I grit my teeth at the nickname they bestowed upon me during our last encounter. “Who’s winning?”
“We all are,” one of them says, his smirk lecherous as he eyes me up and down, “now thatyou’rehere.”
Pressing my lips together, I fake a laugh, turning to my coolers. “Another round?”
“Yeah. And a round of Fireballs, too,” a deep voice says as I’m bent over, rifling through ice. “And one for your pretty little self, too.”
I stiffen involuntarily at just how close he is, his warmth almost pressed up against me from behind, breath fanning my skin. My heart pounds hard and my breath catches in the back of my throat.Keep it together, Poppy.
“Oh, I don’t drink.” I pull out two beers and turn quickly, taking a much-needed step back. Smiling up at him, I hand over the beers. “But y’all can have mine.”
“Shaun!” the man calls over his shoulder while still looking down at me and not moving. “She doesn’t drink, bro.”
“What?” Shaun, I presume, steps forward, coming up behind me. It’s only then that I realize I’m almost sandwiched between the two men. And, while I’d like to assume they’re nothing but drunk and completely innocent, the anxiety swirling in my chest says otherwise.
“So, six beers and six Fireballs?” I turn back to the cart to retrieve the remaining cans, and the Fireball from the glass cabinet of miniature bottles, fully aware of both men standing right there, either side of me.
“Do they make you wear these little skirts?”
I startle when I feel the handle of a golf club graze my thigh where the hem of my skirt ends.
“Or do you girls wear them to help with the tips?”
Before I can think, I smack the club away and spin around, my smile falling as I glare up at the man. The same man who touched my ass earlier, with the very same club. His wife-to-be sure is aluckywoman…
“Don’t touch me,” I warn, keeping my tone steady.
He sniffs a laugh, holding his golf club in surrender. “Relax, darlin’. I’m just playing around.”
I swallow hard, looking from him to his friend, to the groupof guys all watching from the green snickering between themselves.
“Besides,” the culprit,Shaun, continues, “no offense, but you’re not really mytype.”
“I love curvy girls!” one of the huskier men on the green yells out causing the others to laugh like a bunch of fourteen-year-old dickheads.
“I sure as hell don’t discriminate,” Shaun’s buddy says, stepping up to me, his beer breath fanning in my face and causing me to wince.
Rolling my eyes, I push him off me and turn back to my cart, grabbing my tablet to ring up their order, which is when I feel a hand on my waist, holding me firm.
“Get your dang hands off me!” I lose my cool then, swinging around so fast, my hand connects with his face and scratches his cheek. Accidentally, of course.
He steps back, clutching his face, and his eyes blaze with terrifying anger.
When he advances on me, I step back, trapped against the cart with nowhere to go. “I’m s-sorry, it was an accident, I was just?—”
“Is there a problem here?” a deep voice yells, cutting through the warm afternoon air.
“Holy shit!” someone mutters.
Shaun yanks his buddy away from me, and I gasp at the unexpected sight of Brookes Devereaux walking directly toward us from his golf cart. And despite his face shadowed by the brim of his ball cap, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, the tic in his jaw is obvious, as is the way his hands are currently balled into fists by his sides.
“Brookes Devereaux!” someone in the group shouts.
Brookes ignores them, heading directly to me and shouldering his way past Shaun, nearly mowing him down in his haste.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and steely as heducks down, big hands wrapping around my arms. “I saw the whole thing.”
I manage a nod, my eyes flitting about, not sure what the hell is happening.
