Page 35 of What A Croc
Our server approaching our table stopped my reply, and instead I moved our drinks to make room for our food.
“We’ve just opened a miniature golf course,” our server told us, sitting our food in front of us. “If you want to play after you eat. Just go out that door,” we looked to the corner she pointed at in the far corner, “and you can pay there. It’s pretty fun and we’re hoping people enjoy it.”
“Thank you,” I nodded, dipping one of my crispy fries in my ketchup. “We’ll check it out.”
Jackson took a bite of his burger, groaning as he chewed. “This is a good burger. Nice and greasy.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, then Jackson said, “I can’t remember the last time I played mini-golf. Maybe when I was a teenager.”
Waggling my brows, I told him confidently, “I bet I kick your ass.”
“Ohhh really, Mr. Cooper?” he popped a fry in his mouth. “That sounds like a dare.”
“A triple dog dare.”
“Good golfer, are you?”
I laughed. “Not really. I’m actually pretty terrible. I’m horrible at driving the ball, but I’m great at putting. I figure that will come in handy.”
Jackson pointed a fry at me. “Challenge accepted.”
Pursing my lips, I tapped them with my finger. “What do I get when I beat you?”
“Hmmm,” Jackson hummed, “let’s see. If I win, you agree to go out with me again.”
“And when I win?” I countered.
“You agree to go out with me again.”
Throwing my head back, I laughed loudly. “You’re a tough negotiator.”
“It’s been said,” he leaned back in his chair smugly. “What would you like if you win?”
Thinking for a minute, I tried to think of what I did want. “When you take me home tonight?”
Jackson leaned in, his voice low, “Yeah?”
“I want us to shift together,” I told him. “I want to meet your croc, properly. If you think you can control yourself, since apparently my scent makes your croc gowild.” Rolling my eyes, I still found the notion of my scent causing havoc absolutely ridiculous.
Jackson’s eyes were heated. “I can control myself. It’s a deal.”
“I still can’t believe you got a hole-in-one on that last hole,” Jackson shook his head, as we pulled into my driveway. My porch light cast shadows over the corner of his car, and the lamp I had left on in my living room glowed soft yellow through the curtained window.
Across the drive, Wyatt’s porch light painted a swatch of yard with light. Becks’ cruiser was missing and I figured the man was still on shift tonight. Upstairs, a light glowed in a bedroom, telling me Wyatt was still awake, but probably in bed, waiting for his husband.
Laughing, I reminded Jackson smugly, “I got three hole-in-ones.”
He turned off the ignition, removing his hand from where it had been resting on my thigh as he drove. The feel of his hand casually caressing my thigh had my nerves tingling.
“Oh, I’m aware. But that last hole was crazy! I mean down the long green, through a waterfall and windmill, then the drop off, more green and into the clown mouth! And you did it with one shot! One!” He held up his index finger at me, then grabbed my hand and looped our fingers together.
Patting myself on my shoulder, I grinned right back, feeling more lighthearted than I had felt in years. “I told you I’m a great putter. That ten dollar coupon I won for next time was a nice surprise.”
He shook his head, and we walked through my yard towards the woods. “I’m sure they weren’t planning on having to hand too many of those out.”
The moon was bright tonight, nearly full, and it spread enough light on the well used path once we emerged from the thick woods that ran across the back of my yard, that we could see clearly where we were going. Thanks to our shifter night vision, both of us had been able to make our way without stumbling.
“I usually swim in the pond,” Jackson told me, veering to the right and towards the body of water where I had first encountered his croc. “Do you mind if I take a quick dip tonight?”
