Poppy continues across the parking lot which is when she sees me. Stopping suddenly, she sucks in a gasp, her inky-blue gaze looking me up and down before she releases a breath and does a quick scan of our surroundings like she knows one of us probably shouldn’t be out here.
“W-what are you doing here?” she finally asks. “Next to my car?”
I unfold my arms because I don’t want to come off as angry, but I also want her to feel safe because, again, it’s dark, and I’mcurrently lurking by her car in the dimly lit parking lot. So, I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts.
Looking down at her, she’s changed out of the pale pink Vista Palms polo and golf skirt, and she’s dressed in a pair of black leggings and white tank top, the skinny straps highlighting her smooth, tanned shoulders and impressive rack.Chrissake, eyes up, Devereaux.
I clear my throat and snap my head up, meeting her curious gaze. “Are you okay? I mean… after today. Are you… okay?”
Poppy tucks her long dark hair behind her ear and shrugs a shoulder, the smile curling her lips sardonic. “You think that’s the first time I’ve been groped by a drunk golfer?” She snorts. “That wasn’t even the first timetoday.”
My jaw clenches at that because what the fuck. That’snotokay. I’m going to raise it with management because where the hell do these assholes get off having all this goddamn audacity?
I tamp down the anger that burns in my chest and, shifting on my feet, I clear my throat again, lifting my chin slightly higher in a show of confidence that is dwindling the longer I stall. “I have a… uh, a proposition for you.”
Poppy arches a brow, and, gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter, again, her gaze flits about like she’s suddenly nervous, maybe even a little insulted.
“Oh, shit.” I hold my hands up in defense. “I don’t mean—” Shaking my head, I search for my words.
I know what some of these cart girls get up to off the clock. A lot of them dance at the local strip clubs, and a few of them have OnlyFans accounts, at least that’s what I’ve been told. And that’s entirely up to them; they can do whatever the hell they want when they’re out of uniform and away from the course. But I don’t mean to offend Poppy or insinuate anything.
“Sorry,” I soften, adding a huffed laugh because what the fuck is wrong with me? I never usually have this much trouble talking to women; man, Iamout of practice. “I mean… ajobopportunity.”
A small crease burrows between Poppy’s brows as her eyes flit between mine like she’s trying to figure me out.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about me,” I begin. “And my… recentstruggles?”
She lifts one shoulder. “I mean… not really. I don’t know much about golf outside of this place,” she says, jutting her chin in the direction of the club house.
I rub at the painful tug in the back of my neck, huffing a sigh. “I… I’ve been in a little trouble recently, and… well, the AGL is looking at taking away my tour card.”
Poppy’s eyes flare. “Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
I lift a shoulder, like it’s no big deal. “They want me to clean up my act, and… my agent and my manager seem to think I could do that by… settling down with a…girlfriend.”
Again, Poppy’s eyes widen, and I notice a touch of pink flush her cheeks.
I hold my hands up again, placating whatever thoughts are suddenly racing through her mind. “Now, a girlfriend is literally the last thing I fucking want orneedin my life right now.” I add a grimace at the thought. “I just wanna get back to playing golf and winning.”
“What are you… asking me, Brookes?” Poppy asks, tentatively.
“Well, thanks to my eighty-year-old best friend who lacks any kind of social fucking filter,” I mutter, “I know you’re single, and… well—” I puff air from my cheeks, realizing I’ve come too far now. “I thought maybe you could pretend to be my… girlfriend.”
Poppy’s mouth falls open, and I can tell she’s about to object or, I don’t know, call for security, and panic sets in because I probably should’ve thought this through. What if she says no and then goes to the media, telling them I stalked her in a darkened parking lot and solicited her.
“I’ll pay you!” I quickly add, snapping my mouth shut because that makes it even fucking worse, you idiot. I continuequickly, “No funny business at all. It’ll be, like, a full-on… legally… binding contract. Totally above board. Nothing shady. A business… transaction.” I wince at my words and momentarily wish for an asteroid to fall from the sky and strike me down.
Eyeing me dubiously, Poppy folds her arms across her chest, and I try not to look at the way it pushes her breasts up and together.Eyes forward, Dickhead.
“Why me?” She narrows one eye. “I mean, no offense, but…” Looking down at herself, she quirks a brow, meeting my eyes again. “I don’t really think I’m your type.”
“You’renot!”
“Okay, answer faster next time,” Poppy mutters with a scoff, and I realize I might have just said that a little too aggressively, so, I soften a touch.
“I’m sorry. I mean…you’re not my type, really. Plus, you’re like, what? Twenty.”
Poppy balks, incredulous. “I’m twenty-three.”
