Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I don’t think.
Well. Technically, he didn’t really ask me to do anything. I kind of shot him down before he could even get to that part. Maybe he was just being polite by asking if I had plans later today. Right? Right.
Ugh, why is this so hard? Why do girls over think every damn thing? I hate myself and my gender right now – I hate my hormones!
I let him get halfway to his Tahoe.
“Matthew!” I half shout.
He turns, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Wait.”
CHAPTER 17
MATTHEW
“Just shut up and put it in.”
– Overheard (and misunderstood) at Galaxy Golf World on the fifth hole.
“I swear, I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.” Cecelia grumbles, crouched over a miniature golf putter, eyeballing the hole at the end of the long astroturf course like she’s Tiger Woods during a PGA Tour.
“Like you were going to say no to all this,” I say, confidently showcasing my manly physique with one of my forefingers like a model from the Price is Right, then propping my leg on a fake boulder before flexing my biceps ala Mr. Universe.
“You’re one sick individual, did you know that,” she deadpans.
“Just hit the ball would you, and stop complaining.”
“I’m only complaining because I suck at this. You brought me here because you wanted to show off.”
“Hmm. You may have a point there...” I poke her in the thigh with the butt end of my golf putter. “Take the shot. There’s a group coming up behind us.”
Cecelia refocuses, closing one eye and chewing on her lower lip, like those two techniques combined are going to get her a hole-in-one.
Pfft. As if.
She gently takes a few practice swings, pulling back on the putter a few times but not connecting with the ball (all the while wiggling her firm ass), before tapping the small purple orb towards the hole.
It rolls forward, gaining momentum on a tiny slope before rounding a corner… ricochets into a manmade stone (as golf balls often do), and continues at a slow crawl towards the cup in the ground.
Slowly.
Slowly…
Cecelia sucks in her breath, grasping her putter to her chest as the ball continues leisurely rolling towards its final destination, before catching on the lip and plopping in.
Letting out a loud “Yes!!! Woooo hoooo!” Cecelia jumps up and down like a lunatic. She pumps her fists, shouting, “Did you see that?! Did. You. See. That?”
“Um, yeah. And everyone can hear you, too.”
Sheesh.
For several few minutes, I stand there with my arms crossed – waiting patiently - as Cecelia struts around like a rooster, leaps in the air a few more times like a cheerleader on the acrobat team, throws her arms into a ‘V’ for victory, and continues loudly ‘whooping’ for a good solid… oh, I don’t know, two or three minutes.
She is utterly ridiculous.
And completely fucking adorable.
“Wow,” is all I can say when she’s done.
“Ugh, that felt good.” She smoothes down her sweater and straightens the scarf around her neck, glancing up at me with a schooled expression. “Okay. Your turn.”
“You are nuts.”
Cecelia snorts and walks over to pat my arm. “You’re only just figuring that out? Poor guy…” As her hand makes contact with my long sleeve tee shirt, her hand lingers there a bit too long. Not only that, but I swear she just squeezed my bicep a little.
Hey - not that I’m complaining.
But now she’s staring up at me with innocent eyes and smirking – a look I’ve seen on my sister’s face a hundred times when she’s trying not to look guilty. You know the look, don’t try denying it: huge doe eyes – where you force your eyebrows up into your hairline while you give a blank stare?
Yeah. That look. Because she’s guilty.
“Did you just squeeze my muscles?”
“What?! No.” She looks away, miffed.
“Bullshit, you did too. Admit it.”
Cecelia casts a glance up at me, the big silver hoops in her ears sway as she shakes her head in denial. “Pfft, no way.”
“Why can’t you admit you were feeling me up?”
“Oh. My. God.”
I give her a long, hard look before tapping my putter on another fake rock. “Okay, fine.” I take the red ball out of my pocket, toss it in the air a few times and catch it before I drop it on the astroturf. Glancing back at her I ask, “Wanna make this interesting?”
Cecelia watches me a few heartbeats, giving me a once over from top to bottom, before taking her putter and holding it horizontally behind her head with both hands. The motion pulls the fabric of her sweater tight across her chest, and my eyes go immediately to her breasts. “Even more interesting? Please, enlighten me.”
I clear my throat, trying not to stare. Sorry, but she’s got a great rack.
“You know. Like a bet.”
“Ah, a gamblin’ man. I like it. Sure, let’s do it.”