Page 65 of Perfect Praise

No, the house is hurricane resistant. I’ve got a whole-home generator. You’ll be safe.

When I look up, Locke shoves his phone back in his pocket in a display of finality twinged with anger that makes me itch with discomfort.

He huddles close to Conrad so they can discuss whatever the hell golfers talk about… I assume golf strategy.

I shouldn’t be texting him while he’s playing in a tournament. He needs to focus, and I need to chill out before he thinks I’ve developed deep-rooted, never-quite-erased feelings for him.

Then I realizehewas the one who texted me first.

I slip my phone back into the pocket under my dress, willing my body to stop overreacting. It’s not fair of him to be mad at me, so I’m not going to worry about it. I’m minding my own business, and not being clingy, so he needs to realize I’m the one keeping boundaries since this doesn’t come easy to me.

I take a few photos of Landon teeing off and then focus my attention back on him when he’s done and sidles up next to me again. We turn together to make our way down the fairway.

“Where do you live most of the year?” I ask.

“Scottsdale,” he replies. “I trade the hurricanes for heatstroke.”

I light up. “I love it over there! I went to the Grand Canyon last year, did the whole helicopter tour.”

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“God. The whole thing made me feel so incredibly small and inconsequential.” The almost unexplainable colors and vastness splitting the world like an enormous crack run through my head, along with the wild horses I saw running through the woods hundreds of feet belowus out the huge helicopter windows. “Don’t even get me started on how much I loved Sedona. I’ve never seen anything like that growing up here my entire life.”

“Man, I would’ve loved to take you there earlier this month. Maybe next year,” Landon says, then at my face of surprise (I’m assuming), he laughs at himself. “Sorry, you and Russell are still seeing each other?”

“Oh,” I say. “No. No, nothing like that. We’re not together anymore.”

Suddenly, I remember that Russ was sitting next to me in that helicopter last year, and not one image that ran through my brain a second ago involved him. He was there though, holding my hand with his unfaithful one, kissing me with his wandering lips, experiencing it all beside me, and yet it was almost like I forgot he is… alive, existed, my ex. For just a split second.

Landon smiles. “So, you’re single? We could grab drinks tonight if you’re interested.” My eyes involuntarily cut to Locke who’s about ten yards in front of us, and Landon’s good-natured laugh returns. “Now I thoughtthatwas a rumor.”

“It is.” I laugh right back, wondering how you defend yourself against what is being said about you, when you don’t know exactlywhatis. The truth, I surmise. “I’m very single, and honestly, I think I’m going to stay that way for a little while. I’m very flattered though.”

Internally, I’m amazed that this twenty-year-old would even be interested in me. He could get anyone.

“No worries,” he says. “I totally understand. If you ever want to hang out just as friends, I’d be down, though. This traveling thing gets lonely.”

I have no idea if he’s telling me he’s down to hook up occasionally, but I brush it off. “I’d like that.”

He flashes a smile at me, all boyish features and charm, and I try to imagine myself sleeping with him. Maybe I’m into the age gap. Maybe I’d get a thrill from this young guy thinking I’m hot. I picture him calling me a good girl, and while I bristle slightly at the thought, itdoesn’t resonate as much. I almost hear it like he says everything—as a joke.

There’s something much more captivating about Locke. The way he looks at me like he’s searing through my clothes. That manly thirty-year-oldsomethingthat I can’t put my finger on.

The way his broad shoulders sit like he’s completely comfortable in his own skin. The way he struts down the fairway with one hand in his pocket. That white baseball hat that casts a dark shadow over his face. The gruff manliness combined with the glimpses he shows of just a little something extra underneath.

I can’t remember the last time I wanted to burrow beneath a man’s attitude so badly and find out what lies beneath the surface, find the real layer.

But I think peeling back to the real layer is even more dangerous.

Conrad looks up fromhis little book as we walk down the fairway. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I scowl, even though I feel Maren and Landon behind me like an earthquake. Their conversation drifts toward me, and Maren’s little giggles feel like knives into my chest.

My hand is balled into a fist in my pocket.

He shoots me a leveled look when we stop and find my ball, then swivels his head to Maren, who’s behind us looking at me curiously, and Landon, who’s checking out Maren’s ass.

“I told you not to sleep with her,” he sighs. “It’s been what? Less than forty-eight hours? Let me guess, she’s already professed her love.”

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