Page 119 of Unhinged

As I laugh more, he says, “Buttercup, you run your mouth now, but I think I still have a muzzle for you in my truck from our Baltimore trip.”

“Or an impending head injury?” I sneer with a giggle, reminding him of his bitching at Finn and Hadley’s reception of my rambling and inflicting self-harm to shut me off. I was nervous with him, and I talked. A lot.

He smirks at me. “Almost.”

Greg picks up my hand and intertwines our fingers as we walk to his truck, my smile now brighter than my sweater.

The drive isn’t far, but Greg holds my hand. He again plays with my mood ring until he lifts my hand. “What kind of ring is this?”

“It’s a mood ring. My mom gave it to me for Christmas.”

“Like it changes colors?”

“Yeah. It’s red right now. It’s usually blue or green.”

“What’s red mean?”

“Tense.”

“Oh. I guess you’ll have to relax.” Instead of returning my hand to my lap, he brings it to his mouth and kisses it while still watching the road. That certainly won’t relax me. His lips twitch over my skin as we smile. Greg then sets my hand back on my leg but still holds my hand and plays with my ring.

Once we park and go inside, Greg rushes to pay, and I don’t argue so I can check out his ass. We put our coats and my purse into a locker and pick our clubs and balls. I take my pink one while he picks a yellow one. It’s a winter weeknight, and it’s not as busy, which is fantastic since I talked a big game. I suck at golfing of any kind.

Greg motions to the first hole. “After you, muffin.”

My dubious frown makes him laugh. When I walk in front of Greg, I turn to see him looking away from my ass. I use this to my advantage to distract him. That’s the only way I’ll win. I bend to place the ball on the mat with the hole, taking my time. I wiggle my butt when I try on a few golfing stances. I then hit the ball, and it banks off the sides and doesn’t come close to the hole. “Damn,” I mutter and bend for the ball again, making sure my ass is in his line of sight. My plan may not work, and I lose with a bigger bruised ego.

When I try to hit it into the hole for the fifth time, he sighs. “You said we have two hours tonight. There’s half an hour left, and they close soon.”

I stick my tongue out at him as I drop the ball into the hole. “There. Count that.”

“One hundred and five,” Greg announces as he marks the sheet. He should just throw it away. There’s no hope for me.

When it’s his turn, I watch his stance, and it’s so fucking sexy and competent, even for putt-putt. He doesn’t bend much since he makes it into the hole after two strokes. Like softball and shooting pool, I bet he’s a badass golfer too.

We play more holes, but it’s all the same thing. Bending a lot to get his attention and him ignoring my ass, only to beat it.

His phone chimes and he pulls it from his back pocket. When he looks at it, his eyes grow large, but when he glances at me, he smiles before tapping out a text. Since it’s none of my business, I return to the teeter-totter that keeps sending my ball into the water.

On my eighth attempt, Greg walks over. “Did you give it hell?”

I shrug. “Maybe purgatory.”

He laughs and sets his ball on the mat. “Um, Hadley just texted me.”

“Oh, really? That’s the first time you’ve talked to her since you left.”

“Yep. She wanted to call me, but I told her I’m on a date. She didn’t believe me.”

“But she believes you got married?”

He sighs. “I guess if it means it’s not genuine.”

“Why is it so hard to believe someone would want to marry you?”

Greg’s brown eyes shimmer in the bright lights. “I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t date. It’s a never-ending cycle.”

Seeing his distraction over her text, I sigh. “If you want to call her, we can leave so you can drop me off earlier.”

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