Page 51 of Merry Little Hate Notes

Holly stilled and thought for a moment before her pride kicked in, just as mine had. She held out her hand. “You have yourself a deal.”

I took her hand, but instead of shaking it, I let my thumb glide across her soft skin. It gave me pleasure to see her shiver.

Her bright eyes caught hold of mine and held me captive. Anticipation had replaced the questions I normally saw brewing in those beauties.

“You ready?” I whispered, not wanting to break the hold she had on me.

“I think I am,” she said, proud of herself. I had a feeling she was talking about more than playing mini golf.

The fact that she was giving me and Christmas a chance made me want to pull her in and kiss her until we were both breathless and fogged up every window in my car. Instead, I gently raised her delicate hand and brought it to my lips, savoring the feel of her skin there. It took everything in me not to prematurely blurt out the truth of it all and what a jerk I’d been.

Holly saved me from myself when she pulled her hand away, blinking rapidly. “We should go.” She flung open the door.

The blast of icy air was a cold reminder that the finish line had yet to be crossed. I only hoped I’d come out a winner in the end.

HOLLY

NOTE TO SELF: DO NOT make bets on a mini golf game with a man who has had his own set of golf clubs since the age of two. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. That was my problem. You try being cozied up with Brandon in his car—it makes all reason go out the window. I was supposed to be taking it slow and seeing if our grown-up versions liked each other. Oh, it was apparent we did. When he’d kissed my hand, I seriously wanted to kiss him until my foot popped three times. How sweet was that? But I knew he needed to redeliver his TED Talk before that happened. What kind of woman would I be if I kissed him when he believed I thought he’d stolen my first kiss on a dare?

He was supposed to be changing my mind about him. That takes time. Right? It’s what I kept telling myself, even as I shamelessly said these next words, “Do you think you can help me with this putt?” Oh. My. Gosh. Who had I turned into? I was becoming one of those walking romance tropes Carmen had told me about. Granted, I was going to lose the game and the bet, so I figured I might as well try to learn a few things from Brandon. It wasn’t because I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and whisper instructions into my ear. Okay, it’s totally what I wanted. I’d dreamed about a moment like this since I was a teenager. Obviously he had too, so in the end I was doing this as much for him as I wasfor myself.

Brandon smirked that cocky smirk he’d been giving me for the last seven holes and leaned his golf club against a tree before swaggering over in his fit-me-right jeans and wool coat with a standing collar that made him look oh so fine. “I’d be glad to,” he said, sounding as masculine as possible as he crossed over a small bridge with an arch of blinking Christmas lights. Oh, there was no doubt he was all man, and I was falling for it. Hard. I mean, he braved Costco on a Friday night and bought a Costco membership, all for me. That’s about as close to true love as you get.

“I just don’t want my ball to go into another snow pit.” It was this course’s version of a sand pit. I’d already learned the hard way that trying to hit a golf ball out of the snow was a losing endeavor. Not only does it camouflage the ball, but when you keep whacking the snow, icy shards assault your face and you splutter like a fool. It’s not an attractive look, although it was entertaining, judging by how hard Brandon had laughed.

“Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.” Brandon wrapped his arms around me from behind without even a thought.

Did I sink against him? Oh yes, I did. I would scold myself later. Or maybe not.

“You’re warm,” I said like a breathy teen girl. Yikes, I was shameless.

Brandon tightened his hold on me. “You should have told me you were cold.”

“I didn’t want to show any weakness and give you an edge.”

“I don’t need one,” he whispered in my ear.

That made me feel toasty, even if he was arrogant. “Yes, I bow down to your mini golf skills.”

He chuckled. “I can’t wait to hear you serenade our coworkers on Monday.”

I cringed. Soon there would be a new topic of gossip in the bathroom—me. The only thing that could save me from this fate was if Rita burned down Amy’s house over the weekend. It was a possibility. So much so, I was keeping my eye on the news. “Is it really necessary? Haven’t you humiliated me enough tonight?” I begged for mercy.

“A bet is a bet.” He wouldn’t let me off the hook.

“Fine,” I whined. Hopefully I’d quit soon anyway. Wait ... did I want to quit now? My motivation before had been to avoid seeing Brandon, but that obviously wasn’t the case any longer. However, there were the matters of working a job that wasn’t satisfying and not knowing what I really wanted to do with my life. The problem was, my original dream had died a terrible death when I was seventeen years old, and I wasn’t sure if I could ever resurrect it. It would probably require a lot of therapy, student loans, and contact with my mother. Not sure I was brave enough for the latter or even what I would say to her—assuming she wished to speak to me.

Brandon shook me out of my thoughts when his hands slid down the sleeves of my coat and over my hands that carelessly gripped the golf club. Even through my gloves, I could feel the touch of his strong hands. “Your grip and stance are all wrong.” His warm breath cascaded down my neck, making me shiver.

Honestly, I didn’t even register what he said next because the way his rough stubble grazed my cheeks consumed my mind. All I knew was he’d helped me swing my golf club and the ball rolled perfectly across the bridge like it was taking a casual stroll to its destination, which happened to be a gaping Santa Claus mouth—yes, it was just as disturbing as it sounds. More disturbing was my ball landing tauntingly close to Santa’s mouth without actually going in.

“Now that’s how it’s done.” Brandon held on to me for a second more before reluctantly letting go. There were some teenagers behind us waiting to play the hole.

“Thank you,” I said, as if in a daze. Probably because I was.

“My pleasure.” Brandon took my hand and led the way back across the lighted bridge so I could hopefully tap the ball into Santa’s mouth. Odds weren’t in my favor, considering earlier in the game I’d gone eight over par on one of the easiest holes. Not that it mattered—seeing as this was a nine-hole course, I’d never make up for it.

“Maybe I should have snuck out with you and Christian when you used to play golf in the middle of the night,” I commented.

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