“I think you’regreat!”I repeated back to him. “That’s like, what I said to a guy at the bar I wanted to put in the friend zone last month. You sound like the Frosted Flakes tiger. For real. Just tell me, I can take it.”
“Fore!” he yelled, then took his shot. Turning to me, he said, “Fine. I’ll tell you what I was thinking. I was thinking, there has to be something wrong with you. Some kind of idiosyncrasy that I’m blind to right now. Because last night—you were perfect. A hot doctor in a red dress with a body that’s made to be pressed up against a wall and kissed? You were too good to be true. And I felt a connection with you that I haven’t felt in a long time. So I backed it off.”
My body slackened, surprised his response was actually quite thought out and articulate. Maybe there was more to this puckboy than met the eye.
I set up my shot carefully, then launched it right into the water.
“We’ll give you a mulligan on that,” Dustin said, pulling another ball out of his pocket.
“I felt it too,” I said, then laughed. “Too bad I’m going to be deported soon.”
I breathed, let it out, and took another swing. This time the ball stayed on the fairway.
When I turned, Dustin was glaring at me. “Did you just say you’re going to bedeported?!”
I nodded. “I’m being sent back to Spain. Thank you for all the new regulations, Uncle Sam!”
“So they’re going to send you away, just like that?”
“Yeah,” I said, getting in the cart. “Unless I like, find someone to marry me. That’s really the only way I can stay in the country at this point. But I can’t get a guy to spend the night, so marriage is clearly off the table. Unless?” I looked at him, and he laughed.
“Yeah well, I don’t believe in marriage. So you’re definitely barking up the wrong tree.”
“What do you mean, you don’t believe in it? And I was just kidding about the whole marriage thing, obviously.”
“I don’t think it’s something desirable, something that I want. I would never get on my knee for a woman. Kudos to everyone who is happily married. That’s not me, though. Not my cup of tea.”
I leaned in and put my hand on his shoulder. “You just like getting slapped, not married, eh?”
He launched his head back in laughter as we pulled up to where our balls were on the fairway. The momentum jolted me forward, and my hand landed on his bare leg.
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry.” I gave him a sultry look. “I’m touching your leg.”
He swallowed hard and didn’t get out of the cart. “I can’t move,” he grinned. “Did you put a spell on me?”
I glanced up, then remembered, we were possibly on camera right now, so I released him. “Bad balance,” I said. “My bad.”
“All good. Although Kitty Cats usually have stellar balance.”
I shook my head. “Fine. If I’m Kitty Cat, then you’re Destino.”
“I like that. So you’re telling me I’m your destiny.”
“You know a little Spanish? I’m impressed.”
We got out and waved to the camera and the few people who had lined up along the green.
“Give me a break, Kit Cat. Let’s stick to the game.”
My stomach rumbled. “I’m starting to get hungry now, though.”
He grinned. “Well. Do you want another one of these?” he said, waving an unopened Kit Kat Bar.
Where was he getting all of those?
I batted my eyes. Little did he know, chocolate was my favorite vice. “I guess it is mydestino.”
We kept golfing, kept drinking beers, and the afternoon spilled into the early evening until the next thing we knew, Chip, Phoebe, Dustin and I were out at Mon Ami Gabi, a huge French restaurant on the strip in Las Vegas.
