“Crazy golf?” I giggle, looking up at Hudson.
The strange techno-coloured lights flash across his face, turning his lips a strange shade of blue before the lights move to cascade down his side and land on the floor, but it’s impossible not to miss the grin crawling across his pretty lips.
“Yeah. It’s something different than just the usual dinner and drinks. I thought we could grab a drink from the bar, play a few rounds and then go back to mine.”
I nod excitedly. “Sounds good to me.”
Smiling like a pair of fools, I follow Hudson to the bar. The whole place is busy, but not too crowded, which I prefer; other couples and groups of friends dotted around the different courses, each with a different obstacle you have to navigate in order to putt the golf ball into the hole.
“What do you want to drink?”
I grab one of the paper menus from the sticky bar top, pinching it between thumb and forefinger as I flip through the different cocktails, mocktails, beers and shots the bar offers.
“I’ll have an espresso kamikaze, please.”
“One espresso kamikaze and whatever house beer you’re serving tonight, please, mate,” Hudson reels to the waiting bartender, flicking open his wallet and plucking out a twenty-pound note before I can even fumble for my own purse.
“Don’t even think about it.” Hudson turns to me, one eyebrow raised, pointedly looking at where I’m about to unzip my handbag.
A sound of protest leaves my lips. “You said I could buy us the next one, remember?”
“No.”
“Well, you did! At the pub!”
“Oh, yeah…” Hudson bobs his head slowly in agreement. “I lied.”
“You lied?”
“Mhm—thanks, mate.” Hudson shoves the change from the bartender into his back pocket. “I lied. When you’re out with me, Giselle, I’m not letting you pay. Although, I do appreciate the offer.”
Dropping my hand from my zipper, I accept the thin stem of my cocktail glass from Hudson’s fingers.
“Stubborn bastard,” I huff, loud enough for him to just hear me over the music track blaring through the overhead speakers.
“And don’t you forget it,” Hudson quips back at me, stealing a kiss from my lips, as if he can’t help himself, before he moves to collect us each a golf club and a tiny paper scoreboard so we can keep track of who wins.
I take a sip of my cocktail as I watch him – the long stride of his legs, the way his back muscles bunch together beneath his button down as he reaches forward to grab something, the shapely peach-like roundness of his arse filling out his tailored trousers.
Being with a personal trainer definitely has its perks.
“You checking me out, Giselle?” he asks as he stalks back to me, a smirk playing about his lips. The heat in his eyes and the cockiness lacing his tone, tells me he already knows the answer, but he wants to hear it from my mouth.
“Just appreciating the human body.” I hum into the thin rim of my cocktail glass, taking another small sip and relishing in the strong taste of coffee and high-quality vodka.
“Mm.” He presses a golf stick into my free palm. “Anything I can do to improve?”
“Wear less clothes.”
Hudson stares at me for a millisecond, and then throws his head backwards, laughing throatily. It feels good to make him laugh, to know I can mess around and make jokes with him and he isn’t going to take it the wrong way or be offended.
Still chuckling, he wraps an arm around my waist, ushering me onto the first fake grass course. Handing him my drink to hold, I twine my hands around the golf club, positioning my feet shoulder width apart and with a swing, I take my shot.
I keep my eyes on the ball as it runs over the small wooden bridge serving as our first obstacle and comes to a slow rolling stop inches away from the red flag marking the hole.
“Not bad, Gee,” Hudson mutters into my ear.
To an outsider looking in, it probably just looks like he’s having to innocently whisper in my ear to be heard over the constant chatter around us and the music, but I’ve come to learn Hudson Millen’s games.
