lxix. Club
She hums impatiently. He sighs, and turns to look at her over his shoulder. She looks very in her element now, he thinks. A white sweater around her neck, pastel colors, a pair of sunglasses pushed up onto her hair.
"Sam, seriously, are you going to stare at me all day?"
He raises it, and lowers it again. And raises and lowers. She steps over there and wrenches it from his hands, nudging him off to the side subtly. She swings, and he sees the golf ball fly.
"For God's sake, how long does it take to hit a ball?"