Page 52 of The Perfect Putt

I walk to the trunk and pull out my beach bag and set it on the ground, then start to lug the cooler out.

“I can see that,” Miles says, frustration bleeding into his tone.

“Then why did you ask?” I must have a death wish, that’s got to be the reason my filter disappears at the most inopportune times.

“Ellie,” Miles says in a warning tone. Not using my nickname is a bad sign.

“Hm?” I feign nonchalance as I close the trunk.

“Why are we here and not at the physical therapy center?”

“Because the physical therapy center doesn’t exist. Well, at least not that I know of. They have a small office on the edge of town, but they only make house calls.” I point to the cooler. “Can you help me carry that?”

He stares at me, not moving.

“I’m going to have to make two trips then, because there’s no way I can carry both of–”

He cuts me off. “What are we doing here?”

I sigh. “You need a break. I rescheduled your physical therapy appointment for later, and gave you a beach therapy appointment instead.”

He doesn’t say anything. The only sounds puncturing the silence are the waves and the gulls overhead.

“This will be good for you. You’ve been working too hard. If you keep pushing, you’re going to burn out,” I plead with him.

“I have so much to do to prepare for the competition. I can’t afford a break right now.”

“Miles, I’m worried about you.” I place a hand on his arm. “Please.”

His expression softens, and he lets out a sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay as in you’re not going to fire me?” I ask and a smile pulls at the edges of his mouth.

“I could never fire you for caring about me. You’re probably right. It would be good to take a break.”

“It was Fitz’s idea actually,” I confess, not wanting to take all the credit.

“That checks out.” He shakes his head. “He’s been telling me all week to rest.”

It feels good that Miles is listening to me, and I wonder if Fitz was right when he said that if I talked to him, Miles would have taken a break without any tricks.

Miles picks up the cooler and I heave my beach bag onto my shoulder. We make our way down the boardwalk to the beach, making small talk along the way. Once we’re on the sand, Miles rents two chairs and an umbrella for us. I’d forgotten those important things while rushing to get everything together.

The umbrella almost gets snatched from us by the wind, but we manage to get set up without too much trouble. Miles doesn’t sit down though. Instead, he pulls his shirt over the back of his head, revealing tan muscles. My mouth goes dry.

“It’s too hot to just sit out here. I’m heading to the water. You coming?” There’s a smirk on his lips, one that tells me he knows I was staring.

“Uh–sure,” I manage to get out.

My fingers grasp the hem of my shirt, but I pause before lifting it. It’s not like I’m ashamed of Miles seeing me in a swimsuit. I’m confident in my appearance. But undressing in front of him makes heat rise up my neck and over my cheekbones. I take in a shaky breath and decide to just go for it. Like ripping off a bandaid.

I tug my shirt off my head first, then wiggle out of the gym shorts I was wearing. The sun warms my skin and I give in to the urge to tip my face back toward it. When I open my eyes again, my gaze catches on Miles. He’s staring at me with heat hotter than a Florida summer burning in his irises. The look he’s wearing makes me bold enough to ask him a favor.

“Can you help me put sunscreen on my back?” I ask him. “I put some on earlier, but I’m worried I didn’t get all of it.”

His hands clench at his sides, then flex again. “Of course.”

I’m foolish, I think as I sit on the edge of one of the lounge chairs we rented. Miles sits behind me. I hand him the sunscreen out of the bag, then squeeze my eyes shut. After an agonizing moment of waiting, his hands are on my skin. So, so foolish. His touch is soft and warm as he spreads the sunscreen across my back. The warmth travels up to my shoulders and his thumbs press into the tender muscles there. I’ve been hunched over my laptop all week, so it takes all my willpower to hold in a groan.

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