A week later, Charlie was sitting at the bar when Neri’s musky bouquet wafted up
his nostrils, announcing her presence before she physically materialized. He spun on
the bar stool to greet her, but lost his balance.
“Hi!” he blurted, lurching forward like a Jack-in-the-box. Then his cheeks
reddened.
“Well, hi to you too!” she said, looking pleased.
“You look nice,” he said, composing himself, as he reestablished his position
on the seat.
“Nice? NICE?!” exclaimed Peter, cuffing the back of Charlie’s head. “She looks like Marilyn Monroe!”
Neri laughed. “Oh, puh-lease,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“No, really, you do,” insisted Peter. “Don’t you think so, Charlie?”
Neri smiled softly at Charlie, waiting for his affirmation. He scanned her tanned
gams from the ankle strap of her wedge sandals to the hem of her red romper.
“I guess so,” he said flatly, “but aren’t you going to be cold? They always have
the A/C cranked way down in here.”
Peter glared at his brother.
“So, you think this is too short?” she asked.
“Why don’t you give us a spin, Neri,” said Peter, twirling his index finger in the
air.
Neri spread her arms and whirled in a circle. The short shorts fanned out, away
from her body, exposing a flash of white satin where her tawny thighs met her
panties. Peter groaned with the reveal, and Charlie dragged the bar stool beside him
out from under the bar to muffle the sound.
“Not too short at all,” Peter squeaked.
“As long as you don’t bend over,” added Charlie, seemingly aware that if she
did, he wouldn’t be the beneficiary. “So, guessing you’re here for Golfer #2.”
“Yep,” she answered, climbing onto the stool, “and this time I did my
homework.” Neri felt under the bar for a hook to hang her purse. Unsuccessful, she
expanded her search to the right, fumbling in front of Charlie’s knees. As her
breasts swept his groin, he held his breath, closed his eyes, and attempted to
calculate how much fertilizer he would need in the coming months. When he felt an
elbow strike his upper arm, he turned to see Peter, looking amused.
“Here, let me help you,” Charlie managed to choke out, as his twinkie twitched
with Neri’s unpremeditated provocation. He took the purse from her and hung it
just out of her reach.
“Anyhoo, I checked him out,” she said, sitting up. “Got a friend who works in
the pro shop at Duffers. She confirmed he’s a member there, as well as confirming
other info he posted on Golf Match. Said he’s a perfect gentleman with a great
sense of humor—and he’s single. And by the look of the car he drives, I don’t need
to worry about the financials.”
“Sounds promising,” said Charlie, turning toward her.
Peter watched as Neri and Charlie engaged for the second time. It confirmed
what he’d concluded the first time. Despite the fifteen-year age gap, the chemistry
between them was palpable. It was possible Neri had already met her match; she
just didn’t know it yet. One thing was certain: Charlie wasn’t interested in hearing
about her impending tête-à-tête with Golfer #2. So as the self-appointed wingman
for his only sibling, Peter decided to insert himself into their conversation and steer
things in their collective direction.
“So, I understand you’re on a mission to find a match,” he said.
“Golf match,” said Neri, correcting him.
“What about Charlie here?” he said, knuckling Charlie’s head. “He’s funny and
charming and handsome—not as handsome as me, of course, but I’m off the
market.”
Neri laughed, but Charlie paled.
“Well, he’s a little young for me,” she said, winking at Charlie, “but I might be
able to overlook it if his handicap is low enough.”
And there it was.
“Well? Come on, don’t be shy,” she said, when Charlie failed to spit out a
number.
“I don’t golf,” he said, turning away from her and raising his arm. “Hey,
Jeanette, I’ll settle up,” he shouted.
“A greenskeeper who doesn’t golf?” said Neri, smirking. “Surely you jest.”
Charlie shrugged and signed his tab. “I used to play. Just lost interest.”
“You need to get back out there, bro,” said Peter, slapping Charlie’s back.
“Maybe take a few lessons. I’ll bet Neri is a great teacher.”
Charlie looked down at his watch, then raised his gaze. His expression had
soured. “Gotta go,” he said flatly, and then he was gone.
Neri cocked her head in confusion. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, no,” said Peter, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have…”
“Shouldn’t have what?”
