Hole in One

Chapter 1-3

Dusk was settling in. An occasional bird swooped down to land on its stick feet and peck for worms or whatever else it found in the grasses to eat. The usual swish and click of Rain Birds was absent because the automatic watering system had been shut down due to the generous squall. The fairways were cool and gave off the sweet scent of having been mowed and groomed for tomorrow’s play. The trees along the winding swath of the lawns lay in shadow. Hands in his pockets, Greg walked at an easy pace, trying to let the peace of the evening seep in and settle him.

Without warning, a dark figure stepped from a cluster of trees. Greg’s adrenal glands kicked in, preparing him to run or fight, causing the veins in his temples to expand and throb, while his heart bolted.

“Hola, Gregorio.” The Spanish accent was faint, but it was there. Vargas waved as he walked toward Greg. Above his dark slacks, his white shirt lay open at the throat. Hair darkened the area where the shirt formed a vee.

“Jeeze, River, you startled me.” Greg didn’t know how else he was supposed to react, but he knew how he wanted to. He wanted to hug the solid River, to taste and feel his naked body against his again, hear their hearts beat in sync as they hugged. To find the tight hole between his butt cheeks and enter. Heat rushed to his face and he wiped his damp palms on his slacks. Damned teenage memories.

“Sorry.” River held up a white sphere in his left hand. His face broke into an apologetic grin. “New ball.”

His need to tongue River all over dissipated, and Greg laughed. They were, after all, mature men now. “Good Lord. As much money as you must make on the European tour and you’re stomping through the brush to retrieve a three dollar ball?” He shook his head. “How the hell are you, River? It’s been a long time.”

Rio’s laugh blended with Greg’s. “Habit from the days when money was tight. River, is it? I haven’t been called that for years. I am great, mi amigo. How goes it with you?”

“I’m doing good. Thanks for asking. As for how I addressed you, I still think of you as ‘River.’ Anyone on the old USA team would, too.” Greg extended his hand. When River pulled him into a bear hug, Greg hugged back, shutting his eyes as feelings and memories he could not stop streamed through him again. He tried not to inhale the faint scent of aftershave and he took care not to let his groin touch the other man’s. He broke the hug first and stepped back.

They continued down the fairway to the next hole, walking side by side. “It’s a difficult course. We’re paired tomorrow,” River said.

“And tied for the top of the leader board.”

“Just like old times.”

“Yes.” Greg wondered just how much of the old times River was remembering. Christ, it was as if they’d never been apart. Easy talk. No awkwardness. He doubted this camaraderie was because of him or the three hot nights as college guys with their c***s in each other’s asses. It was River being River.

“If you have no plans for dinner, come with me to my friend’s house for a little party. Have some fun. We’ll talk. You’ll like her. It’ll get our minds off tomorrow.”

Since Greg could think of only one thing he’d like to do to take his mind off golf, he said, “I’ll take a rain check. We start early tomorrow.” He hated the clutch of his heart at the mention of a woman.

“Come with me. We’ll have a good dinner, share part of a bottle of Merlot, catch up on our news. You know this course. You don’t need to walk it. Marleena likes meeting new friends.” River put an arm around Greg’s shoulder and swept him along. That arm felt so good, so natural. Greg couldn’t resist.