Page 49 of Over the Limit

“Lach,” I whisper. “We can’t. We’re going to get in trouble.”

His laugh is loud and boisterous and so very opposite of my whisper that says I’m afraid we’re going to be caught. He turns to me and grins. “You said you wanted to be taken out to play. We’re here to play.”

“What? How? I don’t even know how to play golf.”

“But that’s the beauty in it,” he says and holds his hands up while taking a slow spin to make a show. “No one is here to tell us how to play. I called in a few favors to the owner. He’s given us free rein here. We can play or not play or simply do whatever the hell we want.”

I bark out a laugh. We’re here to play. Leave it to Lachlan to take my words and bring them to life for me in some misconstrued way.

“I don’t . . . I’m a woman rarely at a loss for words but you seem to continually make that happen.”

“That’s a good thing.” He steps toward me, his usually stoic expression animated and his eyes wild with mischief. He reaches out and taps me on the shoulder. “Tag. You’re it.” And then he sprints down the pathway and onto the green.

“Lachlan.” I laugh his name out but give chase like a teenager.

We run down a fairway and onto a green. Our hands flailing and laughter floating in the summer night air.

The man is good at bantering, at being serious, but playful is not something I pegged him for and God, how glad I was wrong about that. He shrieks and hollers and does funny pirouettes down the fairway. Anything to make me laugh.

Everything to show me he cares.

I follow suit, my goofiness coming through as I do cartwheel after cartwheel, laughing so hard at my horrific form.

But he stands and claps, shouting out ratings for each one before taking off again with me in hot pursuit.

We run till he collapses and then proceeds to roll over and over down an incline like a little kid. Without thinking, I drop and follow, only stopping when my body ends up bumping against his.

I can barely breathe through the laughter and the exertion, but I can’t remember the last time I felt this alive.

It sounds so silly but it rings so true.

“Oh my God,” I say as I roll onto my back to mirror his position beside me.

“I’m out of shape,” he jokes.

“Hardly,” I snort, knowing how much physical conditioning that each driver puts in to be able to withstand the g-force the car and track exert onto their bodies. He is most definitely not out of shape . . . but I appreciate the comment so my lack of conditioning doesn’t feel so obvious. “My heart is racing.”

“Mine too. Feel.” He reaches out and grabs my hand, placing it onto his chest. His heart beats an insane staccato. One that reverberates against my hand and jolts shock waves down to my own heart.

One that has picked up its own pace . . . but I have a feeling it’s not because of our sprint.

It’s because of my hand on him. His hand on mine. And everything else that’s so unique about this moment he’s fabricated for me.

“Lachlan,” I whisper.

“Look!” He points to the dark sky above. “A shooting star.”

I yelp and lift my hand off his chest to point out in reaction at the streak of silver across the sky. “Wow.”

“Make a wish,” he says.

“A wish?”

“Yep.” We fall silent for a beat as I try and think of one.

To remember this feeling forever.

That’s it, isn’t it? This feeling. The laughter. The ease in my chest and the carefree feeling riding through me. All are things I haven’t felt in forever. All things that Lachlan elicited when he took me out to play.