5. WYATT
CHAPTER 5
WYATT
“I knew she’d get in your head today.” Dad smacks the steering wheel. “The second I saw her, I knew you’d lose your damn mind, like this is your first time on the golf course.”
“We’re still two under, and it’s definitely thanks to me,” I argue as I slide back into the golf cart outside the bar, the wrapped sandwich in my lap.
“You have a tour card, son. Don’t you understand? Now is not the time to get lazy or succumb to childish desires.” He scoffs. “We should be doing better. We should be five under.”
During the drive toward the next hole, he lists each and every one of my mistakes, scolding me for my pathetic chip out of the rough, the delayed pop of my hips on the last tee shot, and the divot I carved out on number fifteen as if I were digging for gold.
A red stain spreads across his face and neck as he continues. “It’s laughable. Even after all these years, how can you let a girl get to you like this?”
Larissa Emerson is not just any girl .
“Your mother and I sank a small fortune into your golf career, much like your uncle did with his sons. His eldest went and pissed it all away for a girl.” Dad shakes his head. “Branson was making his own billions, and look at him now, living in his old hometown with a bartender and wearing flip-flops every day.”
“He seems happy,” I whisper.
“He thinks he’s happy, but one day, he’ll wake up and realize he’s made a huge mistake. He’ll realize that town isn’t big enough, but it’ll be too damn late. Do you want to end up like him?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” I clip and purposely avoid any direct response to his ridiculous perspective of my cousin’s life. “We still have nine holes to play today, and tomorrow’s round will be ten times better. We’ll win the whole thing.”
“That’s the attitude we need.” He claps me on the shoulder, throws the cart into park with a jerk, and hops out.
Again, my father’s right. I used to think he was harsh as hell with his strict philosophies… until I experienced firsthand just how much truth lies in them. That truth has the power to destroy everything I’ve worked for.
This may be a silly holiday tournament, but there are much bigger implications if it continues to go this poorly.
Larissa distracted me once when it truly mattered, and she can do it again—that’s the fucking truth.
“I thought we’d get to see the great Wyatt Drake in action today, but sadly, he didn’t show up.” Mr. Ellis releases a hearty laugh.
Another of my father’s friends claps my shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow, sport.”
I choked.
I told my father I was fine, but I played worse than in the first half, plopping the ball into more bunkers than fairways.
And lucky fucking me, a whole audience witnessed my humiliation.
With blood roaring in my ears, I sidestep my father, who’s sure to have some snarky remark on the tip of his tongue, and take long strides toward the solace of the restroom. I need to get away from the mocking group.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I know it’s what they do. My father and his friends joke and rib each other more than they drink and smoke cigars—two of their favorite pastimes—but I’m not in the mood to be the butt of those jokes right now.
I didn’t even play this shitty after I sprained my wrist at the gym last year. My confidence is shaken. What if I can’t turn this around tomorrow? What if this curse follows me into the next tournament? It could be the beginning of the end for me, and what then? My career could be over at the ripe age of twenty-four, and I’d be the laughingstock of Magnolia Point—and beyond.
I came back to town to celebrate my tour card and spend Thanksgiving with my family. It was supposed to be a relatively relaxing week, but instead, I’m on my way to hide in the fucking restroom because the possibility of a bleak future is flashing before my eyes.
It’s a dramatic spiral I know too well.
It’s just what golf does to its players. It makes us question everything with every shank, slice, and whiff.
Sweat pools at my back as I turn the corner and run into none other than Larissa.
The plates stacked in her hands rattle, and I jump to steady them.
I clasp my hands around hers.
Her skin is still as velvety as I remember, and her petite hands fit perfectly in my large palms.
It brings back so many memories of touching her.
Holding her.
Kissing her.
My nerves knot, and before I think better of it, I snatch the plates, march them toward the buffet set up for the tournament players to enjoy, then storm back into the hall, where I drag her away with me.
I open the first door I find and nudge her inside. The room is empty, with only shelves of neat piles of folded tablecloths, along with napkins and other linens.
My father is nowhere to be found. It’s completely private.
“Have you lost your freaking mind?” Larissa gapes.
I dig the heel of my palm into my eye and take a deep breath to collect myself, but all it does is allow her sweet scent to fill my senses—bad idea. “Why are you fucking torturing me?” I growl.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“First, you spilled sweet tea on me. Then you drove my ball right into the water on seventeen with your sarcastic voodoo comments. I played terribly all morning because of you .”
“I think you’ve inhaled too much grass during all these years on the course.” Her eyes widen like she can’t believe what she’s seeing or hearing, and honestly, neither can I.
I’m going insane. Then again, she’s always made me crazy.
On a humorless laugh, she snaps, “Doesn’t this all sound a little too familiar?”
My nostrils flare as the searing memory of disappointment from my final round of high school golf slams into me. “If you’re referring to the state championship, you did distract me.”
“I was at prom a hundred miles away. How could I have possibly had any effect on you?”
“Because you were at prom without me,” I blurt.
“Whose fault was that?”
“I didn’t have a choice, and besides, I couldn’t control the fact that prom fell on the same weekend as state. I had to play.”
She purses her lips and backs away toward the one empty wall in the room. “You know what? You’re totally right about today. I heard you’d be here, so I slithered into my evil lair last night, stirred up a magic potion with my most sinister herbs, and concocted a plan to make you suck at golf. Happy?”
I twitch at the way she emphasizes the word concocted, specifically the middle part. Or did I imagine the verbal punch on cock ?
On top of that, she admitted to knowing I’d be here today, and she’s working, anyway. She might not have had a choice, but I’d like to believe she wanted to see me.
In any case, I harden faster than steel under heat.
“I don’t suck,” I grind out, my eyes narrowed into slits.
“Your scorecard could’ve fooled me.”
I toss my hat to the floor, then close the distance between us in one stride. With my hands cupping both her cheeks, I plant my mouth over hers.
Larissa melts into me, plunging her tongue between my hungry lips and kissing me back with fervor.
But it doesn’t last long.
She presses both hands to my chest and shoves me backward, tearing her lips away. “What do you think you’re doing?” she pants.
“Shutting you up.” I slam my mouth to hers again.
She claws at me.
She bunches my shirt in her small fists and yanks on the fabric like she’s trying to rip it from my body. The hem of my black polo rises up and out of the waistband of my pants, releasing it from its neat place.
Larissa unravels me.
She tastes of honey and memories past. All my favorite memories include this girl.
I kiss her more deeply and tug her more flush against me. She’s not fucking close enough.
With every moan of hers that I swallow, my dick screams louder and louder with need, dangerously close to splitting my pants wide open.
“Wyatt,” she breathes into my mouth, and my knees buckle.
Stars blink across my darkening vision.
Hot blood pumps through my veins faster as I slide my hand up her shirt, my fingers grazing her taut skin.
“I’ve always loved the way you say my name,” I say gruffly and shove her bra up and over her breast. Rolling her beaded nipple between my thumb and forefinger, I demand, “Say it again.”
“Yes, Wyatt.” She bites my bottom lip, and I hiss a curse. “I’ve always loved the way you touch me, Wyatt.”
She pushes her hand into the waistband of my pants.
My next words freeze on the tip of my tongue.
Even my next fucking thought comes to a screeching halt like a record scratch.
Her delicate fingers skate over my shaft, bending me to her mercy, but the door behind us opens.