It sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
What iswrongwith me?
“I was teaching her how to swing,” Bobby says, the words starting to slur.
“Come on, Dad.” His son approaches us at the tee. “We’re holding up the game.”
“I’m not doing shit.” He points at Max. “Cruz is the one interrupting the game.”
“Make a decision here, Bumper.” Max points to his golf cart. “Join that team, or—
“Or what?” Bobby steps forward and his son grabs his arm. “What are you going to do, Cruz? Kick my ass like you did in school? You’re an old man now.” He snorts. “I dare you to fucking try it.”
Grayson hoots loudly, then lifts his flask in salute. “You heard him, Cruz.”
My eyes widen at the challenge. Max might not be college-aged anymore, but he’s damn near still the same size as he was when he played pro ball, and a force to be reckoned with.
Either Bobby Garrison is an idiot—or he has a death wish.
He did tell me he’s recently divorced, but this is just reckless for the sake of being reckless.
Max’s shoulders shake on a quiet laugh, then he shrugs. “You could have chosen the easy way, old man.” He closes the distance between them in one long stride, bends at the waist, then tosses Bobby over his shoulder in one easy motion.
“What the fuck!” the man yells, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
I mean, it serves him right for challenging someone of Max’s size.
Max strides to the golf cart parked behind ours, then plops Bobby into the front seat. The man immediately tries to get up, but Max holds him down with one big hand on his shoulder. “Stay down, Garrison.” He points to Bobby’s son and snaps his fingers. “Brantley. Get your old man out of here before he embarrasses himself further.”
“It’s Grantley,” the kid mumbles beneath his breath, then gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about my dad, ma’am,”he says in passing as he hurries to obey Max’s orders. Hopping into the driver’s seat, he steps on the gas—
And Bobby nearly tumbles out of the cart.
I keep my mouth covered as they drive around our cart, then hop back onto the path and leave us standing at the green.
Six people remain, with only one four-person cart between us.
Max strides back over to me, then motions to the cart. “Get in.”
He’s radiating anger, and a smart person might just do whatever he asks.
But I wouldn’t bemeif I didn’t push his buttons a little.
“I’m not finished.”
“Oh, we’re finished.”
I prop a hand on my hip. “I have two more holes to play.”
Max steps closer and I hold my breath, craning my head back to look up at him. My god, he’s gorgeous when he’s mad. My pulse races in response to the possessive way he stares down at me. I shouldn’t like it, but tell that to that twist of desire low in my belly.
“Listen, darlin’, either you put that little behind onto that seat right now, or I’m throwing you over my shoulder and we’re walking back to the clubhouse.”
I lick my lips, tugging the bottom one between my teeth to keep my smile at bay. Why would something so veryneanderthalmake my stomach swoop like I’ve just dropped ten stories in a roller coaster? “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, Mr. Cruz, but I’m going to finish my round of golf whether you like it or not.”
Max’s shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath and I find myself holding my own.
Part of me can’t wait for him to throw me over his shoulder, but the smarter part of me, the grown-ass woman who doesn’tallow men tomanhandleher, knows that wanting that is probably wrong.
