Chapter 22
I had my feet propped up on the dash of the golf cart, sitting beneath the shade of a tree near the green of hole nine with a White Claw in my hand. I didn’t play golf—I thought the game was boring as hell—but my brothers did.
Brody came into town for a long weekend while his new bride was on a girls’ trip with her sister and mom.
When he and Wyatt told me they were going to Briarcliff Golf Course that morning, I invited myself along.
I liked driving the carts, so I offered to be their chauffeur to spend time with them and to get out of spending my Sunday sitting around my apartment doing nothing.
After finishing hole nine, I watched them walk back toward me, and I dropped my feet and started up the cart. “Ya know, I could get used to this,” Wyatt said as he sat beside me.
“As long as she doesn’t crash,” Brody added as he took the back. “We both know what kind of driver she is.”
I pressed my foot on the pedal before he was entirely settled, jerking the cart forward and making him stumble off the back seat. “You little—”
“Oops,” I deadpanned.
Wyatt chuckled. “Come on. Get on.”
Once Brody was back in his seat and holding on, I drove along the path toward the next hole. When we neared, we saw two guys just setting up their tees, so I slowed the cart to a stop and shut it off to wait for them to finish.
One swung and launched his ball, sending it too far to the right, and when the guy beside him laughed at the bad shot, I stiffened.
I knew that laugh.
The man turned, giving me a better view of his face, and sure enough, it was Wes.
He walked up to his tee and set the ball down, saying something to the guy he was with—I didn’t recognize him—before getting himself into a stance with his knees slightly bent, and his arms extended yet relaxed as he gripped the handle.
When he swung, he sent the ball sailing in what I assumed to be an impressive shot based on Wyatt’s and Brody’s mutterings.
“Damn…did you see that?”
“I want to know what clubs he’s using.”
We watched as they slid their clubs back into their bags and hopped on their cart before driving off. I drove down the hill, stopping near the tee box, and Wyatt and Brody jumped off the cart.
“Looks like one of them dropped a towel,” Brody said, picking it up. He looked at the logo stitched on it and blew out a breath. “Shit. One of them has TaylorMade.”
Wyatt’s brow arched. “That explains a lot.”
I had no idea what the hell that meant, and before I could ask, Brody laughed as he tossed the towel, smacking me in the face with it. I knew exactly whose towel it was based on the lingering smoky amber and citrus scent that abruptly engulfed my senses.
Wes.
I looked down at where it plopped onto my lap. How did a damn golf towel smell like him?
“Mind if I have that back?” I snapped my gaze up to see Wes standing on the other side of my cart, wearing a smirk. I rolled my eyes, tossing it to him, and he caught it with a chuckle. “Fancy running into you here, Princess. I didn’t know you golfed.”
“I don’t.”
“Friend of yours?” Brody asked curiously, probably from hearing the stupid nickname.
I glanced at Wes, seeing him smirk before I looked back at my brother. “No.” We weren’t friends. We were just fucking, but I couldn’t say that.
Wes laughed with a subtle shake of his head before extending his hand toward Brody. “Wes Callahan. We have mutual friends.”
Wyatt snapped his finger. “You’re the lawyer…the one that helped Callie.”
Wes nodded. “That’s me.”
“She said a lot of good things about you.”
“At least someone has good things to say,” Wes said with a chuckle and a glance at me. “You must be Morgan’s brothers?”
“Wyatt.”
“Brody.”
Wes shook Wyatt’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Those your TaylorMade’s?” Brody asked.
“Yeah.”
“Those are some nice clubs,” Wyatt said.
Wes smiled. “They get the job done.”
“We saw you drive that last ball.” Brody grinned. “That was a hell of a shot.”
I could see Wes fighting back a smirk, and it gave me an uneasy feeling. “Well, since we’re at the same hole, if you guys wanna join us and take a few swings with them, you’re more than welcome.”
Wyatt and Brody beamed, but I shook my head. “No.” All three of them looked at me. “I’m sure he has much better things to do than golf with strangers. I know we do.”
“I don’t, actually,” Wes said with a smirk. “Plus, Chad down there sucks and doesn’t give me much competition, and based on your scorecard”—he gestured to their card on the dash of the golf cart—“you two would be a hell of a lot more fun and worthy to beat.”
“Beat?” Wyatt scoffed. I could see his competitive side flare to life, but instead of being offended by someone he didn’t know making such an assumption and putting him in his place like I thought my big brother would, he laughed. “You’re on.”
“What?” I looked between them. “No, look—”
“You guys finish up here, and we’ll meet you over on hole eleven,” Wes interrupted.
“Sounds like a plan,” Brody replied with a nod.
My brothers turned and headed toward the tee box, and Wes shot me a grin, letting his eyes travel over my black tank top and matching tennis skirt. “Stop looking at me like that,” I hissed.
“See ya soon, Princess.” He winked before walking back to where the other guy was waiting in the cart.
What the hell?
For the next hour, I drove my brothers around, following behind Wes and his friend Chad from hole to hole.
They all laughed and made easy conversation while I kept my ass on the golf cart, scowling at Wes suddenly being buddy-buddy with my brothers.
I don’t know how guys did it—they could strike up conversations with perfect strangers and be best friends by the end of it.
The next thing I knew, Brody and Wyatt were going to start talking to and hanging out with Wes on a regular basis.
No. That could absolutely not happen.
It was one thing for us to be around each other because of our already established mutual group of friends…and for us to meet up here and there for random sex. It was a whole other thing for us to bleed into each other’s lives outside of that.
Wes was right about one thing, though. His friend Chad sucked at golf. He’d just sent another ball rogue, and it disappeared into the thick forest bordering hole seventeen. “Fuck. I need that ball,” he groaned.
