Chapter 20
TWENTY
Let's play a game of thwack fuck
REED
Newsflash: Lila’s better at golf than me. My pride is deflated.
Related news: My dick is the opposite of deflated.
Flinging her mock pity at me, she rolls her lower lip into a pout and bats her lashes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to show you?”
“For the last time, there’s nothing wrong with my grip.”
Her smile beams like the sun. “Score says otherwise.”
I glance at the display again, hoping it’s not as much of a blood bath as the last time I checked.
And that hope is pointless, much like the vow I made to avoid lusting after Lila tonight.
Or any prior night.
Armed with stubborn determination and a golf club, I roll my wrists and adjust my grip. Once I’ve spotted my target on the range, I shift my footing, then return my focus to this little bastard white ball. I take a deep breath, draw the club back, and let ‘er rip.
Thwack.
Fuck.
Once again, I get plenty of oomph on the ball, but my accuracy sucks ass. It ends up rolling into the giant white target worth a piddly ten points.
“Hell yes,” I joke, pointing straight-armed at the course. “Did you see that shit? You haven’t hit one of those yet, cookie.”
“Be careful, or you’ll end up trading the FBI acronym for the PGA.”
We share a laugh, and it feels damn good. Even if my pride will never recover from this piss poor performance.
She’s hit the blue hundred-point target five times and the red five-hundred-point hole twice. The seven-year-old in bay eleven hasn’t gotten anything less than the fifty-point target, which is my total score at present.
In my defense, I fucking hate golf.
But I gave Lila the choice. In retrospect, I should have just taken her to ax-throwing. As she reminded me when she hit the first blue target, her father was an avid golfer.
Fuck you, hindsight.
Before I take my second shot of this round, I call Lila on her bullshit attempt to correct my grip. “All right, Lila. What am I doing wrong?”
With giddiness dancing around her, she claps twice and spins on the stool, letting her legs gently slink to the ground. After taking a sip of her drink, she flounces toward me with an adorable skip in her step. “You’re too stiff for one thing.”
My dirty mind swats the low-hanging fruit. “And you think getting closer to me will reduce my stiffness?”
“Pervert.”
She stops a foot in front of me and hinges forward slightly, mirroring my position. It gives me a view down her blouse too tempting to pass up.
Yep. I’m a pervert.
She softly pops the inside of my elbows with the back of her hand, one then the other. “I meant loosen your arms. Hands too. You’re robbing your swing of power. The club is not a flight risk. It’s not going anywhere.”
“That’s not what gravity told me.”
She points stiffly at my arms and cricks her head to one side. “Relax your arms. Now.”
Feeling a bit petulant, I embellish the movement and wiggle my arms like they’re made of gelatin. All showy like.
She tsks at me. “That’s perfect, you toddler. Nailed it.”
I pout, embracing my rarely seen playful side. “Sorry, Mommy. I’ll take my spanking now.”
Her shoulders bounce with her restrained laughter. Sadly, the motion draws my attention back to her breasts like the grade A pervert I am. I should change my name to Herbert.
“Your hands, Reed. You need to stack them.”
I glance down, unsure how they could be more stacked than they already are. “Show me.”
She swipes her club from the rack and stands beside me. “Like this. See how mine are lined up. The tip of my V is vertical.”
My mind torpedoes into the gutter. “Ah. Now I see the problem. I don’t have a V. I have a P. Would you like to see it? I’d sure like to see yours.”
Her frame sags and starts to shake when she’s overcome with laughter. “How are you such a Grumpy Gus and hilarious? It makes it hard to hate you.”
“Here’s an idea. Perhaps don’t hate me.”
Lila’s eyes, still shimmering with amusement, eventually land on mine. She drags her lower lip between her teeth and sighs. “I’ll take your suggestion under advisement.”
The air between us crackles with desire.
I should kiss her.
Unable to resist the urge, I lean in, steadily lowering my face to hers. To my surprise, she doesn’t back away. Instead, she rises to her tiptoes. Her gaze falls to my mouth, then flickers back up right before our lips collide.
Which never happens because a deafening chorus of celebration a few bays down shatters the moment. Startled, we twist to see what’s causing the commotion. Several frat boy prick wads are high-fiving and chest bumping like they won the douche bag world cup.
My upper lip curves into a snarl as I eviscerate them with my glare. I wonder how they’d like being brought in for an interrogation. No doubt at least one of them is guilty of something criminal. I’ve got them dead to rights on first-degree cock blocking.
