Page 23 of Playmaker

Of course they did. Part of the job. I was the face of the team, so people thought they knew me, and made assumptions—about what I wanted and what I’d allow. “I can handle it.”

I heard her mutter that no one should have to, but she moved closer, pressing against my back and putting her hands over mine where they held the club.

It was hella awkward trying to swing with Callie enfolding me like a coat, but I focused, telling her what I was doing as I moved.

One golf ball sailed down the range. Callie backed away and returned with another ball, passing it to me, and once I had it resting on the tee, she wrapped herself around me again.

The feeling of those full tits pressed against my back was a distraction. It felt good, and since golf had never been a passion of mine, I was more interested in Callie’s body than the swing I was supposed to be demonstrating.

I swung again, and felt her moving with me. Less tension, less resistance.

She passed me another ball. This time, as we moved together, she was anticipating what to do. When her defenses dropped, her mind picked things up quickly.

I heard voices and stepped away from her. What we were doing was pretty unorthodox, and I didn’t want anyone remembering this if they came across Callie again. With that vivid orange hair, the freckles covering her skin, and those tits, she was memorable.

“You ready to try again?”

She turned her head, noticing the men setting up a few places over. “Okay. I think I have a better idea of what to do now.”

She dropped a ball on the tee and stood beside it. “This where I should stand?”

I squinted at her feet. “Spread a little more.” She did that. “Give it a try.”

Her face was set in lines of concentration, and I could almost see the instructions she was reviewing in her head. She nodded to herself and swung the club back. She let it swing by the tee, checking how it moved. Already she was doing much better. Then she swung back again, and brought it down, hard. The head of the club met the ball, and it sliced forward. Not too far, but it went in the right direction.

A smile split her face, and I grinned too. “Good job.”

She nodded. “Okay, now what did I do wrong?”

“What do you mean? That was a good shot.”

She cocked her head. “I hit it as hard as I could, but it didn’t go that far. So what did I do wrong?”

I shook my head. “There are a couple of things you could refine.”

“I don’t need you to sweeten it up. Just tell me.”

“You’re not gripping the club right.”

“So show me.”

And I did.

Callie was never going to fool anyone into thinking she could have gone pro. Being a tax lawyer? Yeah, that took brains, and she had that. But she didn’t have muscle smarts. Her coordination was average, and her balance and vision were only so-so. Pretty well what I’d expected.

She was determined though. If she’d had any talent at all, that determination would have helped her get a long way. It probably drove her through law school at the top of her class. With enough practice, she’d survive her company’s golf tournament. Not with a low score, but she wouldn’t be an embarrassment to herself.

By the time we had to call it quits on the lesson, she looked like she’d been through a workout. Tendrils of hair were coming out of her ponytail and her face was flushed. I didn’t know if that was from exertion or the sun—she’d put on sunscreen, but she was also really pale.

“Ready to eat?” So far our lessons today had been all about the sport, not the behavioral aspects that didn’t have rules to follow.

She looked back at the building, chewing her lip. “This would be the country club part of the lessons, right?’

If she was too tired or wanted to wait to try this next time, we could do that. It wasn’t like being on display here was my favorite pastime. “This part is all brains, no muscles. But if you’ve had enough for today, we can grab something to eat back in the city.”

She shook her head, jaw set. “I don’t have a lot of time, so let’s eat here.” Her chin went up again. “What’s wrong with me?”

Other than wanting to be part of this pretentious, elitist cult? “What’s wrong with you?”

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