“I did. Actually, the presentation went really well, so Val was tickled. Not that she’s never not tickled.”
“That’s the truth.”
It was strange to have someone ask. When I lived with Tony, I didn’t work, and he barely asked about my day anyway, let alone knowing my friends and their personalities.
“Great,” was Ford’s response, gathering me for a kiss. His lips on mine, it felt like we were young lovers, not middle-aged adults. His lips moved to my temple, dropping tiny kisses. He whispered, “What has you thinking so hard?”
“We’re so old,” I spurted out.
“Hey, speak for yourself.” His hand came to my cheek before tugging on my hair.
I loved how his gentle touches were often followed by something more playful. They set me at ease while making me feel desirable.
“Old is a mindset and we’re not even old to begin with. I bet we could pull an all-nighter for old times’ sake.”
Ignoring his suggestion, I turned to grab my purse, and felt the absence of his body heat immediately.
“Remember that religious studies professor who had all our panties in a bunch over his pop quizzes? We used to cram all night, and look at us now—we don’t use any of that knowledge.”
“Speak for yourself. And the last time I checked, you don’t wear panties,” I told him, opening the door. I loved the playful banter between us; the ease we fell into when around one another was refreshing. And incredibly scary, if I was being honest.
Ford walked through the door and pulled it shut, taking my key ring from my hand and locking it behind him.
Ford came up from behind me, mirroring my stance, his arms reaching around me, helping me to adjust my grip on the club. The ball was sitting about twenty yards from the hole, and I was hoping to save my reputation and the day with a chip shot. Since my first twelve holes were awful, I needed the ego boost.
“I like this little getup, by the way,” Ford whispered as I got ready to pull the club back.
“Ford!” His name was a low growl from me. “I need to concentrate.”
“It’s only me. I don’t care about your score. In fact, I’m here to help you. You know what?” His breath was heavy on my neck, causing the tiny hairs at my nape to stand at attention. “You need an eight iron. The course is too fast for a nine iron.”
“Now you decide to help me, after my ball has spent most of the day traipsing all over the course?”
I turned in his arms and we stayed like that for anyone to witness. My front to his, want circling around us, heavy like a cloud on a humid day.
“I thought it was kind of sexy watching you figure out your game. Your lower lip caught between your teeth, the concentration, the skirt…”
I broke free, pretending to be offended, but I felt the smile tugging at my mouth. “Eight iron, nine iron, what do I know? You had to find a set of clubs for me.”
“Well, I’m recommending an eight iron. Try it.”
I snagged the club from Ford and went over to the golf cart, swapping it for an eight, and came back to position myself.
Of course, Ford repositioned himself right behind me. Somehow I found the courage to rub my butt into his hardness. Sexy flirting wasn’t my thing, except when it came to Ford.
“Mmmm,” he moaned. “Let’s forget the golf. Who cares about the club?”
“No! This is my hole. Now are you helping or not?”
“Not if you keep rubbing up on me like a cat in heat.”
I moved a smidge, leaving some space between us, pulled back and smacked the ball. Too hard, of course, and it rolled right past the hole.
“Damn.” I stomped my foot and trekked over to the misbehaving ball.
“Should have quit while I was giving you the chance,” he teased back with a wink.
“Never. I’m not a quitter.”
