Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
FINN
“Mini golf?” Genevieve gives me a skeptical look as I pull into the parking lot of King Putt, a relic of our teen years with its mismatched concrete dinosaurs and tiki torches that flicker against the twilight.
“What did you think we’d do?” I jump out of my truck and meet her as she climbs down.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Maybe go to Jude’s brewery and have a few beers.”
“I’d rather be sober for tonight,” I tell her in a low voice, leaning in close.
A subtle breeze wraps around us, kicking up her familiar scent. A shiver rolls through her, but I get the feeling it has nothing to do with the temperature, considering it’s a comfortable seventy degrees.
“This place has always been good for thinking about something else for a little while. Just don’t be upset when I kick your ass.” I throw her a playful smirk as we make our way toward the entrance.
“You think so, Lawrence?”
“Most definitely, Thomas.”
“Big talk for someone who cheats.”
“I don’t cheat. I strategize.”
Genevieve rolls her eyes, and I steer her toward the counter. There’s a short line, so I grab a couple of golf balls from the bins filled with balls of nearly every shade of the rainbow.
“Teal for you.”
She arches a brow as she takes the ball from me. “Did you just assume my color preference?”
“Teal’s been your favorite color since you were fourteen and declared pink was dead to you,” I remind her. “Don’t start pretending to like something else now.”
She shakes her head but smiles anyway, tossing the ball into the air and catching it. “It’s always been my lucky color.”
“You’ll need quite a bit of luck if you hope to stand a chance against me.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I pay for both of us, despite Genevieve’s protest, then grab our clubs.
The mini golf course is buzzing tonight — parents wrangling kids, teenagers in awkward date territory, and a group of moms chatting near the third hole while their kids run wild. The faint scent of fresh grass mixes with chlorine from the decorative waterfall, and the tiki torches crackle faintly in the breeze. Overhead, the last streaks of pink fade into a deep indigo sky.
A wave of memories washes over me as I take it all in, this night reminding me of another from years ago.
After my dad finally succumbed to the ALS that plagued him for years, Genevieve dragged me here, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. At least that’s what I thought at the time.
We played the whole course without saying a word. She didn’t ask me how I was doing after losing the most important person in my life, unlike everyone else. But Genevieve’s never been like everyone else. She always knew when I didn’t want to talk. When I needed to think about something other than hospitals and empty chairs at dinner tables. When I just needed to breathe.
Over the years, that’s exactly what mini golf has become for us. A place to breathe.
It’s where I took her when she moved back after her divorce. It’s where she takes me after I’ve had a difficult call at work. I figure it’s what we both need tonight, too.
“You’ve got an audience.” Genevieve’s voice pulls me out of my memories.
“What are you talking about?”
She nods toward the group of moms ignoring their kids on hole three.
I glance over and, sure enough, the group of married women are definitely checking me out. One even waves when she catches my eye.
“Great.”
“Didn’t she make the winning bid on you during the Founders Day auction last year?” Genevieve taunts with a smirk, referring to the platinum blonde at the center of the group.
“She didn’t bid on me . She bid on the experience I offered,” I correct.
The Founders Day Festival is an annual tradition in Sycamore Falls, celebrating the founding of our small town nearly a hundred and fifty years ago during the gold rush days. As a way to raise money for the local community center that provides assistance to those in need, there’s an auction where locals can bid on experiences to do with people in town. Breakfast with the mayor. A day of home improvement with a local handyman. My brother, Jude, even offers a beer-making class.
While most people bid on the experience they’re interested in without a single thought about who’s offering it, some bid because of that precise reason. Like Chassidy Monroe last year.
Even though she’s married.
That didn’t stop her from wearing a skin tight dress as I inspected her house for potential fire hazards.
“I bet you gave her quite the experience. She was talking about the experience for weeks after. Every time she came in the library, she’d tell everyone who listened how transcendental it was.”
“I did a fire inspection of her house and made recommendations to reduce her risk of fire.”
“Maybe fire safety is her kink.”
I shake my head, trying to ignore the way my body responds to hearing Genevieve talk about kinks. It makes me wonder if she has any kinks.
Would she be timid and shy? Would she be determined to remain in control? Or would she be adventurous?
“The only reason she won is because you refused to bid on me,” I tell her, not wanting to dwell too long on what Genevieve’s kinks may be. “I mean, my services.”
Her grin widens. “Hey, I’m not made of money. Plus, I didn’t want to bruise your ego by bidding five bucks.”
“Real supportive, Gen.” I playfully nudge her, thankful to have this version of her back. Not the woman overrun with nerves over the prospect of sleeping with her best friend.
