Page 25 of Scout
Xavier steps up beside me, voice low and sharp. “What’s he playing at?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
But I do know one thing: today just got a hell of a lot more complicated.
After a round of small talk—something about driver stiffness and the weather, we head to the second hole. Lin’s trying to keep the mood light, Xavier’s checking his phone like it holds the meaning of life, and I’m trying not to break a club over my knee.
Because Scout?
Scout is doing exactly what Scout does best.
He’s magnetic.
He and Stephanie hang back, riding together in their cart like they’ve known each other for years. She’s laughing at everything he says, head tossed back, hand casually resting on his arm. He says something, probably stupid, and she practically purrs with delight. And that bastardknowsI’m watching.
He glances my way, just once, from behind his sunglasses. Smirks. Then goes back to whispering in Stephanie’s ear, casually imploding my emotional stability in broad daylight.
“Jesus,” Xavier mutters beside me, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Do they need a room?”
I arch a brow. “Pretty sure she’d offer her guesthouse if he asked.”
Xavier lets out a humorless breath, shakes his head, and takes a long pull from his water bottle. The tension in his jaw is back. Worse, maybe. Because it’s not just jealousy… it’s possessiveness. The kind that tastes like regret.
But I’m no better.
My grip tightens on my club.
Because watching Scout flirt with her, watching him laugh as if this day isn’t just one long psychological experiment, makes something sharp curl inside me. Not just jealousy.
Fear.
Because if he can act this detached, this smooth, this professional… was that night just another notch on his client belt?
Is he really that good at faking?
Xavier steps up to tee off. I watch his shoulders roll back, jaw locked, swing tight. He slices the shot left and mutters a curse under his breath.
“Try loosening your grip,” I say automatically—because I’m a doctor and a masochist.
He glares at me over his shoulder. “Try minding your business.”
Fair enough.
We walk toward the balls in tense silence. Behind us, I hear Stephanie laugh again. Scout calls her “Steph” now—already on nickname terms—and it makes my teeth grind.
“Why did she have to choose him?” Xavier finally asks, low and venomous.
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know.
And worse—I know he didn’t know we’d be here.
Scout’s not playing some long game. He didn’t come to mess with our heads. He got hired. Just like always. A date on a calendar. A check in the bank. A stranger with a schedule.
But still… the second he stepped off that cart in that fitted polo and smug smile, my stomach dropped.
He might not have planned to be seen.
