Page 13 of Fore Better or Worse
My hand finds his, our fingers threading together easily. “Is that why you don’t wait around for things you want?”
He reaches for the champagne bottle with his free hand, taking a long pull. “Life’s too fucking short.” He squeezes my hand, and when he looks at me, there’s something fierce in his expression. “My dad always said going all in, whether in golf or in life, is the only way to play.”
The ache in my chest tightens. This isn’t just some player trying to charm his way into my bed. This is a man who learned at nine years old that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. A guy who’s spent his life chasing dreams with the kind of intensity that comes from experiencing firsthand how quickly everything can disappear.
My mind is already drawing parallels to my own childhood when he continues, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.
“So when I say I want to marry you, I’m not being impulsive. I’m being honest about what I feel, what I want, and what I’m unwilling to lose because I was too scared to ask for it.”
God, how is he making a marriage proposal to a stranger sound almost…reasonable?
“But you barely know me,” I whisper, even as my resolve wavers.
“I know you think before you speak, but when you speak, it’s worth listening. I know you’re brilliant enough to see through my bullshit, brave enough to call me on it, and generous enough to still sit here, holding my hand, after I told you my sob story.” His voice drops to that velvet tone again, damn it. “I know you taste like rum and possibility, and when you kiss me, it feels like coming alive.”
Fire races up my chest, but I don’t pull away. Can’t pull away. “Hays…”
“I also know you’re scared. And you should be. Because what I’m feeling for you? It’s the kind of thing that changes everything. And I can’t wait until the day you feel the same way about me.”
My breath catches. He’s so damn confident. Like I’m—like we’re—a given. But he’s right about one thing. I am scared. Not of him. No, I’m terrified by how much my heart yearns to believe him, believe in the happily ever after. And of how this impulsive, confident man has managed, in less than three hours, to crack open my chest. One I’d sealed shut long ago, then again after David.
“What exactly are you proposing?” I ask, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
“Since you won’t marry me tonight,” he says slowly, as if gauging my reaction. “What if we make a pact instead?”
My eyebrows lift. “A pact?”
“You like rational, right? So let’s be rational about this.” He leans forward, his intensity focused entirely on me. “What would it take for you to agree to be my wife?”
This is it. My chance to set some guardrails around this madness. “You want to win, right? At golf?”
“Ever since I was a little boy.”
“What does that look like to you? Winning?”
His response is immediate. His tone filled with conviction. “A major championship.”
“Then that’s what it will take.” I study his face, watching the way his jaw tightens, but I press on. “You need that win, Hays. Not for me or anyone else. You need it for yourself, before you can commit, I mean really commit, to anything or anyone else.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his thumb still moving in those maddening circles on my hand.
“You’re right,” he finally scoffs, a smile playing on his lips. “I shouldn’t be surprised, after less than three hours, you’d know me better than I know myself, but you’re absolutely right.”
I meet his gaze. “You focus on golf, chase that major. And when you win, I’ll marry you. Not because you need to prove anything to me, but because when you’re mine, I want you one hundred percent. I’m not willing to settle for anything less.”
The stipulation hangs between us while he considers my position. “I’ll wait on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“If I haven’t won by the time we turn twenty-eight, you’ll marry me, even without the green jacket or the trophy or the medal.”
Twenty-eight. That’s three years. I do the math. His father died when he was nine, which would’ve made his dad… The realization hits me like a cold wave.
“So either way, we end up married?” My pulse pounds in my ears.
“Either way,” he confirms. “What I feel for you won’t change, major championship or not.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force myself to hold his piercing gaze as I do the most unlike Leah thing I’ve ever done in my life. I agree. “Alright.”
