Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Hurts like hell.
She gives a resigned shrug. “Me too. Someday,” she says with a sad smile. Her smile turns warmer, and her hand presses harder against my chest. “But I know what I’m worth now. You’re teaching me. You’re showing me. I know what real is…because of you.”
My throat tightens, swimming with emotions fighting to break the surface. But emotions that have no place in her presence. Or, likely, mine either.
“Someday, baby,” I say, then, since we’re still in this cocoon of a car with tinted windows and no one watching, I cup the back of her head and press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Tender, caring, full of promise. And apologies too. Everything about this moment is so damn true for me.
When I break the kiss, she smiles again. “That felt real.”
Solemnly I meet her gaze. “Good. Because it was.”
Then, because she’s been so honest, I give her some of the same treatment she’s given me. “That’s why I was a competitive beast that day. I needed to not focus on how much I hated your ex. So I played like that was all I cared about.”
“Thanks for telling me,” she says.
“I’ll be casual today. I promise I won’t be a beast,” I say.
She lifts a brow. “Except in the bedroom?”
That’s my girl. Finding a way to turn a moment around. “That’s a promise.”
We check in at the clubhouse, and the clerk hands us a scorecard and a pencil. “And everything is covered by Mr. Blaine,” the guy says.
“I appreciate that,” I say. It was wholly unnecessary, but far be it from me to tell Wilder Blaine how to run his business.
When we head to pick clubs from the rack, I hear the voice of the man himself a few feet away. “Of course. Things come up,” he says, uber professional.
I glance over to see Wilder facing away from us, holding his daughter’s hand while he talks on the phone.
“It’s understandable. Take care of your mother. I’ll be fine.”
When he ends the call, he turns to his kid, putting on an everything is fine face. “Anya’s mother is sick, and she needs to take her to urgent care.”
“Oh no! Will she be okay?”
“I think so. She just needs some meds.” He checks his watch. His brow knits. “Want to come to play a round of nine with Daddy and some investors from Indonesia?”
His daughter shoots him a you can’t be serious look. “That sounds boring. I’d rather play golf with Alice and Grace.”
Wilder sighs, shaking his head. “Alice isn’t working today. I’ll cancel my game, honey.”
No, he will not. I turn my gaze to Rachel. “The Babysitter Doctors?” I whisper.
She nods, one hundred percent on board. “We so are.”
I clear my throat, and Wilder looks my way. “Mr. Blaine. Mac can play mini golf with us.”
The man straightens his spine, meets my eyes, and then lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you. Her sitter can’t make it. And I need to meet these investors…It’s about this hotel.”
I wave a hand. “We have a very chill game planned.”
The tiny blonde stares at me with fierce eyes. “I’d like to see you try to beat me.”
Oh well. It is on.
32
SMACK TALK LESSONS MELT MY HEART
Rachel
Someone should go on the PGA tour, and it’s not Carter.
With an absurd amount of focus for anyone, let alone a fourth grader, Mac lines up at the fourteenth hole, staring intently at the windmill and then at the purple ball on the tee. With a steadying breath, she lifts the club, shifts her hips, and swings like a pro.
That purple ball is a soldier obeying a commanding officer’s order as it rushes down a slope, under the spokes of the windmill, then…
I race down the green to track it, whooping in excitement as the ball rolls past my orange one, gliding gracefully into the hole.
“Hole in one, rock star!” I offer Mac a high-five as she runs down the green with a gleeful smile.
“Yay!” she calls out, smacking back when she reaches me. Quickly, though, she erases the sunshine and pins me with a serious look. “But I can’t get too excited. Daddy says it’s not nice to showboat.”
I give an approving nod. “Daddy is right.”
“He usually is. But can I tell you something, Rachel? It’s hard not to showboat sometimes. It’s kind of fun.”
“That’s true too,” I say, then stage-whisper, “But you know what else is super fun?”
“What?”
“Taunting your opponent. Watch this,” I say, as Carter lines up at the other end. “Hey, Carter. You want to get the ball in this hole, not on the next hole.”
He overswung earlier and sent it soaring to the waterwheel when we were on the pipe-drop hole.
Twenty feet away, Carter rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the tip. Just wanted to make sure you know the goal is to score under par, not ten times over it.”