Chapter 10
If I were with anyone other than Finn right now, the police would have already hauled me away in the back of a cop car.
The list of men he’s pretended to be tonight shows no sign of stopping by the time we reach the seventh hole, and he fumbles, dropping his ball. Tripping over his feet, my ex-best friend bumps into me and laughs while I consider tossing my club into the small moat beside us and then drowning him.
“Oh, I’m just so clumsy! Sorry.”
“Clumsy is one word for it.”
He scrambles for his ball along the turfed course before finally grabbing it and running back toward the starting position. The light in his eyes keeps me from scolding him for this ridiculous role.
“Do you mind standing over to the side a bit?” he asks, placing his ball on the ground and standing in position.
I lunge away from him, placing a wide gap between us.
“I just don’t want to accidentally swing at your face, you know?”
“Oh, of course. You’re so thoughtful.”
I can hear his smirk when he says, “Thank you! I think sometimes people assume I’m just this messy, clumsy guy, but I’m a real sweetheart.”
“Messy?”
He laughs awkwardly and attempts to swing his club.
Apparently, he’s so committed to this bit that he’s willing to injure himself, because in a blink, he’s losing his balance and falling forward onto his knees.
The move is so sudden I don’t have half a second to retreat before he crumbles onto the turf and rolls onto his back.
My foot gets trapped beneath his weight as he howls into the night, reaching over himself to cup his shin.
“How embarrassing! I’m sorry you’ve had to see me like this!” he cries out, shaking his head free of his cap.
“Get up, Finn. I swear—”
“Please! Don’t give up on me yet. I swear I can be better. Just help me up!”
“This is when I’d leave if you were quite literally anybody else, by the way,” I tell him tightly before offering him my hand. “You’d be blocked by the time I reached the parking lot.”
“What if I had a heart of gold but was just a bit too loud and clumsy?”
Taking my hand, he readjusts his fallen hat and pushes to his feet.
His warmth overwhelms me when he stands close, his bright eyes full of mischief.
I try to stay firm, but it’s always been hard to do that with him.
We shouldn’t get along the way we do, considering how opposite we are.
I’m stern and planned, and he’s lighthearted and living every day as they come.
Yet here he is, making me want to try to open myself up to the goal he’s been wanting me to accomplish. To be willing to overlook a few flaws to see a person who may be perfect for me beneath them. It’s a task that I haven’t been able to succeed at in my entire life.
Finn strokes my knuckles once before releasing my hand and stepping back. “You hate chaos, Bree. We both know that, but do you really think that if you found a guy you liked enough, you wouldn’t be able to overlook that a bit?”
“Being chaotic isn’t a flaw, Finn. It’s a part of someone’s genetic makeup. I’m sure I could overlook some little things if I enjoyed the man’s presence enough, but that? It’s the opposite of who I am.”
I’ve done it before with every man I’ve dated. And look where I am now. Where it got me.
“That’s fair. I’ve only got one more date to test you with.”
I swallow a groan. “Please don’t make it worse than the others.”
“I won’t.” He takes his place by the three plastic sunflowers and taps his ball with just enough pressure to have it winding up the small hill toward the narrowing pipe leading to the hole. “If I sink this, you owe me a kiss on the cheek.”
My brow jumps as I watch him follow the ball up the course, digesting those words. “You’re that confident in your putt-putt skills?”
“No, but I’m willing to take a shot at something I really want on the off chance I succeed.”
“Oh.” Pathetic, Aubrey.
His ball doesn’t stop rolling, even when it pops out on the other side of the pipe and takes the curved path. It doesn’t seem to be slowing down at all.
“Don’t look so terrified, Bree. We’ve kissed at least twice in the past,” he teases, winking so quickly I almost miss it.
“I’m not terrified. You just took me by surprise.”
His familiar laugh trickles behind him as he follows his still-rolling ball.
The light-washed jeans he’s wearing make it impossible not to stare at his ass when he turns from me completely, bending slightly to watch his inevitable win.
It’s nearly ass porn, really. And even when I drop my ball to the turf and take a few practice swings to distract myself, I still wind up glancing over.
There’s no way his ball hasn’t stopped yet.
“And that’s what I’m talking about!”
My chest tightens when I turn my head just enough to see him grinning down at the hole that now houses his ball. “There’s no chance that actually went in.”
“Come closer and take a look if you don’t believe me.”
“And risk you cashing in on your kiss already? Not a chance.”
There’s a weird sensation that comes to life in my stomach as I say those words, and I’m quick to swat it away.
Clearing my throat, I look away from him and focus on replicating his exact stance and swing.
I’m not a good golfer on a good day, and with every hole we come to a stop in front of, I have to mentally prepare myself for my inevitable loss.
This time, it seems to be even more embarrassing when I give the ball a hard tap and watch it ping off the side of the pipe and go flying into the small moat with a loud plop.
“Here. Catch.”
Finn’s voice draws my attention back to him once again as he pulls his ball from the hole and tosses it across the course at me. By some miracle, I catch it, gripping it tight.
“This won’t buy you extra winnings,” I warn, the corner of my mouth lifting.
“Nah, consider that a freebie.”
“Lucky me.”
“I thought so. How about you try to get it in the pipe this time?”
My glare is instant, but he wards it off with a loose laugh. Wandering back toward me, he watches my every move, making my skin start to itch.
“Stop staring at me. It’s distracting,” I mutter, setting my feet apart and tightening my grip on my club.
I wiggle my shoulders to free them of the weight of his attention and pull the club back. My attention snaps to the hand slowly closing around mine and the large, firm body surrounding me. Finn’s skin is hot when he gently pries my fingers from the club and guides them up an inch.
