Page 37 of Second Swing
I hadn’t even considered the games we planned out.
“Here.” His deep voice is so close behind me, and when I turn, he’s holding a white Styrofoam cup. It has the Sweet Bean logo on it, and I smile.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the cup from his hand and taking a tentative sip. A hum of satisfaction sounds from his chest, and I imagine what those vibrations would feel like pressing against my back.
I spin on my heels, almost spilling the coffee on both of us. “You’re up first,Golf Daddy.”
When Clinton presses a tee into the ground and tops it with a ball, his strong lean thighs flex as his hoochie-daddy shorts stretch around those muscles, and I squeeze my legs together as I watch. Why did he have to wear those? Something about men in tiny shorts really does it for me.
Lining up his driver, the way his polo cuffs tightly around his biceps makes my mouth water. I want to bite him. A loudthwacksounds as hisclub connects with the ball, pulling me out of my thoughts, and my eyes track it until it’s too far for me to see.
He nods once, giving himself a silent word of encouragement. “That was an incredible hit,” I say. He truly is a great golfer. And again, I find myself ogling him. His curls are smoothed on the sides while the rest is curly. Unruly, but clean. Very him. I take my time admiring him as he makes his way back to where I stand.
“If you keep eyefucking me the way you are, I may get ideas,” he says in a hushed tone as he waggles his eyebrows. I try my best to hold back the guffaw climbing up my throat, but I can’t.
“Well, maybe I will just have to be more discreet,” I joke, nudging him with my shoulder.
“Dove, there isn’t a single thing you could do that I wouldn't notice.” I thought I had heard wrong, him calling me Dove after I kissed him the other night, but I was right. He used to call me that all the time, said I was something that should be treated with the utmost care. At the time, I thought he was being silly, but he meant it, and I’m taking it to heart now. “When I stopped at your mom’s place for the coffee, she mentioned you were on a date yesterday morning, and if I wanted to steal your heart, I better get hustle up.”
“It wasn’t a date.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them as embarrassment settles over me and heat climbs up my chest and, I’m sure, flushing my cheeks. Gripping the shaft of the club, I walk to the par five and top off a tee with a neon pink golf ball. That meddling woman! I have an urge to explain myself so he knows it wasn’t a date. “Just two old friends sharing a cup of coffee.”
“Just two friends, huh?” Though his voice conveys no hurt or malice, I do wonder if he is upset about the “date.”I’m going to give my mothera piece of my mind when I see her for our weekly lunch.
We take our turns over the next several holes. The ease between the two of us feels natural and normal, and the comfortability makes me wonder if giving us a chance again makes sense. He did say when I was ready for us, but am I? Am I ready for something more when I already ran away and broke his heart once?
The thought of why he wantsmeflits through my mind, and I try my best to ignore my curiosities as my club connects with my ball. The little pink sphere soars through the air, and as I turn back to Clinton, I realize he isn't even watching my shot. He has his eyes on me. I thought he’d look away when he noticed I caught him staring, but instead he stands and walks to me, his eyes never leaving mine.
When Clinton makes it to me, his hands brush along my arms before he smooths them down to my fingers and grabs my club, looking out to the course. “This is where I want to be.”
My mouth drops open, and before I get a chance to say anything else, he continues, “This is the hole we can hold the hole-in-one competition at. It’s the perfect spot.”
“You’re right. I’ll add it into the file now.” I may sound nonchalant, but I’m all chalant at this point, trying to keep it under wraps that I thought he was talking about us. Walking to the golf cart, I grab my phone from the seat and open my notes app and type in hole sixteen for the hole-in-one challenge. We’ll host every golfer here and challenge them to make an impossible shot—try to sink their ball into a cup while it’s stretched out on the water.
“Thanks for coming today, Dove.” Clinton leans on the golf cart, angling himself so he can give me his full attention. Jesús, es el hombre más guapo que he visto en mi vida.Jesus, he is the most handsomeman I have ever seen in my life.
“Of course. I’ve had a great time. We still have two holes to go.”
“We do, and then I need to get you fed.” He leans in further, brushing the hair from my eyes. “I’m ready when you are, Dove.”
Somehow the words feel like he’s talking about more than golf. “Clint, I’m–I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” he says, as if it's nothing. As if I didn’t rip us apart by leaving him at the airport. “And I—”
“Hey there,” a golfer shouts from the trail behind us. “Are you all almost finished with this hole? No rush, but there is a large group behind me, and I’m trying to stay ahead of them.”
Clint glances at the next golfer. “We’re moving on to the next hole now. Sorry for taking up your time.”
“Oh, wow. You’re Clinton Morrison?” Clint gives me a soft smile, and I nod, giving him an out from our conversation. He moves over to the gentleman’s cart and gives him a firm handshake. “Would your wife be okay to take a picture of us?” His wife. I think my brain scrambles because I don’t hear anything else. Not when I stand and walk over to them, not when I’m taking a picture of the two of them together.
“I know you’re almost done, but I hope you have a good round,” Clint says to him, giving him another word of encouragement I can’t hear because I’m still caught up in “wife.”
“Thank you so much! The boys are going to be so mad they didn’t come out today,” the man jokes as Clinton walks back over to me.
“Come on,wife,”he jokes with a warmth behind his eyes that I won’t soon forget. “What do you say we skip the last two holes and grab something to eat?”
Shaking myself out of my stupor, I grab my club and smile. “So youcan say I didn’t kick your ass. Absolutely not.”
His head falls back as he open-mouth laughs and pulls me into his side. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