“Jesus Christ,” Wes mumbled before walking toward his golf cart. “Just…grab one of mine, and I’ll see if I can find that one.”
“Mo, why don’t you go help him?” Wyatt offered.
Wes chuckled. “Yeah, Mo.”
I raised a brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” Wyatt said. “You’re just sitting there. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
I let out a breath. “Fine, but I’m driving.”
Wes smirked as he made his way over to my golf cart. “I’m good with that.” He slid into the seat beside me and dropped his voice down. “You know how much I enjoy it when you give me a ride, Princess.”
I rolled my eyes as he chuckled, pressing my foot to the pedal.
We drove down to the wooded area and parked the golf cart on a path between the trees, where the ball appeared to drop before we both got out and started looking. “How the hell are we supposed to know it’s his ball we find?”
“Because he has special balls.” Wes chuckled. “They have his initials on them.”
My brow furrowed. “That’s…”
“Yeah, I know.”
After several minutes of searching, I spotted a ball in a small brush area and bent down and grabbed it. My brow furrowed. “Are his initials C.O.C.?”
“Yeah.” Wes snorted. “That’s it.”
I looked at him. “You’ve totally made fun of him for this, haven’t you?”
He walked toward me. “You think I’d let him live that down?”
“I’d expect nothing less from you, honestly.” I handed him the ball, and he slipped it into his pocket as his eyes traveled over me again. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re imagining me naked.”
“I don’t have to imagine, Princess.” He took another step toward me. “I’ve seen you naked. What I’m imagining is you bent over in that skirt.”
I ignored the way his words sent a jolt straight to my core. “It’s not a skirt.” I lifted the hem, showing the attached spandex shorts beneath it. “It’s a skort.”
Wes shrugged. “Okay, well, now I’m just imagining it around your ankles. The outcome is still the same.”
I shook my head, turning and continuing to the golf cart. He stopped me just as I reached it, spinning me to face him as he pressed me against the hood of it. “What are you doing? We’re in the middle of the damn woods at a golf course.”
“Yeah…and? I don’t see anyone else around.”
“We have about ten minutes before my brothers or Chad come looking.”
A cocky grin graced his lips. “My fingers can have you coming in five.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
I felt his fingers skim my thigh as he leaned in and brushed his lips against my ear. “Shall we test it?” His hand disappeared under my skirt, and his finger slid under the hem of the shorts—he tugged, then let it snap back against my skin.
His nose brushed along the column of my neck as his hand wandered, rubbing against the fabric of the shorts between my legs. And worse…I let him do it. “Wes…”
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
That thrum flourished into a full-blown ache, and I let out a breath. “No…”
His lips stretched into a smirk against my neck. “Atta girl.”
I reached for his pants, but he grabbed my wrist to stop me as he drew back to meet my gaze. “I thought—”
“I don’t have a condom on hand this time, Princess. This is all about you.”
Fuck. That shouldn’t turn me on—hell, none of this should turn me on…not him, not the fact that we were in the damn woods at a public golf course in broad daylight with my brothers up the hill on the other side of the trees concealing us…but it did.
“Lift your leg,” he commanded. I obeyed, lifting it and resting my foot on the front tire to give him better access.
His hand moved from under the skirt to my stomach before dipping beneath the waistband of both the skort and my underwear, and a breathy moan slipped past my lips when he stroked a finger against my clit. “So damn wet already.”
My hand went to his shoulder, gripping it to steady myself. “Wes,” I whimpered.
He plunged two fingers inside of me, and I sucked in a sharp breath as my body shuddered from the welcomed intrusion. “You need to be quiet. Don’t want your brothers to hear you scream, do you?”
Easy for him to say.
I tucked my lips between my teeth as he pumped his fingers while his thumb circled my clit.
My hips rolled, grinding against his hand, and it didn’t take long before I felt myself tiptoeing along that edge.
My fingernails dug into his shoulder over the fabric of his shirt, and I felt him tense beneath my hand.
I looked down, and another quiet moan escaped me as he picked up the speed of his fingers, watching the way the muscles in his forearm corded as he worked me. “You like that, Princess? Seeing how I fuck your pussy with my fingers?”
Both his words and a curl of his fingers drew another moan from me. My knees began to buckle, and my hand slid up to grip the back of his neck. “Wes, I’m–I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he rasped. “Come for me.”
He slammed his fingers into me up to the knuckles and crashed his lips against mine, swallowing my moan as I came. My body jerked and trembled as I clenched around his fingers, and when he drew his lips back from mine, I was panting, still gripping the back of his neck.
“I said five minutes, but I think that was four.” He smirked, slowly withdrawing his hand.
He held my stare as he brought his fingers to his mouth, and when he sucked them clean, I watched his pupils dilate.
“That’ll tide me over until later,” he said huskily, and I gave him a curious look.
“I have dinner tonight, but I’ll be at your place after for dessert… if you’re up for it.”
My breathing started to slow as I held his stare and nodded. “Yeah.”
Wes used the few moments I took to fix my clothes into place to compose himself before we got into the golf cart and headed back up the hill to meet my brothers and Chad.
None of them seemed to have a clue what we’d just been up to as the four of them got right back to their game of golf.
And I watched Wes the rest of the afternoon, my mind conjuring up thoughts and images of what was to come that night.
I didn’t get it. I didn’t get how I could go from wanting to strangle him one minute to him turning me into a needy mess who needed more of him the next.
None of it made sense.
Not him.
Not me.
Not this.
But no matter how little sense it made, it kept us both satisfied and worked.
So I continued to go with it.