Teeing Up for Trouble: A Golf Rom-Com

Chapter 1

Lizzie exhaled slowly, resetting her interlocking grip on the club. She had exactly forty-five minutes to work on her new swing sequence before heading home to ice her elbow and review course notes for The Ascendant at The Tribute, a true links-style course just north of Dallas. That was the plan. That was what needed to happen. And yet—

"You’re kinda scooping it," a voice chimed in from her left.

Lizzie blinked, her fingers tightening around her seven-iron. She turned her head slightly, enough to see the man standing a bay over. Backward hat. Slightly sunburned nose. That casual, overconfident stance of a man who had never played competitively but somehow thought he had unlocked the secrets of the golf swing. And, unless she was mistaken, there was a distinct slur in his words.

He had been drinking.

Perfect.

She forced a polite smile, the one she reserved for annoying but well-meaning sponsors. "I'm working on a swing change."

"Ohhh, gotcha." He took a swig from his can—definitely beer—and nodded, as if he understood. "Yeah, but, like, you don’t want to get too handsy. You gotta let the club do the work. Watch—"

Lizzie turned back to her ball, already willing this interaction to be over. She had spent hours on Tour-level coaching, biomechanics, and data-driven adjustments to refine her swing. She was not about to take notes from a guy who probably learned everything he knew about golf from watching YouTube shorts between fantasy football drafts.

A thwack echoed from his side of the range. She didn’t look, but she heard it—the unmistakable sound of a driver striking a ball with every bit of energy a weekend warrior could muster. It sounded like it went far.

"See? You gotta stay loose."

Lizzie let out a slow breath, keeping her head down. She addressed her ball again, waggled the club, and—

"No, but seriously, if you—"

Her club struck the ground behind the ball, sending more earth flying than the ball itself.

This man. This actual, real-life man.

Lizzie closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. A thousand responses swirled in her mind, ranging from brutal sarcasm to outright telling him to get lost. But she was a professional. And a rule follower. And, unfortunately, a people pleaser.

So she turned and smiled—too big, too tight. "I appreciate the… feedback."

He grinned, apparently unbothered by her tone. "Anytime. Name’s Cody. You play here often?"

Lizzie stared at him, waiting for the punchline. Nothing. He had no idea who she was. No clue that she was grinding through a make-or-break moment in her career. No awareness that his unsolicited tips were making her want to snap her club over her knee.

Cody wiped his palm on his shorts and held out his hand. "What’s your name?"

She considered lying. Just for fun. But instead, she grabbed another ball and dropped it onto the mat. "Lizzie."

"Cool, cool. You ever try a Texas putt?"

Her eye twitched.

This was going to be a long night.