Page 18 of Perfect Praise

“Wait!” she shrieks before her face turns deadly serious. “Enjoy your date.”

“Goodbye,” I huff before the screen goes black.

I give myself another four minutes to collect my scattered thoughts. For some reason, I know Locke would never be late and that he’s sitting four stories below me at this exact moment, but I don’t want to walk down there at exactly seven to find myself having to wait awkwardly alone… just in case.

At 7:03, I grab my clutch and head down to the lobby. As soon as the elevator doors open, I find Locke sitting on the couch directly in front of the desk, eyes trained on me like he knew this was the elevator that I was in.

He stands immediately, and I may not be able to walk just from his eye contact alone.

I never should’ve touchedher.

For some reason, I can’t get the feel of her skin off my hands. It just lingers there, and adrenaline is coursing through my veins now at the slight thought that she’s within reach.

As she walks toward me, Maren tucks her little purse that’s only big enough to hold a phone under her arm and drops her eyes to the floor like she’s terrified to keep looking at me.

Her black dress has two lines of tiny crocheted holes around her waist, and it’s hugging her hips just enough to draw my gaze to them, which immediately goes down slowly to her gold heels.

“I didn’t know what to wear,” she says quickly when she reaches me. “Is this too much?”

“Is that what you think?” I ask. “That you’re too much?”

Her wide eyes meet mine like I’ve stolen all the oxygen from the room. “Sometimes.”

“Take it from someone who actually is, you are not too much.”

“Well, all the other times I feel like I’m not enough,” she jokes with truth laced into the words. “So… there’s that.”

I feel it rise in my chest—the urge to prove her wrong, to stamp out whoever made her doubt herself. Russell, I’m sure.

“You look perfect,” I say genuinely, ignoring that I’m half-hard. I’d tell her she looks fucking sexy, but I don’t think she’d appreciate it, and I’m trying to remind myself every other second that I don’t want to have sex with someone who’s always around.

Her lips part, but she doesn’t respond.

Do not touch her, I tell myself. Instead, I turn and assume she’ll follow. When I hear the click-clack of her heels trying to keep up with my long strides, I slow to walk beside her.

“Are you staying in this hotel?” she asks.

“No,” I chuckle. “I’m renting a house. I don’t like people.”

She smiles like I’m joking. “How’d you know where I was?”

“Conrad, my caddie, knew where the PGA staff is staying,” I say, holding the door open for her.

“Things come easily to you, don’t they?” she muses.

“That takes work,” I say, shrugging.

I lead her to my rental car sitting at the curb. She stays silent as I hold open the door for her, and she continues to stay silent when I get in and pull out into traffic.

Every time she crosses her legs in the opposite direction, I find myself wishing I knew what she was thinking, if she is nervous, until out of nowhere she says, “So, you like Conrad?”

I definitely don’t appreciate the thought that this whole time she was thinking about my fucking caddie.

“I have to,” I joke. “He’s my cousin. And my brother.”

Maren’s mouth forms anoh. “I’m sorry. Unless that’s an incest joke I’m not picking up on.”

“Incest jokes are never funny,” I say while I stifle a laugh. “And there’s nothing to be sorry for because it’s not sad. If my aunt and uncle hadn’t raised me then I’d have gone into foster care.”

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