“Someone’s got to keep you humble.”
“I’m glad it’s you.”
She holds my gaze for a beat, something shifting between us. Then she quickly spins around before it can build into something more, dropping her ball onto the green.
As she lines up her shot, she bends slightly, and my focus snags on the curve of her hips. I swallow hard, dragging my gaze upward, but it’s too late. I’ve already noticed the way her jeans cling to her in all the right places, including the sliver of skin where her shirt rides up as she shifts.
Finally, she takes her shot, and I exhale, thankful for the distraction. The ball rolls down the green, stopping just shy of the hole.
“Dammit,” she curses under her breath.
“Better luck next time. Now let a real pro show you how it’s done.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up in a way that’s downright distracting. “Oh, really?”
“Really.”
I purposefully avoid looking at her as I line up my shot, praying I don’t fuck it up. But instead of the smooth, controlled stroke I intend, the ball ricochets off a plastic dinosaur and lands in the rough.
Genevieve throws her head back and laughs, the sound sinking straight into my chest.
“Is that how it’s done?” she teases. “I thought the point of mini golf was to avoid the obstacles.”
“It was a warm-up shot.”
“Sure. Take as many warm-up shots you need.”
After four painful attempts, I finally sink the ball, and we move through the course, our banter easy, the tension between us settling into something familiar. When she misses an easy shot, I poke fun at her. When she sinks a hole-in-one, she throws her arms around me in celebration. It’s just like every other time we’ve been here.
Except it’s not.
“Who won?” Genevieve asks after she sinks her ball into the last hole and it disappears down the chute.
I tally up the scorecard, then wrinkle my brow.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” she presses, a triumphant lilt in her voice.
I blink repeatedly, certain I must have added wrong. I never lose to Genevieve.
Then again, I’ve been pretty distracted all night. I thought mini golf would be a safe bet, something to relax her.
But every time she lined up her shot, giving me a perfect view of her ass, I couldn’t stop thinking about what we’d be doing after we left here.
“Maybe,” I answer nonchalantly.
“Are you serious?” She snatches the scorecard out of my hand.
“Don’t let it go to your head. You got lucky. It won’t happen again.”
“We’ll see about that.” She laughs.
I love seeing her like this — flushed from victory, eyes bright, confidence radiating from her. It’s exactly what I wanted when I insisted we get out of her house. But what happens when we do go back to her house? Will the tension be back?
I know it will. Unless I do something to break it down first. To burst through the wall that’s always existed between us.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab her hand and tug her behind the large windmill.
“Finn, what are you?—”
I don’t give her time to finish. To overthink. To put space between us.
Instead, I press my lips to hers.
She stiffens immediately, her hands pushing against my chest. It’s not a shove. More of a warning. A hesitation.
I feel it in the way she presses against me. In the way her lips remain still. In the way her muscles tighten.
She’s resisting.
But it’s not just me she’s fighting. It’s herself. Her damn rules. The ones I have no business breaking, but I can’t stop myself.
Cupping her jaw, I angle her head and deepen the kiss, my tongue sweeping over the seam of her lips, coaxing them to part.
She inhales sharply.
A breath.
A shutter.
And then, finally, she surrenders to me.
Her fingers twist in my shirt, clutching me like she’s afraid I’ll pull away now that she’s opened to me.
She’s wrong.
I want more. So much more.
Digging my fingers into her hair, I take control of the kiss. Of her .
Her lips part for me, and the second our tongues meet, a quiet, breathy whimper spills from her throat. The sound punches through me, slamming straight to my gut.
Fuck .
That sound shouldn’t undo me like this.
I shouldn’t react this way. It’s just a whimper. Just a kiss.
I’ve kissed plenty of women. Heard countless whimpers just like that.
But this… This is different.
This is Genevieve .
And somehow, my body knows it.
I slide my free hand down the curve of her frame, my fingers flexing at her waist. It takes everything in me to resist the urge to pin her against the windmill. To press into her. Let her feel exactly what that innocent sound does to me.
I force myself to slow down. To ease back before I lose control.
But when I pull away, I don’t let go. My hands remain on her, my thumbs grazing the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. Her chest rises and falls in time with mine, our breathing uneven, unsteady.
Her lips are swollen. From me. The sight triggers something dark and possessive inside me. Something I shouldn’t like as much as I do.
“Ready to go home now?” I manage to ask, my voice rough and thick with restraint.
I half expect her to berate me for breaking the rules, to remind me this wasn’t part of our arrangement.
Instead, she swallows hard and gives a quick nod. “Yes.”
I don’t hesitate. I grasp her hand and all but drag her out of here before she can change her mind.