“This should be a bit better. Try it now,” he murmurs against the side of my head.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
My inhale catches in my throat. “I can’t swing with you so close.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re restricting my movement.”
His chest rumbles against my back, and I think my hands must slip from the sweat I’m suddenly dripping because he has to fix my hold again. He doesn’t speak another word before guiding the club back. I let him move me because truthfully, I’m unsure I’m thinking clearly enough to do it myself.
It’s obvious that he’s fully immersed in his next role right now, but I can’t figure out what he’s trying to prove here.
Clearly, he knows what I like and what I don’t by now.
This guy he’s pretending to be is the best option he’s given me tonight, which should have been obvious, considering his last few roles.
Gentle, guiding without mansplaining, and touchy in a way that doesn’t make me want to slap him.
With a relaxed exhale, Finn brings the flat edge of the club back to the ball and gives it a hard tap.
The ball shoots off toward the pipe’s opening and glides right inside before popping out on the other side.
I lose sight of it for a moment and hesitate to break free of the body wrapped around mine, keeping me held in place.
The familiar scent of his cologne soaks into my blouse and the loose curls pressed between us, ensuring I’ll smell it long after this night ends.
Finn’s fingers drop, but he doesn’t step back. I flex my hold on the club before releasing one of my hands and palming my thigh, subtly wiping it dry. My shoulders relax a bit as I prepare to step out of his hold, already twisting at the hips.
“Even if your ball sinks, I still won,” he says as he reaches up to pinch my chin. “I’m collecting.”
My tongue tries to fall back into my throat and choke me when he uses his hold to turn my head and swoops in to press his lips to my warm cheek.
Embarrassment floods me, knowing that he can feel how affected I’ve become by this entire thing.
He’s still kissing me when I backpedal and move away with a forced laugh.
I wipe my cheek dry the moment I’m away from him and play the entire thing off with a cool roll of my eyes.
My mind is throbbing with confusion as I wet my parched lips and start walking to the end of the course.
His eyes are plastered to my back, burning through my blouse and into my goddamn soul as I awkwardly swing my golf club.
“Okay, so maybe you know what you’re talking about. It actually went in.”
There’s a beat of silence before he replies, “So much for all that trust, eh?”
“You didn’t specify trusting you about golf. You’ll need to be clearer next time. Plus, that trust was for you, not whoever you’re pretending to be right now.”
“Always the lawyer, Bree,” he muses, joining me again.
This time, he keeps a small distance between us and uses two fingers to pull the ball free. I swallow before lifting my eyes and meeting his soft stare. Muscle by muscle, I relax again, letting go of all that weird tension.
“Well, were you keeping notes tonight? I expect a full debrief now that we’re finished with all this terrible speed dating,” I say.
His smile is instant, genuine. “Yeah, honey muffin. ’Course I did.”
“Call me that again and I’ll tell the first reporter I see outside one of your next games that you still bring the stuffed giraffe you got as a baby on every road trip.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
We stand across from each other and stare harder and harder as every moment passes. My stubbornness flares as I refuse to back down, knowing better than anyone that in about five seconds, Finn’s going to give in and act offended as if this doesn’t happen every single time.
“You suck,” he grunts while blinking and starting toward the exit.
Dropping my head forward, I laugh to myself and follow him. “Don’t be a sore loser. That’s unsportsmanlike.”
“I’m going to abandon you here.”
“No, you’re not. You’d worry too much.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a know-it-all?”
“Only approximately five times a day.”
He slows his steps near the front booth, where we grabbed our clubs and balls. With a turn of his head, he has me trapped beneath in a gaze so bright it twinkles even in the shadows. “Which date was your favourite?”
“None of them.”
“If you had to choose one, who would it be?”
There’s not a chance I’m telling him the truth here.
“Finn, this is hopeless. You’re never going to be able to find the perfect guy for me.”
“Yeah, I am. I know what your absolute no gos are now, and the next time I set you up with someone, I’m going to be on the phone so I can help walk you through some of the situations that are sure to make you stumble.”
“Wow, sound a bit more confident about my lack of dating skills, please,” I mutter, feeling more defeated by the minute.
“You know what I mean, Aubrey. It’s easier for you to attack the smallest imperfection than to sit and consider if it truly is as bad as it seems. I can help with that.”
Reaching behind my head, I pull my hair over my shoulders and sigh. “Are you really that great on dates? You don’t judge and get freaked out at all?”
“Oh, I do, but I just . . . hide it better.”
“Show me, then.”
He pauses, jaw slack. “What?”
“Go out on a date with someone and let me watch and listen,” I explain with a quick shrug. When he continues to stare at me in silence, I add, “Don’t tell me you don’t have anyone who you could call up and ask out.”
“I mean, sure I do.”
“So?”
“When would you want me to set this date up for?”
“What about your next home stretch? I’ll be at the game on Saturday, so worst case, I’ll find you a date in the stands if you can’t wrangle one up yourself.”
He visibly cringes. “I’ll find one.”
“It’s a deal, then.” I extend a hand.
“Oh, this is full handshake–worthy?”
“Yep. I’m serious, Finn. By the time you’re home again, I’ll have barely over a month left before the gala.”
Nerves twist in my stomach as I shift on my heels, waiting for him to take my hand.
His expression softens slightly when he notices and slaps his hand into mine.
He immediately releases it to drop his fist onto the one I make before knocking it against the opposite side.
Our childhood handshake isn’t anything elaborate, but it’s us. It’s as good as a blood oath.
“I’ll make the plans, Bree,” he swears, and I believe him.