My tongue tries to fall back into my throat and choke me when he uses his hold to turn my head and swoops in to press his lips to my warm cheek. Embarrassment floods me, knowing that he can feel how affected I’ve become by this entire thing. He’s still kissing me when I backpedal and move away with a forced laugh.
I wipe my cheek dry the moment I’m away from him and play the entire thing off with a cool roll of my eyes. My mind is throbbing with confusion as I wet my parched lips and start walking to the end of the course. His eyes are plastered to my back, burning through my blouse and into my goddamn soul as I awkwardly swing my golf club.
“Okay, so maybe you know what you’re talking about. It actually went in.”
There’s a beat of silence before he replies, “So much for all that trust, eh?”
“You didn’t specify trusting you about golf. You’ll need to be clearer next time. Plus, that trust was for you, not whoever you’re pretending to be right now.”
“Always the lawyer, Bree,” he muses, joining me again.
This time, he keeps a small distance between us and uses two fingers to pull the ball free. I swallow before lifting my eyes and meeting his soft stare. Muscle by muscle, I relax again, letting go of all that weird tension.
“Well, were you keeping notes tonight? I expect a full debrief now that we’re finished with all this terrible speed dating,” I say.
His smile is instant, genuine. “Yeah, honey muffin. ’Course I did.”
“Call me that again and I’ll tell the first reporter I see outside one of your next games that you still bring the stuffed giraffe you got as a baby on every road trip.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
We stand across from each other and stare harder and harder as every moment passes. My stubbornness flares as I refuse to back down, knowing better than anyone that in about five seconds, Finn’s going to give in and act offended as if this doesn’t happen every single time.
“You suck,” he grunts while blinking and starting toward the exit.
Dropping my head forward, I laugh to myself and follow him. “Don’t be a sore loser. That’s unsportsmanlike.”
“I’m going to abandon you here.”
“No, you’re not. You’d worry too much.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a know-it-all?”
“Only approximately five times a day.”
He slows his steps near the front booth, where we grabbed our clubs and balls. With a turn of his head, he has me trapped beneath in a gaze so bright it twinkles even in the shadows. “Which date was your favourite?”
“None of them.”
“If youhadto choose one, who would it be?”
There’s not a chance I’m telling him the truth here.
“Finn, this is hopeless. You’re never going to be able to find the perfect guy for me.”
“Yeah, I am. I know what your absolute no gos are now, and the next time I set you up with someone, I’m going to be on thephone so I can help walk you through some of the situations that are sure to make you stumble.”
“Wow, sound a bit more confident about my lack of dating skills, please,” I mutter, feeling more defeated by the minute.
“You know what I mean, Aubrey. It’s easier for you to attack the smallest imperfection than to sit and consider if it truly is as bad as it seems. I can help with that.”
Reaching behind my head, I pull my hair over my shoulders and sigh. “Are you really that great on dates? You don’t judge and get freaked out at all?”
“Oh, I do, but I just . . . hide it better.”
“Show me, then.”
