The couples in front of them were in the process of making their second shots, so Blake and his companions got into their golf carts and moved up to the tee. Sammy got into the first cart with Clive. Blake got into the cart that held his golf bag, that Mr. Miller -- er, Frank -- was driving. Without a doubt, he was going to have trouble remembering to call Mr. Miller ‘Frank’.

Clive and Sammy had their heads together, laughing. What was so fucking funny? Had he landed into the middle of a pack of homophobes? Whatever their problem was, he had the feeling it was going to be a long, long morning.

They reached the par-four tee and Blake got out of the cart and drew the driver out of his bag. He picked out a ball and tee as Sammy took his backswing. Sammy followed through with his swing and the ball went sailing. His shot had a little bit of a hook and traveled maybe two hundred and twenty or thirty yards.

Blake cleared his head of the worry that had been plaguing him since spotting Frank Miller and decided to hell with it. If the man hadn’t noticed the earring yet, he would shortly. His loony buddies would fill him in later if it managed to escape his notice in the meantime.

Clive approached the tee next. His shot was straighter than Sammy’s and a little longer.

Fuck ‘em all anyway. Mr. Miller wasn’t in the chain of command over him at work and surely it would be beneath the man to stoop to spreading gossip around, wouldn’t it? He’d just be polite and make the best of it. Damn, and do his best to ignore Mr. Miller’s nutty friends, who seemed to be laughing at everything he said.

At least Mr. Miller wasn’t joining in on that. He was being rather friendly, in fact. Hell, his friends had laughed at an innocent comment Mr. Miller had made, too. Maybe the rumors about him at work were exaggerated, or perhaps he just knew how to relax outside of work, because his and his friends’ behavior was totally at odds with what Blake would have expected.

Blake approached the tee and set up his shot. He swung and hit a soaring shot, straight down the fairway. It looked like his ball had gone at least two hundred and fifty yards. Maybe closer to two hundred and sixty. Sweet. He smiled to himself. At least he wasn’t going to embarrass himself with his golf game.

“Hell yeah,” added Clive. “Frank, you might actually lose a game today.”

Mr. Miller -- Frank -- laughed. “Trust me, I lose plenty. Just because I can always beat you two doesn’t make me good.”

Sammy laughed and looked at Clive. “I think we’re being dissed, hon.”

Hon? What the hell? Were Sammy and Clive together? Clearly they were at least gay because he couldn’t think of a single time he’d ever heard straight guys call each other hon. It just didn’t happen. So much for his worries that they were homophobes. Hell, they were kindred spirits and Frank Miller was their friend, so obviously it wasn’t an issue with him. Blake smiled to himself. Hell, maybe Frank was gay, too.

Frank just chuckled and shook his head as he approached the tee. Frank’s form on his backswing and follow through was flawless. As was his shot, straight and about the same distance as Blake’s.

Blake smiled. “Nice.”

Clive chortled and Sammy burst out laughing. Jesus, what was with those two?

Sammy revived first. “His shot or his form?” he managed to choke out.

Oh, fuck. Blake’s jaw dropped. He had been checking out Frank’s swing. Had Clive and Sammy noticed that and thought he was checking out the man? He didn’t even want to know how red his face was. Probably the same shade of red as the changing maple leaves.