“Lemme guess,” said Jeanette, sneering at Peter as she retrieved Charlie’s tab.
“Someone asked him to play golf.”
Peter didn’t answer.
Neri offered what seemed to be an unnecessary defense. “I just asked him what
his handicap was,” she said, her face a picture of perplexity.
“He’s as touchy as a beauty queen losin’ her looks, that one is,” said Jeanette,
wiping down the bar.
“Yes, he is,” said Peter softly. “The last couple years have been rough on him,
and you know that better than most, Jeanette.”
Jeanette huffed, threw the bar towel into the sink, and retreated to the kitchen.
“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, Pete?” asked Neri.
There was a pregnant pause as Peter Barlowe seriously considered doing just
that, but then he thought better of it. “There’s a story there, Neri, but it’s not mine
to tell.”

Chapter Three: Carnal Confession
Neri arrived an hour early for her third Golf Match encounter, anxious for some
insight from Jeanette regarding Charlie’s strange behavior the previous week. When
she entered the bar, however, Charlie was already there. Surprised, she stepped
back into the shadows and watched him interact with Jeanette. There was a
closeness between them that hadn’t previously been apparent; it precipitated a pang
of unwarranted resentment, for which Neri hastily admonished herself. When she
approached the bar, the two looked startled.
“Bombay?” asked Jeanette, raising the bottle.
“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” said Neri, with a half-smile. “How are you, friend?” she
said, sitting next to Charlie.
“Great, perfect. Why so early today?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she answered. “You’re not trying to avoid
me, are you?”
“Avoid you? Why would I avoid you?”
“It just seemed like I upset you last week. You know that wasn’t my intention.”
Neri placed her hand on Charlie’s neck and gently squeezed. He shivered, and the
vibration rippled under her forearm, prompting her to smooth her hand down to his
waist and back up to settle him. He returned her affection by sweeping a stray
blond lock from her brow and tucking it behind her ear. When Jeanette observed
the intimacy then cleared her throat—a subtle admonishment—Charlie blushed.
But Neri caught the stealthy communication and came to his aid. “Thanks,
Charlie. I’m badly in need of a haircut,” she said, making sure Jeanette was in
earshot.
“Yeah, so about last week,” said Charlie, looking down into his glass and
twisting it around on the coaster. “I was in a mood, and I don’t like talking about
myself. You’ll have to forgive me.”
“You are forgiven,” said Neri, patting his knee, “and you are in luck, because I
love talking about me. Would you like to hear about my date with Golfer #2?”
“Of course I would,” he lied.
Neri swiveled in her seat and rotated Charlie’s bar stool so he faced her. She
planted her hands on his knees and arched in. His gaze rested on the sun-soaked
skin between her chin and the edge of the white lace bra peeking out from under her
summer sweater.
“I knew right away it wasn’t going to be a love match; that’s reason enough not
to do what I did.”
“What did you do?” asked Charlie, reluctantly raising his gaze to meet her eyes.
“I will say, though, he was a lot of fun,” she said, ignoring Charlie’s question. “I
laughed all through lunch—that is, when I wasn’t drinking. We went through two
bottles of bubbly, celebrating nothing.”
“Are you going to see him again?” asked Charlie, then nodded to Jeanette for
another beer. “And some fries!”
“He wants to, but why wouldn’t he? I mean, after what I did. But, like I say, it’s
not a match; it would be a waste of time.”
“What the heck did you do?” Charlie pressed.
Neri put her finger to her lips. “Promise you won’t tell anyone,” she whispered.
“I won’t tell. Scout’s honor,” he said, straightening in his seat and executing the
three-fingered salute.
“Ketchup?” asked Jeanette, placing the French fries on the bar.
“No!” Charlie and Neri said in unison, shooing her away.
Neri skated her palms north along Charlie’s thighs, then dug her thumbs into his
hip creases. He fought to maintain his limp biscuit as his gaze sank once again into
the crevasse betwixt her twin peaks.
“Before I tell you,” she said, biting her lip, “please understand it’s been a long
time; I’ve been lonely.”
And Charlie did understand. He’d been lonely too. The last time he’d made
love to anything other than a sock, it