Page 120 of Unhinged

His frown is instant as he shoves his phone into his pocket. “Like I told her, I’m on a date with you.”

“And she didn’t believe it was me?”

“Huh-uh. I guess you have better things to do than to hang out with me.” Well, damn.

I smile and pat his cheek. “Never.”

He bites his lip, and his face turns red again.

We return to the course, and halfway through, I try to improve my stance and at least save a shred of my dignity. As I line up the ball and putter, Greg drops his club, and from behind, he wraps his arms around my waist to show me where to put my hands. I giggle because I deliberately do the opposite of what he instructs. He’s in my ear telling me, and it’s hard to care about golf.

Greg advises, “You’re too much on the tee. Back up some, buttercup.”

I move, pushing my ass into his groin but playing innocent. “Like that?”

His gasp in my ear makes me smile toward my pink ball, and I can’t help but giggle when he clears his throat. “Yep.”

“Okay. Got it.” I look over my shoulder, and his lips are close to mine. I whisper, “You can let go now.”

“But I enjoy watching you stroke it.” He then leans closer to my ear, whispering, “It’s such a fucking turn-on.” Greg drags his nose against my neck and then into my hair. Pink Sugar does it every time. Though I wasn’t wearing it on our wedding night.

Holy hell.

Goosebumps sprout all over my arms, even though I wear a sweater. I totally mess up the putt, not minding a bit.

“You just like calling me buttercup because it mentions butt.”

“And you have such a stellar one.” He pulls my hips into his firmer fly. Son of a hooker. “The flower story is true, though.”

Holding onto my club with my left, I lean back and pat his cheek with my right. His lips are so close and tempting. I’ve never kissed better lips. God. I could kiss him until I need to pee.

Greg angles his head toward mine, bringing his lips even closer. Kiss me, Greg. I don’t care about ground rules or if people are waiting for us to move to the next hole.

Instead, he inhales me and tightens his arms around my waist.

I whisper, “What are you doing?”

“Saving you for later.” Holy hot fuck.

When it’s Greg’s turn, I hug him from behind. His back even smells good. “Let me show you the proper way to hold your rod.”

I feel him laughing against my chest. “I’m begging you to show me.”

Since he’s taller, I can’t see the putter, so he takes my hands and places them between his, but my knuckles graze his fly. When I feel his moan vibrating against me, I do it again. He shifts on his feet, seemingly not into my instructions. I then go to his ear. “You have great form, swizzle stick.” As I hold his club, I feel his fly pushing against my hand, and it thrills me I’m having that effect on Greg. I let go, and before I step back, I smack his ass. “That’s great too.”

I hear Greg giggle, and I wait for him to hit the ball, but he’s antsy, and when he hits it, he misses huge.

I bite back a laugh. “Problem there, Rodwell?”

He goes to his yellow ball, and before trying again, Greg looks over at me with an off-kilter, self-assured smirk. “No problem here, Rodwell.” My grin could swallow my damn face.

I set my ball onto the tee mat at the next hole and assess the windmill. There’s no way I’ll get the ball to the other side. As I contemplate navigating my impending loss, an arm slides over my stomach, and a chin rests on my shoulder. I feel his hot breath on my neck and down into my sweater. Greg’s fingers slide over my waistband underneath my sweater, and he strokes my stomach. All things mini-golf fly to the bottom of my list.

I giggle because it tickles, but it’s also hot as hell feeling his skin on mine, no matter where. Greg whispers, “What are you thinking about, buttercup?” That my pants are noticeably wet.

“How good you smell. How bad you are at teaching me about miniature golf. How sexy you look doing it. How I can’t stop watching you. How I can’t keep my hands off you. How I hope you’ll kiss me goodnight.” Greg’s deep breath into my hair turns me into mush. “What are you thinking about, dumpling?”

“How good you smell. How bad you are at miniature golf. How sexy you look doing it. How I can’t stop watching you. How I can’t keep my hands off you. How much I want to kiss you.”

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