Page 19 of The Perfect Putt

I chuckle at his response.

Jason: I’m being serious.

Shaw: I don’t know, man. Sutton didn’t really hate me, at least that’s what she says.

Brock: Oh she hated you. She was also in love with you though.

Jason: How is that even a thing? You can’t hate someone and love them.

I shake my head at their back and forth.

Brock: People say there’s a fine line between love and hate.

Jason: Yeah but there’s still a line.

Shaw: What’s going on? Who hates you?

Jason: Our new social media manager. I feel like she’s out to get me. I know I have a rough past, but everyone who knows me knows I’ve changed.

Brock: Well, if she’s new that means she doesn’t know you yet. Just give her some time. She’ll come around.

Emmett: I agree with Brock.

There’s nothing else after that. If I had to guess, Jason abandoned the chat to go to practice. I think Brock’s advice is sound, so I don’t bother responding. I can always check on Jason another time. He’s not the type to care about what anyone thinks of him though, so I bet he’ll get over this fairly quickly.

I slide my phone into my pocket, look up, and freeze. Ellie is walking toward me surrounded by an aura of golden sun. She’s wearing a black dress that hits a little above her knees, her legs lengthened by the matching black heels on her feet. My mouth goes dry the closer she gets. Her hair is still up, and she’s traded her braided jewelry for a simple pearl necklace. She’s painted her lips a berry color, and her brown eyes are framed by gold shimmer that sparkles in the light each time she blinks.

“Can you pop the trunk?” she asks.

I stay staring for a moment, unable to comprehend her question while she looks like this.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking down at her outfit. “Is this not what you meant by cocktail attire? I knew I should have asked you to clarify.”

“No, I was just wondering if you’ll be able to walk in those heels all night,” I say the first thing that comes to mind–well, not the first thing. Because my first thought involved setting her on the hood of my car and kissing the berry lipstick off her mouth.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks.

“They’re pretty tall.” I’m an idiot. And judging by the look on her face, she agrees with me.

“That’s the point, they make me look taller. Now are you going to open the trunk or are we going to be late to dinner?”

I press a button on my key fob and she throws her bag in the back then shuts it. I have an urge to open her door for her, but this isn’t a date. It’s a business meeting, one that I need to have my head right for. I shake off the odd feeling and slide into the driver’s seat. I decided to drive since she’s driven all day today, and I no longer need to take notes.

Being in an enclosed space doesn’t help. She must have refreshed her perfume when she changed because her sweet citrus scent fills the car. I swallow and try to banish the images my mind is conjuring. It doesn’t make sense for me to feel this intensely. Sure, she’s beautiful, but I’m not so weak as to fall prey to a pretty face. At least, I haven’t been in the past.

“Are you okay?” Ellie asks and I realize I’ve just been sitting here staring at the steering wheel for who knows how long. “I know it’s been a long day. I can drive if you need me to.” The sincere concern in her voice warms my chest. Though she could just be concerned for her safety. I would be too if I were her.

“I’m fine, just have a lot on my mind. This is an important dinner.” Not a lie, but not the truth either. I should be thinking more about this dinner than I am. It’s not every day that Nike wants to discuss working on a golf shoe together. I start my car and pull out of the parking lot, keeping my eyes on the road and not on the gorgeous, sassy redhead in the seat next to me. Unfortunately for me, there are a lot of traffic lights on the way to the restaurant. Which provides ample opportunity to glance over at Ellie. If I said I never gave in to the temptation to look at her, I’d be lying.

“That was amazing,” I say as Ellie and I near my car. “I can’t believe I’m going to have a shoe named after me.”

“It’s pretty crazy,” Ellie says. I can hear in her voice how tired she is.

She was quiet during dinner, taking notes on a small pastel lavender notepad. The two representatives from Nike didn’t pay her much attention after our initial introductions. With the way one of their eyes lingered on Ellie’s legs a touch too long, I was worried it would go differently. But it must have been in my head because they focused on me the rest of the night. We talked about the contract, different shoe designs, and the option to expand into other merchandise like clothing and golf towels.

“Fitz is going to freak out when I tell him.” I know she probably doesn’t care, but I can’t help wanting to share. This is a huge deal.

“He definitely will. He cares a lot about you.”

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