Page 74 of Sharing Shane

“Of course, I’ve thought of it,” Shane replied and ignored Wyatt’s triumphant “Ah-ha!”. “But I’m not going to pressure a woman I’ve known for less than a week into group sex.”

“Well, of course not. But if it does come up, I got the green light from Seth.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “I should’ve known you’d ask.”

“Normally he wouldn’t care, you know that,” Wyatt went on. “But considering the circumstances…”

“I get it.” Shane paused, his hand on his three wood—or was it his driver? “No pressuring her, all right?”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Satisfied, Shane pulled out whatever club was closest at hand and eyed his ball.

“But if it happens to come up...”

“Jesus Christ. Go get your ball, asshole. It’s that way,” Shane reminded him, pointing at the tree line fifty yards away.

Wyatt sighed. “Can I pretend I already went in there, found it, and took seven strokes to get it into the hole?”

Shane’s lips twitched. “No.”

“Shit.” Wyatt pulled a wedge out of his bag. “You’re buying the beer,” he said and stomped off toward the tree line.

Veronica was cozied up in the hammock in another borrowed caftan with a book and a bottle of water when Shane and Wyatt came walking through the sliding doors. “Hey, there. How’d the golf game go?”

“Don’t ask,” Wyatt muttered, an uncharacteristically grumpy look on his handsome face.

Shane shook his head. “Don’t mind him. He’s always been a sore loser.”

“Aw.” Veronica bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Sorry, sweetie.”

“I’m not a sore loser, I just hate golf,” Wyatt declared, still grumpy.

“He’s a sore loser who hates golf,” Shane amended and bent down to kiss her. “How was your spa thing?”

“Awesome,” she replied. “I’ve been buffed and plucked and polished and painted.”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, a flirty look in his eye. “What got plucked, exactly?”

“Not that,” she told him with a laugh. “Sorry. I like having pubic hair.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m interested in what’s under it, anyway.”

“I noticed.”

He straightened and turned to Wyatt. “Beer?”

“God, yes.” Wyatt collapsed in the lounger closest to the hammock with an exaggerated sigh, and Shane rolled his eyes.

“You?” he asked Veronica.

“I’m good, thanks.” She watched him walk into the cottage, then turned to Wyatt. “Was it really that bad?”

“Nah.” He crossed his feet at the ankles and hooked his hands behind his head. “It was nice, except for the golfing part.”

“So, the walking, then?”

“And catching up with Shane. I haven’t seen him much this trip.”

---