Lila’s tender caress wraps around my mind, yanking me from my revenge fantasy. “You actually do have a V.” Using her fingertip, she draws a V on the top of one hand, where my thumb meets the back of my palm. “That’s your V.”
Annnd now I’m having other fantasies.
Without removing her index finger, she seductively skims it up my forearm to my bicep as she edges around me. She holds my eye contact the whole time, like she’s trying to get me hard at fucking Grip it and sip it. It’s working, too.
Damn temptress.
Too bad this isn’t real, and she’s only playing me. Much like I’m playing her. At least, I’m fairly sure that’s what’s happening between us. This is all a game, isn’t it? Yeah. There’s nothing more brewing here.
I pause mentally, waiting for Morgan Freeman to call me out on what’s beginning to feel like absolute horse shit.
He doesn’t.
That’s good.
Or is it?
Once she’s partially behind me with her head poking around one side, she retraces the same path back down my arm and wraps her hand over mine so we’re both holding the golf club.
Cheap move. Wish I had thought of it myself.
It’s not too late to save the situation.
When she attempts to reach around my other side with her left hand, I cut her off and break free of her gentle hold.
“We’re not doing it that way, Lila.” Moving quickly, I reverse our positioning so she’s in front of me with her back to my chest. “At least make it look like I’m the one showing you. I have pride.”
Craning her neck, she looks up at me with a smirk on her pretty face. “Your toxic masculinity is showing.”
“Tell me more about your V, Lila.” Despite trying to make it sound sexy, it just comes out weird. I recover with a wink. “Keep your hands on top of mine and show me the error of my golfing ways. Please.”
Returning focus to her lesson, she bends at the waist slightly, covers my hands, and repositions them on the club. “See?”
“Oh, I do.”
Down her shirt.
What a fantastic day to have eyeballs.
My cock stiffens so hard that I could use it as the club.
“Well, those are all the tips I have. I’m not a pro. Since my dad was obsessed with golf, it’s the only physical thing I’m good at.”
In a breathy whisper that’s dripping with my lust for her, I rasp, “Oh, I seem to remember other physical things you excelled at.”
Stiffening—just like my cock—she releases my hands and inches out of our almost-cuddle. In the process, her delectable ass grazes my protruding erection.
She gasps, obviously shocked. No doubt she knows her effect on me, so I’m confused by her surprise.
She takes a step forward, but I don’t let her move far.
“Don’t move yet,” I grit out. “Let me have this for another moment longer.”
Wordlessly, she removes the space separating us. “Have what?”
“Let me imagine we’re alone, and I’m showing you my appreciation for the golf lesson.”
Her breasts heave slowly with a deep inhale. “How would you do that?”
I remove my hand from the club and press it against her stomach, gently nudging her softness against me. “You feel that?”
In a breathy tone, she simpers, “It’d be pretty hard not to.”
“Cheap pun.”
“Doesn’t make it untrue.”
I stifle a laugh.
“Reed, we’re probably causing a scene.”
I tear my vision from her cleavage and study our positioning a bit closer, wondering what this looks like from an outsider. Not great, but certainly not offensive. Probably not the best for a federal agent, though.
Above all else, don’t embarrass the bureau is the mantra.
“Can I move now?” she rasps.
She sways her hips in an almost imperceptible circle. Through miraculous restraint, I refrain from pulsing forward so I don’t hump her ass in public.
Holds for applause.
Need to think about unsexy things and fast so I can let her go.
Oof. That thought stings.
In more ways than one, I don’t want to let her go. I crave her body pressed against mine with nothing separating us more than I crave my next breath.
However, I temporarily sated that need once before, and I’ve never stopped regretting it.
The thought of how we ended the last time helps deflate my cock enough that I don’t need her as an erection shield. I kiss the top of her head and release her.
As she saunters toward the table, I take the opportunity to look away and breathe in air that’s not full of her sweet scent. Time to refocus on the job.
Andrew’s advice streams behind my eyes like a breaking news tape at the bottom of a TV screen.
Don’t fall in love with the person of interest.
What Andrews didn’t tell me is how to handle it if I’m already in love with her. Because I don’t think I’ve ever fallen out of love with Lila Kent.
Morgan Freeman arrives, right on time and sounding satisfied as hell.
Finally, we’re getting somewhere. Maybe there’s hope for this burnt toast of a man after all.
Resting on the couch in the corner of the golf bay, she twists to face me. “That was a fun game. Are you mad I beat you?”
I chuckle. “Nope. I’m a gracious loser, as always.”
She pauses before taking a sip of her cocktail. “I’m glad this wasn’t in my mouth already, or I’d have done a spit take.”