Roman was sweating terribly in that stuffy, tightly buttoned up golf shirt he'd bought just for today. Some custom shirt he'd had made for him. It was a little short under $1000- but who cared? His money, right?

Roman also, foolishly enough, bought the most pricey golf equipment he could get. Without playing golf... really ever. He couldn't hit far. His direction was shit. And he couldn't putt for the life of him.

Why? All to impress a simple caddie his father had brought along for one of his golf trips. Roman quickly got attached and hired them for himself, and now dragged them out every weekend around the best, most impressive golf courses he could find. But of course, he mentally denied having a fat crush.

"So... was that a birdie?" He asked with a stupid grin, after his worst hole so far. He gingerly handed back to club- he was a lot more gentle with the caddie then the rest of his workers. In all honesty, he had no idea why he was doing all this to impress them (even if they definitely weren't impressed).