Me: What is it?
Brookes: It’s for tomorrow.
Me: The Pro-Am?
Brookes: Yep.
Confused, I move to the sofa and take a seat, unwrapping the postage paper and discovering a shiny black box embossed with gold letters that just sayPULSE. Assuming it’s something for my lipedema to help me survive eighteen holes on my feet tomorrow, I lift the lid, but the second I see what’s inside, my mouth falls open on a gasp and I slam the box shut, glaring at it like it’s done me an injustice. And, I mean, I’m not the most knowledgeable when it comes to this stuff, but I know exactly what that is.
Grabbing my phone, my thumbs fly across the keyboard, tapping out my reply.
Me: You bought me a vibrator???
Brookes: A wearable vibrator.
Me: I don’t even know what that means!
Brookes: Remember earlier when I told you my one rule?
Before I can respond, he sends a screenshot of our text conversation from this morning where he told me that I neededto do exactly what he said, no ifs or buts, and I deadpan, glaring at the screen.
Me: I thought you were talking about golf!
Brookes: Rules are rules, Pops.
I scoff, tossing my phone onto the couch cushion next to me, tentatively lifting the lid off the box and peering in at the… device. It’s an ungodly shade of bright pink, shaped like an egg with a long skinny thing attached to it. I don’t even know how it’s supposed to work. I thought they were all shaped like dicks or something. Taking the brochure out, I open it, my eyes widening at the illustrations when I realize exactly where it’s supposed to go. Inside of me.
“Oh my God,” I huff, reading the instructions. It’s both terrifying and, if I’m honest, a little intriguing. Three speeds. Four patterns. Five hours of continuous use. Holy crap.
I quickly stuff the brochure back into the box, close it up, and slide it as far away from me as possible, staring at it like it’s about to grow legs and come at me.
Absolutely not. Not happening. There is no way in this life or any other that I am using that…thing.
Picking up my phone, I tap out another reply to Brookes.
Me: Rules are made to be broken.
Brookes: Something tells me you’ll be a good girl and do exactly what I say.
I gape at his response, simultaneously offended and turned on by his bossiness. There’s just something about a bossy Brookes that makes my insides flip in the best kind of way. God, what is wrong with me?
Me: I am not wearing that thing tomorrow. It’s a UTI just waiting to happen.
Brookes: We’ll see…
CHAPTER 36
BROOKES
At the sound of footsteps entering the kitchen, I look up from the last of my protein shake, my eyes doing a slow, lazy assessment of Poppy. Dressed in white tennis shoes and socks and a completely ridiculous yet totally adorable candy-pink golf dress with white polka dots, her hair is pulled up into a bouncy ponytail on top of her head, with a white Big Swing sun visor completing her outfit. And honestly, I can’t help but smile from the sheer sight of her.
She makes me smile. She’s the light. On the darkest of days, Poppy is the light.
Looking at me, she places a hand on her curvy hip, cocking her head to the side like she’s waiting for me to say something smart-ass. Instead, I meet her inky-blue eyes, saying nothing, but arching one eyebrow, silently questioning her.
We haven’t seen each other in almost twenty-four hours. Actually, up until this very moment, I hadn’t even realized I’d missed her. Especially not this much. I got home super late last night, and I didn’t want to disturb her because she’d told me she had a headache. So, I slept alone, in my own bed. Something I’m no longer a fan of, if I’m honest. Now, seeing her ready for the Pro-Am, she takes my breath away, but I have one question Ineed to know the answer to, and she knows exactly what question that is.
Instead of asking, I look down at my watch and scroll to the app I installed last night when I couldn’t sleep alone. And then, glancing back up, I watch her as I press the button.
