Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
“Carrie!” Mr. Miller shouts from behind me. I jump, not knowing he pulled the cart up. “What are you doing with this imbecile? Do you know him?”
I shrug as I look back at the poor guy. “I think he’s catching frogs or something.”
Callaway shakes his head as he stares at me, pleading with his eyes for me to stay.
“Get in the cart,” Mr. Miller snaps. I take a deep breath and hop in, but my eyes are still on the wet hottie as we drive away. I turn and blow him a kiss as we go.
It’s the least I can do. The poor guy has to play ten more holes with sopping wet socks.
After what feels like twenty hours later, we’re finally finished. I’m ready for a hot bath, a good book, and a big glass of wine as Mr. Miller gives our cart back. But instead, I have to stick around here and have drinks with these old misogynist assholes.
I text Jody and ask her to let Chester out, feed him, and give him his shot as Mr. Miller and his friends find a table on the patio of the club. There are golfers all around me, laughing and arguing about who had the best shot of the day. I smile, but I’m wishing I was driving home right now.
I’m halfway into my second Pino Grigio when I see Callaway putting with his three friends on the last hole. I snort out a laugh (and the wine stings the inside of my nose) when I see him try to sink a three foot putt with a thirty foot shot.
At least he’s strong…
My eyes are roaming all over his hard round arms as Barney blabs on about his new sports car. Spoiler alert: He’s using it to compensate for his tiny shriveled up old cock.
The four guys shake hands when their game is complete and my eyes never leave my new crush as they bring their carts back. I’m practically drooling when he takes his golf bag off and throws it over his round shoulder.
For the past few hours, I’ve been trying to figure out what he wanted to say. It had to be important if he was willing to walk through a pond to tell me.
I shuffled between an impending nuclear apocalypse about to happen or he found my golf ball, and everything else in between.
My eyes are locked on him as his foursome walks onto the patio. God, my heart is pounding so hard. What is it about this guy? He’s so cute, but that’s not it. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me. Like a man dying of thirst looks at a water cooler. It’s not just that… there’s a hint of… possessiveness in his eyes that is triggering something deep and primal in me.
I like it.
His three friends grab a table and he heads to the bar. I’m out of my seat before I know what I’m doing (the Pino Grigio leading the way) and sidle up beside him.
“Hey, Callaway,” I say with a smile. “Are your socks still nice and wet?”
His jaw tightens when he sees me standing beside him, leaning on the bar. “They’re still soaked, thanks.”
“And what possessed you to walk into a pond? Golf balls aren’t that expensive.”
He’s giving me that look again and it’s doing something fierce to the area between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together as I swallow a little moan.
“I did it for you.”
“Wow,” I say with a laugh. “I’d say it was a romantic gesture but that pond was covered in duck shit. It was kind of gross actually.”
The tight line his mouth is in curls up with a grin. “Anything for love.”
“Love is in tennis, Callaway. Wrong sport.”
“Wrong sport, but right girl.”
“What would you like?” the bartender asks him. He doesn’t even notice her presence or seems to hear her as he stares at me with those piercing green eyes. “Oh, I just need a few minutes. No problem, you take your time,” she says, having a conversation with herself that is thick with annoyance. “Thank you bartender, have a nice day.” She walks away, cursing under her breath and muttering something about three more years until she’s a lawyer.
“So,” I say when we’re alone again. “You wanted to tell me something? Something very important I gather.”
He nods. “I want you.”
I snort out a laugh. “Seriously? That’s your line? Stick with golf, Callaway because flirting is not your sport.”
I grab my glass of wine and head back to my table with my head shaking. I can’t believe I was thinking about this guy all day long. My taste in guys is as good as my aim in golf—crooked and always getting me into trouble.
He catches up with me before I get to my table. “That came out wrong.”