Page 156 of Well Played

“Is that part of the reason you’re here where it’s cold and gray instead of the paradise you call home?” he asked. Earlier, Lana had mentioned that her intention to prepare for the Women’s Open here this summer was the primary goal of her trip to Scotland. With her usual caddie anticipating the birth of his first child, she’d decided not to enter the Asian swing of the ladies’ professional tour in Thailand, Singapore, and China, which would last until mid-March.

Lana bent down to repair a divot on the green and placed a marker behind her ball before tossing it to him for cleaning. “I actually live in Texas now. Do you know Nick Andrews?”

He nodded. Who didn’t know the number one male golfer in the world? At only thirty-one, Nick had already won the career grand slam twice. Mitch had met him and his wife, Grace, a year ago before Nick had won his second Open Championship.

“His wife, Grace, is my first cousin; my dad and her mom are siblings,” Lana explained, pausing to tuck wisps of hair that had escaped from under her beanie. A smile played about her lips, telling him the familial relationship was close. “I’m staying at their ranch in the Hill Country where they have a nine-hole course that replicates some of the popular holes in Augusta National, Pebble Beach, and the Old Course. All the places where Nick has won. Outside of the tournament in O’ahu, I’m only in Hawaii during the holidays,” she said while surveying her line. “But yes, I needed to get away from all the noise in the US. Like I told you earlier, this is the best time for me to come here. Once I start playing again in California next month, there won’tbe another lengthy break in my schedule until after the Tour Championship the week before Thanksgiving.”

Mitch whistled, impressed and a little intimidated by her dedication to her career. “March to November? Eight straight months?” He handed her the clean ball and she replaced it in front of the marker.

“Yes, unless I don’t make the US teams for the Olympics in August and the Solheim Cup in September, or if I don’t go to the October tournaments in Asia. I went last year and ran out of gas for my title defense in O’ahu.”

Mitch didn’t know enough about the qualification criteria for those team events to comment about Lana’s chances. As for playing in Asia, he figured the winnings from those tournaments couldn’t be lucrative enough to make up for the huge expenses involved in traveling to every country with a caddie. Especially if she missed the cut as she had in her first two tournaments of the year so far.

How he envied those who had the privilege to decline the opportunity to go to China, South Korea, Malaysia, and Japan because they’d been there before. He’d never set foot outside of the UK. Even going to England, Ireland, or Wales had been limited to school trips.

If everything went right, that would change in the summer.Ifbeing the operative word.

Lana stood to take practice strokes, signaling her readiness to putt soon.

Making sure not to step on her line, he walked to the pin to take the flag out. Also to avoid looking at her delectable ass every time she moved. Her pants were loose but they stretched tightly over her butt whenever she waggled before hitting her drives or crouched to read her putts. He barely needed his vest to keep himself warm. Improper thoughts that would get him smacked ifshe knew about them had been running through his brain from his first sight of her in real life.

Lana was pure telegenic on screen, but the flesh and blood her was infinitely more. Her Filipino and Hawaiian heritages blended beautifully. He admired her sparkling uptilted dark brown eyes, high cheekbones, bold nose, full lips that were plumper at the bottom than the top, and contoured jawline. The uncovered portions of her golden-brown skin he could see from her face and hands glowed with vibrant health. Her regal bearing and athletic build made her look taller than the height listed on her player profile. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was royalty in her bloodline.

“Yes!” Lana cheered, raising her putter in the air in triumph as the ball rolled into the hole.

Mitch grinned. She looked like a warrior princess in that pose, the putter her sword, the course her battlefield. Totally in line with his most recent thought. “A one-putt. Congratulations!” He offered his left palm for a high-five. The thrill he felt when their hands met hadn’t lessened, despite this being their third celebration of an excellent putt.

Lana retrieved her ball from the cup and beamed at him. “Best triple bogey ever!”

He replaced the flag and walked over to the bags to pick them up and head to the 15thtee. “If you were in competition right now, your strokes gained putting would be first in the field. And you would probably be number one off the tee too.”

He’d been keeping an eye on the fourball behind them, now three holes away. It was obvious that all four golfers neared the maximum thirty-six handicap allowed at the Old Course with the way they’d been spraying their shots all over the place and hitting balls out of bounds. None of them were anywhere close to Lana’s level of play. They were having fun, though. Their laughter echoed around the mostly empty course. His pro-golfer, on the other hand, hardly smiled except for a handful of instances like just a few minutes ago. At this moment, a frown scrunched her face that was stunning even without makeup.

“That’s just it. My ball striking is way off. If I were in a competition right now, I would probably be dead effing last in approach and around the green in the field. I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” Frustration filled her voice.

Mitch hesitated before offering a response. He had a few observations but was unsure if they would be welcomed. While he dithered, she got ready to hit her drive.

As he’d seen her do a few times after a poor hole, Lana closed her eyes and mouthed the words “One thousand and five, one thousand and four” all the way to “one thousand and one.” It seemed to have worked because she looked calm as she hit a low stinger between the two prominent humps called Miss Grainger’s Bosoms on the narrow fairway. Another perfect drive.

Mitch noted where the ball landed and consulted the yardage book. By his estimate, Lana would have one-twelve to one-thirteen remaining to a deceptively deep green. He looked up to tell her, only to forget the number when he found her staring at him.

Lana averted her face but not quickly enough for him to miss the blush on her cheeks. Hope bloomed in his chest. Could she be attracted to him? He’d had a crush on her since he watched her dominate at Augusta National Women’s Amateur nearly two years ago.

Feck it. There was no point waiting until after the round; he would ask her now. “Are you?—”

“Do you—” Her eyes widened at their synchronized question.

He smiled. “You go first.”

She tucked her hands into her pockets as she walked and talked. “I know this is beyond your job description, but I could use your honest opinion on my game. You seem to have agood grasp of what works for me. I noticed that you were underclubbing me a few times, especially on the front nine, and it worked. Why is that?”

Mitch deflated as a twinge of disappointment shot through him. He’d misconstrued her stare as personal interest. Apparently, she only wanted to keep their interactions strictly professional.

For now.

He brightened. She’d be here an entire week, maybe even two, depending on what kind of winter package she’d purchased. If he proved himself in golf, perhaps he could pivot it to personal at some point. He could be patient. Good strategy. He’d run with it. “A couple of reasons. First is, when you use the mat, it’s like you’re teed up. The ball comes off higher and drops with less spin.”

She walked on, nodding.

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