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62- Dalton

“So the idea in golf is that you want the ball to go in the hole, not in the wooded areas,” Boston said with a smirk that made me want to punch him in the nose. But I couldn’t do that to El. She’d have a fit if her groom had a black eye and swollen nose in the wedding pictures.

“Well, crap.” I faked disappointment. “I better call it quits and meet you boys back at the clubhouse.”

I went to put the driver back in my golf bag. I’d be happy to skip the last of the eighteen holes and cool off in the air conditioned clubhouse with a craft beer. It was an unusually hot day for spring. Besides, Boston and I were rubbing each other the wrong way as per usual. The last thing he needed at his subdued bachelor party was a grumpy kid brother.

“Oh no you don’t.” Dillon grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me away from my golf cart. Under his breath so no one could hear, he muttered, “If I have to stay for this, you do too.”

I was happy for Boston, I really was. I loved El and I loved that they
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