He steps toward me, his chest brushing against my back as he takes hold of the golf club. His lips brush against my ear, goosebumps prickling my skin as he breathes, “I just wanted an excuse to wrap my arms around you.”
I swear I’ve short-circuited.
Trying to play it cool and act like I didn’t just soak my panties, I chuckle leaning back against his warm hold. “Just letting you know, you don’t need an excuse to do that. I’m more than happy to stay right here.”
He hums in my ear before placing a kiss on my neck. “I can make that happen.”
“Unless we want to get kicked out for indecent exposure, you should probably help me hit the ball. It’d be embarrassing to have to call my sister to bail us out of jail.”
Out of all the dates I’ve had in my life, none of them compare to Grant in many ways. He’s far and away from all of them in how he treats me and makes me feel. I don’t think I’ve ever had this strong of an attraction to a person. Both physically and mentally.
“We wouldn’t want that.”
Despite him never coming here, he knows what he’s doing. He sets up my stance, adjusting my hips and fixing my grip. The whole time he chats about learning how to golf with his dad and hopes to teach his son someday. “Now bring the club up like this,” his hands cover mine showing me the proper swing of the club, “and hit the ball.”
“Ha! You make it sound so easy.”
He steps back safely away from the swing zone oozing utter confidence in me. “You’ve got this.”
“Okay,” I mutter under my breath. “Don’t miss the ball. Eye on the prize. Swing and don’t miss.”
“Any day now, Hazel.”
My gaze flicks between the ball and the giant expanse before me. “You can’t rush perfection.” I appreciate that he doesn’t snicker behind me, letting me focus.
Sucking in a large breath, I loosen my death grip on the club, pull my arms back, and swing.
Eyes glued to the white ball resting at my feet, a surge of pride swells as it moves from its precarious perch from the sheer force of my swing.
It's too bad I miss the ball entirely.
I must’ve loosened my grip too much because the only thing that goes flying towards the green is the club.
All I hear is my shocked gasp and Grant’s stifled laughter as I stand frozen, my fingers poised around a grip that’s no longer there. I’m not sure whether I should shout‘fore!’or ‘watch out!’ but nothing comes out.
Stunned, I slowly walk to the ledge and peer down praying the wayward golf club didn’t take out an innocent bystander. All the air deflates from my lungs as I tentatively scoot a toe to the edge.
There, resting in the safety net lining the edge is the club I inadvertently threw.
A second set of shoes comes to a stop beside mine.“I think I messed up,” I say softly, still in shock. When my gaze flickers over to Grant’s, I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles from my throat.
“I think you need more coaching,” he says after our laughter dies down.
“I think you’re right. It’s a good thing I have you then.”
After having an attendant fish out the club, Grant works with me in between taking his swings. And if I’m honest, I might be pretending not to understand how to hit the ball. He’s a good coach and is patient taking me through the steps, but it shouldn’t take ten tries to learn how to swing. I’m not sure if he caught on, but I don’t think either of us minds his hands on my body.
In between my lessons, I enjoy watching Grant's powerful body twist with each swing. His shirt stretches over his shoulders hugging the curve of his back as he holds his pose following the path of the ball.
We might have to make a return visit because I could watch him all day.
When I manage to hit the ball, he sweeps me up in an enthusiastic hug, lifting my feet off the ground and spinning me around. I never thought I’d have someone pick me up once, letalone twice, but it’s thrilling. After giving me a piggyback ride through the park on our picnic date, I’ve learned to not question Grant’s strength. Plus, I very much like the feeling of being in his arms.
Both tired from our driving practice, we decided to head into the cozy bar area. I watch as he walks over to the bar relishing the thought that he’s here withme. He catches me staring and winks.
Everything about our dates is different from anything I’ve experienced before. Nothing has felt awkward or uncomfortable. It all feels so natural. Right.
“How in the world are you single?” I ask, thanking him for the mojito. I’d assume he’d order a beer, but his drink’s the same as mine.
