Page 23 of Finally Home

I reset her ball on the green and nod to her to come join me. “Come on, babe. Let me help you a little.”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t argue and walks right over to me. I position her in front of me.

“I swear, Oliver, if you try to tell me it’s all in the hips,” she says as she sways her hips, her ass brushing against my dick.

“No, but I do like your taste in movies.” I may love Tom Hanks movies thanks to my mom, but I can always appreciate a good Adam Sandler reference.

“Okay, first, you want the ball lined up in the middle of your stance and feet shoulder width apart.” I kick my foot between hers so that she spreads her legs a little more.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment while I think about anything other than having her pressed up against me like this.

“Ollie?” I whip my eyes open and find her glancing over her shoulder in concern.

I clear my throat and give her a toothy grin. “Where was I? Right, golf.”

Hollie giggles, shaking her head before focusing back on the ball.

“Okay, you want to straighten your arms and lock your elbows.” But Hollie looks more like a robot, and this time, it’s my turn to laugh. “Hold on.” I bring my hands from her hips, and starting at her shoulders, I drag my hands down her arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. At her elbows, I carefully adjust them to how they should be before gliding down to adjust her hands on the putter. After aligning her thumbs so they point down toward the ball, I place my hands back on her hips. I know I don’t need to keep touching her; I just can’t help it.

“When you hit the ball, you want to move the shoulders like a pendulum and keep your head still till after you hit the ball.”

“How do I know you aren’t just trying to pull a fast one on me?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” I kiss her shoulder before backing up so she can take her swing.

My dad gave me my first set of clubs when I was nine. While I didn’t have a passion for the sport like he and Archer did, I did at least enjoy it. When my dad passed away, I took out a lot of my grief at the driving range, spending hours hitting balls.

I smirk when I hear her talking to herself through essentially a checklist of everything I just said.

When she finally takes her swing, I’m pretty sure we are both holding our breath. We stand in silence as the putter connects with the ball, rolls down the barrow path up the hill, and around the curve. It clinks against two buttons with loud dings before sinking into the closest hole. The ball disappears down a tube before gliding out back on the green and directly into the hole.

Un-fucking-believable! A goddamn hole in one on her first hole. Did that seriously just happen?

“Oh my God, Ollie. I did it! I sunk the ball!” Happiness radiates from Hollie as she jumps up and down with her putter in the air. She quickly drops the putter before launching herself into my arms, similar to how she had the night before in the elevator. Her lips find mine as if it’s second nature. You won’t see me complaining as I join in her kiss, one hand on the back of her neck, tangled in her hair, while the other one holds her body against mine.

I know we don’t have an audience, so I probably shouldn’t be touching and kissing her every chance I get, but I just can’t help it. I should probably put distance between us before lines start getting crossed. Oh hell, who am I kidding—they’re already three sheets to the wind.

Chapter 12

Hollie

“Holls, you about ready?” Oliver calls from the other room.

We arrived back at the hotel with plenty of time, although if I’m being honest, I would have rather stayed on our date and not come back for this party.

“Just about.” I finish applying my lipstick and stare at my reflection in the mirror. A part of me wants this party to speed by and for it to just be over, but then the realization hits that the party being over will mean that this arrangement with Ollie is also over. And after the amazing morning we had, I’m just not sure how to feel about that.

Movement in the doorway drags my gaze to find Oliver standing there with his arms and ankles crossed, with heat blazing in his eyes.

Oliver Mosby in regular clothes, or very little clothes, is hot. But Oliver Mosby in a suit? Hell to the yes.

A genuine smile spreads across my lips as I take him in.

“I just need to get my necklace on, and then I’ll be ready.” I reach into my bag for the silver North Star necklace my Grams had given me just before she passed away. Her voice plays out in my head as if she were here with me.

“Whenever you are feeling lost, I hope that this will remind you where home is.”

Silly me. Here I am, all this time later, still searching for that feeling. The necklace might not go best with this dress—I’m sure my mother would rather I wear something more expensive—but this is my way of having her here with me.

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