Page 29 of Playing the Player

“Atrocious, huh?” I deadpan, turning my head so he can’t see the wide smile that breaks free. “That’s an awfully big word for you.”

“It’s my word of the day,” of course it is, “and now I get to check it off my list because I used it in a perfect sentence.” He says it so proudly, puffing his chest out and everything.

“You didn’t have to wait until now, you know? You could have used it this morning.” He raises an eyebrow at me in question. “For example, you could have said something like,” I clear my throat dramatically, “‘I am atrocious at singing’.”

Conor’s face drops, “That was too far, Sash.” We stare at each other with matching serious expressions for all of three seconds before bursting into laughter at the same time. His laugh is impossible not to join in with.

Who knew dating Conor Matthews would be so fun? It’s not just movies and dinner dates, but real, entertaining dates where I get to laugh until my stomach hurts and get to know the real him instead of the version that everyone else sees.

Tonight, we’re at an indoor, glow in the dark mini golf course. It was a compromise since I refused to go to an actual golf course. That sounded boring as hell.

He took me to a country themed bar a few nights ago and taught me how to line dance. It was amazing. He was amazing. I was not, but still, it was one of the best nights I have ever had.

Conor and I both agreed that to make us more of a believable couple, we needed to go on real dates. We needed to properly get to know each other, but also be seen in public together more than once. We’ve decided that we’ll have a date night every Tuesday and Friday, as long as our schedules match. So far we’ve been on three dates, tonight marking off our fourth.

One thing I hadn’t fully anticipated when dating Conor was the constant attention, the lingering stares, the flashes of cameras everywhere we went. I thought we’d be old news by now. Surely there’s something more exciting going on in the sporting world than the dating life of one hockey player.

I don’t know how Liv does this all the time. She can’t even leave the house on her own without someone snapping a photo of her. The thought of that happening to me makes my skin crawl.

That’s why I thought mini golf would be a good date idea. It’s dark, tucked away, and every hole is separated just enough that we get these little pockets of privacy.

“Okay, come on.” Conor says, dragging me to the next hole. “There’s no point in you even trying to putt that last one. We’ll be there all night.”

“Ha ha, funny guy.” I grab my ball from where it lies pathetically on the floor on its own.

“Let me help you this time.”

“Fine.” I grumble. I’m not opposed to a muscular man wrapping his arms around me. I’m sure any girl in my position would be jumping at the chance.

I place my ball on the starting mark before moving into the stance Conor had shown me before. And then I wait. And wait. Nothing. I glance over my shoulder at him. “Why aren’t you helping?”

He lets his eyes drift slowly down my body before meeting my eye. “Sorry, Angel, just enjoying the view.” I swing my hand to smack his arm playfully but he dodges me easily. “Put that much effort into hitting the ball and you’ll be golden.”

“My God, you are insufferable.”

Conor chuckles before stepping in behind me. His chest brushes against my back as his arms slide around mine, his hands covering my own on the club. “Widen your stance a little.” He whispers into my ear, the warmth of his breath ghosting over my neck. Goosebumps travel down my arms and a shiver races up my spine. I part my legs like he asked me to, his commanding but husky voice doing something to my insides. “Good girl.” He breaths out, chest rising and falling heavily against my back.

The atmosphere in the room has shifted. It feels as though all the air has been sucked out, the walls feel like they are closing in on us, and the background noise is no more than a faint purr.

“Now what do you want me to do?” My words come out quieter than I intended them to, breathy and uncontrolled.

“Bend your knees.” I do as he says, my ass brushing against his hardening cock, “Up a little.” I move up, the motion making Conor groan into my neck. He cannot be making those sounds right now. They’ll be seared into my brain forever if he doesn’t stop. My pulse quickens and my stomach tightens. We’re entering dangerous territory here. “Stick your ass out a bit more but keep your back straight.” Again, I follow his orders, pushing my butt into his front harder. Holy shit, he is big. My knees feel weak all of a sudden, imagining just how big he is. From the feel of him between my cheeks, I’d say a lot bigger than average.

My body is a back stabbing bitch, melting, swooning, falling into the sex trap that is Conor Matthews.

I fight the urge to move against him and moan. Thank God all the holes are tucked away behind their own walls. No one needs to witness me completely coming undone because a man is teaching me how to putt a golf ball.

“Line up the club with where you want the ball to go.” It takes me a few tries, but I manage to line it up as close as I can. “Perfect, just like that.” Stop it, Conor. Why are my thoughts turning everything he says into some sort of sexual meaning? Am I really that deprived of sex?

“Swing the club up like this,” he moves our arms up to the side but releases his from mine when he gets it into the perfect position. Instead, his hands move to my hips, grasping them in a firm grip, pulling me tight against his front. “Keep your hips still and swing.”

I breathe in deep, swinging the club and hitting the ball before releasing it. The ball rolls and stops just before the hole. “Yes!” Conor laughs, “That’s my girl.” He steps back and the sudden loss of his warmth leaves me strangely cold.

I need to chill out. Why am I so affected by this? Conor clearly isn’t. He seems like his normal, composed self and here I am, melting into a puddle on the floor.

He was showing me how to hit a golf ball properly, there was nothing more to it. So why did it feel like there was?

“What about this one?” I ask Olivia, pointing to a peach colored, skintight, floor length dress.