Epilogue （Bitsy, one year later）
Isipped a fun little cocktail as Granny and I drove the golf cart around the Town Premier Golf Course & Bait Shop. Managing a golf course had been a challenge at first. But I’d soon gotten the hang of it.
After all, if Mr. Van Buren had done it, how hard could it be?
Dad bought the run-down golf course out of sheer swamp stubbornness, but it turned out more people than we expected were pissed off by Mr. Van Buren’s management of the Whispering Sycamores Golf Course, and business was booming.
At first, I wasn’t sure Dad was going to make Chad the VP of Marketing. After all, Dad hadn’t traditionally been the biggest fan of my husband.
But it seemed like something must have changed, and I wasn’t sure if it was Chad quitting his job in such spectacular fashion. Or, much more likely, it was the fact that Chad had given him an opportunity to really stick it to this city slicker.
Whatever it was, Chad had been begrudgingly given the opportunity to be VP, and now the two of us ran the golf course while Granny spent her time designing insane new golf holes and suggesting adding crocs to the water hazards and vipers to the sand traps.
Back at the Whispering Sycamores, Zach had been given the VP spot over a depressed Kyle, but word on the street was that Mr. Van Buren was losing money fast over the newer, slicker, more exciting Town Premier Golf Course & Bait Shop.
We now sold worms. I mean, how much better could it get?
Dad didn’t quite live here full-time, but he and my brothers were here often enough for them to get their own apartments, which I know was a relief to Chad.
Maybe the county boys liked the city a lot more than they admitted, because they had all taken up golf too, and enjoyed wearing the tightest, brightest golf pants they could and challenging finance bros to a game.
Meanwhile, Chad and I had been dancing around starting to try for a baby. I wasn’t quite ready yet, I wanted to get my custom corporate lunch business off the ground first, but I was ready for a move in that direction, if you know what I mean. . .
“I think I’m ready,” I whispered as I pulled up to where my husband was concentrating on a putt.
Chad jerked so hard on the club that his putt shot off in down the bank into some sand.
“If you’d gone with my plan, that would’ve been a hell of a lot more interesting,” Granny complained.
But Chad only had eyes for me.
“Ready for what? What I think you mean? Oh hell yeah. Oh fuck yeah. Does that mean you forgive me?”
“You know I forgive you!” I squealed. “And yeah, I’m ready for some breeding kink talk in our roleplay.”
My husband grinned. Damn, he looked hot with that buttercup yellow golf shirt and those tight-ass lemon yellow golf pants showing off his muscular ass.
“I seriously want to get started right now,” he growled in my ear as he drew me away from the green.
“I’m not even ovulating!” I hissed back.
“I don’t care. I’m a fucking. . . massive daddy croc, with my fucking green snout, and I want to lay my eggs in you.”
“That’s not how it works, Chadley.”
“Oh, I know how it works,” he said, in the corniest fashion in the world, wiggling his eyebrows up and down at me.
“All right,” I said, slipping out of his grasp and dancing into the trees.
“Come catch me and lay your eggs in me if you dare. I’ll be a croc hunter so you better watch out. If you fail, I’ll make you into my purse.”
“Damn, that’s quite a motivation,” he snorted, setting his club down, but he was already chasing me through the trees.
Luckily I was in flats and a comfortable skirt, and I was already hundreds of yards away before he could even stow away his scorekeeping pencil.
“If I make it to the car first, you can carry your own damn eggs!”
“You’ll never make it, sweetheart!” Chad called, and I heard him pounding up in those wing-tip shoes, his cologne making me horny as hell.
“I’m not going to let you make a purse out of me, baby!” I giggled as I could feel his breath on my throat, but I ran even faster.
“Your balls will make a great pair of pom-poms.”
Ooh, there was the car. . .
I was just reaching out my fingers for the doorhandle and victory when Chad grabbed me and spun me around, kissing me thoroughly while he yanked open the back door with the other hand and we fell inside all in a tangle of limbs and bones.
“I’ve caught the great hunter,” he crowed in triumph, as I laughed, my blue hair spilling all over his tanned skin, my hands on his shoulders.
“What big teeth I have,” he added, biting down gently on my throat and sending a shiver down my spine.
“Now I’ll drag you off to my lair and have my wicked way with you.”
I raised my hips upward and wound my legs around his waist.
“Think you can make it back?”
“Hell no,” he grunted, slamming the door behind us. “Thank god for the heavy tint on these windows. Let’s go, baby girl, and don’t be stingy. I want to feel you squirting all down my golf shirt. . .”