Page 61 of Café Diablo

The instructions in Edwin’s text this morning were to show up at said address at said time and to text him when I’ve arrived. Those instructions were followed by the additional rules that I was not allowed to look up the address, nor was I allowed to try and figure out what he was planning, just follow the GPS map to my destination.

That’s hot! I have to admit. Driving myself to a mysterious and unknown location is both fun and sexy. Especially when the following text said that Edwin was officially cashing in on his “Ask Olivia to Do Anything” card that I promised to him when asking for extra O’s in the hammock—which he didn’t skimp on.

Add to that our hot night in the truck last week, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already turned on by the idea of what he might ask of me. After all, the deal indicated it could beanything. And now that I know how hot and dominant Edwin can be when he lets loose, well—this day could turn molten at any second!

Except, I look up at the building I’ve just parked in the lot of and it reads:Waikiki Country Club and Golf Course.

WTF? Seriously?

I scan the parking lot and it’s full of high-end expensive cars and old white men in polo shirts and checkered shorts. What exactly is Edwin trying to pull?

As if on cue, a cartoon-sounding honk comes from my right and I turn to see the goofy honk comes from a golf cart—one that Edwin is currently driving. He zips through the lot waving to get my attention, honking several more times before coming to a stop in front of my moped. Oh, and here’s the kicker, there are actualgolf clubsin the back of his cart.

He doesn’t actually think I’m going to—

“Your chariot awaits!” Edwin says, with an actual smile on his face—which is my next red flag, because this man’s MO is resting-bitch-face to the max.

“I’m sorry, but golfing?” I say, staring at him dumbfounded as the hot sun beats down on my face. “Of all the choices for your ‘Ask Olivia to DoAnything’ card, and you’re wasting it on golf?”

Edwin tosses a neon-yellow golf ball at me playfully, which I jump to the side to avoid, because, one—I don’t do sports, and two—I’m not completely sure he hasn’t been abducted by aliens and that wasn’t a tiny bomb meant to take my life!

“The deal wasanything,Voss,” I clarify, to make sure he hasn’t had one of those golf balls smack him in the side of the head and give him a lobotomy. “Anything! You know what that word means, right? Anything? Like … play out that metal bikiniStar Warsfantasy you have, or eat hallucinogenic mushrooms, or fly to Paris on a whim. And you choose golf?”

“I want one normal date,” he replies, shaking his head at me for not snatching the golf ball from the air like I’m one of his bros.

“Anormaldate?” I stare at him, flabbergasted. “In what universe isgolfa normal date?”

“I like golf,” he answers plainly, setting the break lock and getting out.

“Of course, you do,” I say. “You and every other rich white man in the history of the universe. Let me guess, this was your favorite pastime with your daddy and—” He frowns, his shoulders slumping, and I realize that one hit way too close for comfort. “You’re kidding me?” I retract. “That was a joke, but you’re telling me I just hit the father-son white-men patriarchal cliché of the century right on the nose?”

“Well, you do have a tendency to just keep talking and get yourself into trouble.”

“Fair point,” I say, raising a finger at him as he walks toward me wearing—get this—not wearing a suit!

That’s right, for the first time in my life, Edwin Voss isnotdressed to the nines in Gucci’s designer Land-of-Sexy-Lawyers collection. Oh no, Edwin is actually wearing what I imagine is golfer-couture, also known as a Nike polo, khaki shorts, and—yes, Hell may have frozen over—a baseball cap. Before this moment, I was pretty sure Edwin’s head was allergic to hats, or all things with a brim, but here he is looking fine n’ sporty like a normal human being.

“Just for clarity,” I say, pointing to his attire, “you actually are Edwin Voss, right? You weren’t body-snatched, or kidnapped, or abducted and probed by aliens?”

“Probed by aliens, yes,” he shoots back, nodding sarcastically. “Maybe not abducted though.”

“Did you like it?” I ask, going with the joke.

Edwin wraps his arms around me and crushes me to his chest, probably just to get me to shut up. “Are you asking me if I’m into butt-stuff, Olivia? Because if I was, Iprobablywould have savedthatfor my ‘Ask Olivia Anything’ card.”

I pull back and narrow my eyes. “The fact that you’ve even said ‘butt-stuff’ out loud makes me think you’re an AI robot from the future who’s definitely kidnapped and assimilated Edwin.”

“Yes,” he nods in agreement. “Your sexy man-friend is absolutely back on my futuristic time-machine spaceship thingy being anally probed as we speak.”

“Yeah, there it is again.” I raise my eyebrow. “More butt-stuff. There’s no question. You’re definitely an imposter.”

“I had no idea you were so afraid of golf,” Edwin says, as if all my wacky comments are just an excuse to avoid following him to the golf cart.

“Minigolf,” I retort, holding a finger up. “Nowthat’sa normal date—tiny Dutch windmills, rainbow-colored golf clubs, putting greens that zig-zag in crazy directions. Heck, maybe even a stolen kiss under the fake waterfall. That’s normal.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I can try to steal a kiss on the eleventh hole between the sand trap and the water hazards, if that’s what you want.”

“You’re speaking gibberish to me now, Voss.” I shake my head and walk past him to the golf cart. “You realize you’re effectively using your ‘anything’ card to watch me sit in this mini-vehicle—which I’m totally into by the way, being a moped driver after all—wherein I will watch you putt in the grass for the next eight hours.”

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