A slow ache slid through his chest.
He lifted his hand in reflex, even though she couldn’t see him from that distance. Then he dropped it, annoyed with himself.
“You not here to be thinkin’ about some girl,” he reminded himself. “You here to get your head straight, get your swing back…let this storm blow over.”
His eyes flicked to the house again.
He was lying and he knew it.
He wanted his career back…wanted to prove everybody wrong…wanted to show they never should’ve doubted him in the first place.
He also wanted to know what Meadow’s laugh sounded like when she wasn’t tired…when she wasn’t snapping at him…when she wasn’t carrying her Mama and this whole range on her back.
Zaire picked the club back up and leaned on it, breathing in the night air. He didn’t know what Juniper had in store for him…didn’t even know if another tournament was in his future. That uncertainty scared him more than losing a game ever could.
The next day,the sun beat down like spring hadn’t just broke out and summer was here before it was supposed to be.
By noon, Meadow’s shirt stuck to her back and her edges gave up on pretending to lay down. She had grass stuck in the grooves of her boots, oil smudged on her thighs, and a headache brewing behind her eyes.
Her Daddy called it a “light work day.”
She called it everything but that.
She wiped her forearm across her forehead and squinted out at the range. Flags fluttered in the stubborn breeze. A couple of the regulars had already come and gone, old men who liked to hit a bucket before lunch and gossip about town politics.
Now, the space was mostly quiet.
Except for him.
Zaire stood off near the far bay, shadow long across the grass, working his way through a bucket. His shirt clung to his back too, showing how ripped his body was. His green shorts hung just right off his hips and his calves flexed every time he shifted his feet.
She watched him from the shade of the cart shed for a little, hands on her hips. No matter how much his presence seemed to disturb her peace, she had to admit, Zaire’s body was sick and his brown skin looked lick able. Her center pulsed, thinking about having him there instead of her rose buzzing.
Her heart fluttered thinking about all the tabloids she’d read about him once he showed up on her land with all that west coast swag she never even knew turned her on. He didn’t fit into their box but there was no denying his talent. Meadow wondered whathad him so off his game lately and why the hell golfers found solace in their thirty-nine acres.
Her thighs tightened until her pulse stuttered. Zaire had the kind of beauty you didn’t touch unless you were ready to tremble – Black, chiseled, wounded, and sensual in a way that made her center ache like he’d already called it by name.
He moved differently when he thought nobody was looking. Less performative, more… whatever his real self was. There was this relentless focus that wrapped around him every time he swung. It was like he folded himself up and poured everything he had into that one motion.
She didn’t know a lot about pro golfers outside of the ones on TV and the White ones that showed up to Green Driving Range, but she knew enough to see the difference between someone who played and someone who lived for this.
Zaire lived for this.
And from the way he was beating those balls to death, it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
“Stop staring,” she fussed at herself, tearing her gaze away. “You got work to do.”
She bent down, tugging at the hose connected to the back sprinkler. The old plastic coupler stuck again, refusing to twist loose. Meadow grunted and put her shoulder into it. “Come on… come on…”
Nothing.
“You gon’ let it beat you?” a voice called from behind.
She didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“I got it,” she snapped, grip so tight her knuckles turned white around the hose.
Shoes crunched on gravel. Slides, actually. She’d peeped that about him. For somebody with money, he kept it simple most days. Slides, shorts, tees - expensive though. She knew quality when she saw it, even if she pretended not to.
