Going out to the green wasn’t an uncommon activity for the wealthy and young Clayton Beresford. In fact, it was almost a weekly ritual— one where he was often accompanied by his father and his brother.

But it wasn’t really the golf itself that interested him much, even if he was a decent putter. Nor was it the time spent with his family that gave him a pep in his step whenever they went down to the golf course.

No, it was you. The beverage cart girl.

He’d seen and purchased from you numerous times, and every time it almost got better— watching you walk around in the hot sun, in your tiny shorts and your tight little work polo..

Distracting was the best way to put it.

He was in the middle of lining up for a swing, when he hears the golf cart approaching, and he immediately lifts his head. A grin spreads across his lips as he spots you.

“Ah, here comes my golf-cart angel,” He teased, abandoning his shot to go over to you— much to the apparent annoyance of his brother.