Max’s lips twitch on a smile, but I’m saved from further awkwardness by Grayson Cross. He whistles and we all look over to him, standing three carts back, two gorgeous women by his side. He doesn’t acknowledge me, just motions for Max to join him and his friends.
I make a disappointed sound with my tongue. “Looks like you’re already spoken for.”
Max meets my gaze. “Trust me, Ms. Hart, you’ll be the first to know when I’m spoken for.”
I blink, trying to make sense of his words.
After a lingering stare, he finally tears his eyes away and starts hedging toward his foursome. “Hope you’re better at golf than you are at hellos,” he calls over his shoulder.
I growl beneath my breath, then take another long drink of my mimosa. “Ugh. What was that?”
“I think that was a marriage proposal,” Anderson says as he pulls the half-empty Styrofoam cup from my hands.
“Bite your tongue!”
My cousin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, we know. You hate him.”
I nod curtly.
He looks around as the other players begin climbing into their carts. “I wonder who we’ve been paired up with?” His brow creases as he scans the people mingling about. “If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll be the odd two who don’t have to share our holes with anyone.” His eyes meet mine and we share a laugh over the double-entendre.
A couple of men approach us, one on the younger side, maybe mid-to-late twenties, and the other an older version of the young one, with matching brown hair that is graying above the ears, and striking blue eyes.
“Hart Strategic Management?” the older of the two asks.
“That’s me,” I say, jumping up off the front seat to extend my hand. “Us, I mean. I’m Sutton Hart, and this is Anderson Greene.”
He shakes my hand, then motions toward the younger of the two. “My son, Grantley Garrison, and I’m—”
“Bumper Garrison,” Max says, interrupting like the thorn in my side that he is. He strides toward us with that big dimple-blasting grin on his face and I run my tongue over my teeth. “Shit howdy, man, I had no idea you’d be here today.”
The two clasp hands, then pull each other in for a manly bear hug, and I reach for my drink, which Anderson hands over without argument.
I’m going to need way more than one giant mimosa to get throughthisday.
Chapter Thirteen
Max
Bumper and I shoot the shit for a few minutes, while Sutton’s eyes do their best impression of lasers. She glares at me until I finally turn toward her. “Sutton Hart, this is Bumper Garrison. We went to LSU together.”
“How do you do, ma’am?” Bumper inclines his head. “You can call me Bobby. Nobody calls me bumper anymore.”
“I do.” I shrug, giving him a little jab in the ribs with my elbow. “Just doing my part to keep you humble.”
Sutton snorts and I focus on her. “Something you want to share with the class, Ms. Hart?”
She shakes her head, those amber eyes going dramatically wide. “No, I just figured, well…” She shrugs. “You’re probably the last person to keep anyonehumble.”
Bumper whistles, then claps me on the back. “Shit, Cruz, I like this one. See you out on the course.” He turns away from me, his full attention on Sutton. Over his shoulder, she gives me one last glare and I think about all the ways I’d like to punish her when she comes back to the club.
Ifshe comes back to the club.
The not knowing part has my head in a tailspin, questioning every word, every glance… hell, every touch. Did she play me? Had I been right to be wary of her?
Even more so than the not knowing is the guilt. It ate at me all night long. I tossed and turned—and damn near called her a handful of times before talking myself out of it.
If she truly doesn’t know it was me last night, she deserves to know.
