Page 56 of The Perfect Putt

“I haven’t lost.”

“Yet,” I add with a smirk.

“Are you two really arguing over checkers?” Miles asks from the doorway.

Fitz and I came out on the balcony for a game of checkers while Miles had an interview with a golf magazine. I’ve finally gotten ahead on work, so I felt comfortable taking a break. And Fitz, well, his job is mostly resigned to the course. He has plenty of free time outside of that it seems.

“I’m not arguing. Fitz is the one freaking out because he can’t cheat,” I say and Fitz narrows his eyes at me.

“Just because you have different rules than I do does not mean I’m cheating.”

“I play by the rules on the box,” I reply with a pointed look.

“Everyone knows there’s such a thing as house rules.” He gestures to Miles. “It’s why Miles gets ten percent every time someone lands on Boardwalk in Monopoly even if he doesn’t own it. He has a boardwalk in his backyard, so it’s a house rule that he gets to tax that property.”

I look over at Miles. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, wearing an amused expression. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it, but he’s not as tense as he was yesterday.

“Is that really a rule?” I ask him.

“Yep. And every time you land on a railroad you have to make a train noise. If you forget, you pay a fee.”

“Don’t forget about property damage fees,” Fitz adds and I raise my brows.

“If you knock over someone’s houses or hotels you have to pay them extra,” Miles explains.

“This all sounds way more complicated than it needs to be,” I say as I take my turn on the board. Fitz glares at the piece of his I take. Or at me. Probably at me.

“It’s what makes it fun,” Miles says, closing the door behind him and coming to sit near us. “Monopoly would get boring after a while if you played the exact same way every time.”

“I think the creator of the game would be offended by that notion.”

“Then he should have made a better game,” Miles replies with a grin.

I shake my head. “I think it’s a great game when played by the rules. Golf has long-standing rules and traditions, that doesn’t mean it’s boring,” I argue.

Miles raises his brows, impressed. “That’s a good argument, except golf is a sport, not a board game.”

“Also, people who play golf casually do make up their own rules and versions of the game,” Fitz says.

“Something tells me you’re both going to argue until I give in.”

Miles leans back in his chair. “You’ve got good instincts, Red.”

I’m about to reply when I hear the doorbell ring. We all frown at each other. As far as I know, no one should be visiting today.

“I’ll go see who it is,” I say and stand up. “Miles can take my spot but no rule changes.”

“If you leave the table you forfeit your right to govern the rules,” Fitz says.

I sigh. “Fine. I’m beating you anyway.”

I walk back inside, ignoring Fitz’s grumbling. The AC hits me full force upon entering, and I tug the sleeves of Miles’ sweatshirt down over my hands. I opted to wear it and a white tennis skirt, plus some adorable green socks that hit right below my knee. This more athletic look is starting to grow on me. I can see why the women at the club love dressing this way. It’s comfortable and cute.

I open the front door without checking to see who it is first. It’s Coastal Cove. Even if Miles is semi-famous, I know I don’t need to worry. Standing on the front porch is a man who looks like Miles, but thirty years in the future. He’s got the same brown hair, just with a little gray at the temples, and the same green eyes. Except these green eyes aren’t sparkling and happy. They’re hard and calculating.

“Hi, can I help you?” I ask, trying not to fidget under the man’s stare. I’m guessing this is Miles’ father–or some other close relative–but I’ve never met him and Miles doesn’t have any family photos hanging anywhere, so I can’t be sure.

“I’m here to visit my son. And who might you be?” Those eyes so similar and yet so different to Miles rove over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. The smirk that twists his mouth has my stomach turning. Suddenly I wish I was wearing a floor length parka, and maybe a few layers of clothing underneath. Whatever it takes to stifle the gleam in his eye.

---