“Aww.” The soft, melted look she gives me reminds me of all the things she doesn’t know about me.
Like the stalker.
She lines herself up. Too stiff. Feet wrong. Grip tight.
First time, for sure. She swings, and the ball shoots forward. It launches off the turf, ricochets off the stairs, and rolls under the sofa.
I can’t hold back my laughter.
Her eyes go wide. “You’re laughing at me.”
“What was that?”
“I’m just getting warmed up.” She stalks toward the sofa.
“It was like a slap shot. This isn’t hockey.”
She points at me with the mallet. “Now, hockey I know.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
She laughs, and I appreciate the view when she bends over and fishes out the ball.
I plant the mallet in the turf and drape my forearms over the handle. “I would really enjoy watching more of this. Go again.”
She lines herself up, swings, and misses. When the mallet snaps back, it clips the ball, sending it straight at me. Fast enough, I have to jump.
“Oh shoot.” She clamps a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you?”
She bursts into laughter. “No.”
I step up to her and place my ball in front of her.
While she’s still giggling, I move behind her.
My body settles against her back. My chest brushes her shoulder blades, and my hips align with the curve of her ass. She’s warm and soft in all the right places and molds into me.
She fits like she was made to stand right here.
“Let me show you how,” I whisper in her ear.
She nods, her hair tickling my cheek.
I slide my hands down her bare arms, fingers tracing the smooth skin before covering hers on the mallet. Her grip is tight.
“Relax.” The vanilla scent of her hair invades all my senses. “You’re gripping it like you’re trying to strangle it.”
“I do want to strangle it.” Her flirty tone pulls a smile out of me before I can stop it.
I adjust her fingers, loosening her hold, and guide her into a more natural position.
“Like this. Loose, but controlled.”
She nods.
“See the angle?” I tilt the mallet slightly to the left.
