“Yeah, I like that.” He pauses for a moment and then says, “Chaos I can do.” He clears his throat and speaks slightly louder so the couples around us can hear. “Can you not do that?”

Brad S and his wife, in front of us, glance in our direction from the sound of Wilder’s voice. A look of surprise and understanding falls over their expressions. Almost like they’re trying to say been there, done that.

Well then, I guess it’s time to put on a show.

Squaring my shoulders and wanting to match his energy, I say, “Do what? Tell you exactly what to do so we can win?” I derisively snort. “Remember, I’m the one who works for a putting company, not you.”

“Yeah, you edit content written by others,” he shoots back. “Strike me if I’m wrong, but you’re not out on the greens, teaching Tiger Woods how to zone in his putting. You have no idea what you’re doing when you have a stick in your hand. Trust me.”

Hey!

I glance back at him, murder in my eyes.

I know exactly what to do with a…ahem…stick in my hand.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He lifts his chin. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

I make a mental note to talk to Wilder about insults that we can toss at each other while not going below the belt, if you know what I mean.

“Not what you were saying two weekends ago when you were panting and squealing from my…hands.”

“Squealing, really?” he asks with a gigantic eye roll that I’m pretty sure could have been spotted from space.

“Yeah, squealing. People thought a farm walked into the apartment building from the amount of hee-hawing coming from your lips.” I nearly let out my own impression of the donkey braying sound that’s on repeat in my head, but Sanders clears his throat in front of us, bringing our attention back to the golf course and the competition. “Sorry,” I whisper with an apologetic smile.

“Apologies,” Wilder replies, but then after a few seconds, he clears his throat, and in a very sarcastic voice, he says, “Wife, you’re so good at this. I can’t wait to see how you eat up all these men, just like you swallowed all those men in college.”

Jesus, Wilder.

He pokes me in the back, encouraging me to shoot back. So I turn to look at him and say, “Pretty sure you were the one eating in college.”

“You’ve never had a problem with my munching.”

Ugh, why does he have to be so quick?

“And you, uh, you’ve never had a problem with my, uh, swallowing,” I shoot back, proud of myself, but that pride quickly vanishes as Sanders walks right up to us this time, blocking us out from the rest of the couples.

“Hello,” he says, pressing his hands together.