And now… golfing.
Brooks took a sharp turn, and I yanked on the safety bar to keep from falling straight out of the cart.
“Jesus, Brooks?—”
Without warning, his arm shot out, pulling me against him. In one swift motion, he lifted me like I weighed nothing, settling me directly onto his lap.
My stomach flipped, but not from the movement.
I was on him—pressed against his solid, infuriating body, his arm firm around my waist, his grip unwavering.
Heat radiated off him, seeping through my clothes, short-circuiting every logical thought in my brain.
I was too aware of the way his thighs tensed beneath me, the hard lines of his chest, the familiar scent of clean soap and something inherently him.
Memories crashed into me, fast and unrelenting.
His hands. His mouth. The way he knew me. Not just my body—but the real me. The one I never let anyone see.
And he’d liked me anyway.
I swallowed hard, trying to breathe, trying to think, but then the cart hit a bump, jolting me against him.
Brooks grunted, fingers tightening for half a second too long. His breath was warm at my ear, his voice rougher than before.
“Having your ass on my lap is not a great idea.”
I should move.
I should say something cutting, something sharp and detached.
Instead, my pulse thundered in my ears as I whispered, way too breathy, “You pulled me here.”
His hold loosened, but he didn’t let me go right away. Didn’t rush it.
His fingers trailed along my stomach—slow, deliberate, dragging over the thin fabric of my shirt before he finally nudged me off, the loss of contact a shock to my system.
“You can say whatever you want,” he murmured, watching me too closely, “but your body can’t lie.”
I forced myself to stand, shaking off the shiver threatening to betray me, and grabbed my club like it was some kind of shield.
“Brooks,” I warned.
His lips curled, but there was something else in his expression now—something that looked dangerously close to knowing me too well.
“We aren’t done yet,” he said, leaning back like he had all the time in the world. “I’ll leave you alone today…”
His gaze dragged over me, slow, heated.
“…but you and I?” He shook his head, that cocky, too-damn-sexy grin flashing, “We’re inevitable, Mitch, and I can’t wait for you to realize it.”
4
Brooks
Alzheimer’s wasthe fucking devil.
It stole the best parts of people, piece by piece, with no remorse, no mercy, no way to fight back.
