6. Chapter 6
Come on.
My fingers tap against the top of my golf club as I watch Max hovering over the putt on the eighteenth hole.
His shoulders are square, his jaw is tight, and he’s been looking between the ball and the hole for the last forty-five seconds.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him visibly nervous all day, which isn’t surprising since it’s all come down to this final hole.
If he gets this in, then he and Jess are in the lead heading into tomorrow’s final round.
It also means if he doesn’t, we've managed to claw our way back into that position.
How we got this close to them between the tenth and the eighteenth can only be down to one thing.
Whit relaxed. Granted, she still won’t look at me, but that’s not surprising. I get it. I can imagine it’s hard to look at the guy who finger-banged you into a potential winning streak without wanting it to happen again.
She’s standing beside me now, her arm brushing against mine as she watches Max hit the putt.
The ball moves across the green, and for a second, nobody moves.
Hell, I don’t think anyone is breathing at this point.
The ball tracks dead center before catching the slope and drifting left. Max, Jess, and their caddies collectively lean with it as it tracks toward the cup. Every inch it rolls feels like a year.
Come on.
The ball keeps rolling.
Closer.
Closer.
Then it reaches the hole, but catches on the edge of it.
Whit rises onto the tips of her toes beside me.
The ball circles the rim once. Twice.
Don’t go in. Don’t go in.
For one impossible second, it hangs there.
Then, all of a sudden, the ball spins out and trickles away from the cup.
Everyone is silent as we take in what just happened.
He missed it. He fucking missed it.
I shout across the quiet green, stunning everyone before I can stop myself. It echoes across the fairway, making a bunch of birds fly out of several trees beside us, but I don’t care. All I care about is the fact that we somehow managed to lead by one.
“We did it, Whit,” I say, pulling her into my arms and spinning her around.
Her hair flings across my face, and the smell of her vanilla and honey shampoo fills the air, reminding of when she was on top of me.
That's when I remember her smell.
My dick stirs and my mouth salivates, jealous of everything my fingers got to experience.
Fuck.
Is it the pheromones she’s producing that are causing me to act like a teenager with a boner for the first time? Nah, it’s probably the fact that my celebrity crush let me watch her fall apart on my fingers and control it.
I dig my fingers into her shoulders, only then realizing they still smell of her.
My body freezes for just a second, except for my cock, which is growing at such a pace, pulling out of this hug might be embarrassing. She doesn't notice my discomfort because she's still laughing with her hands on my shoulders, riding the win.
Wish she’d ride something else.
“We did it,” she repeats, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes.
Face to face, our breath mingling, all I want to do is cup the back of her head and kiss her, but there are people watching, and I’ve already got a dick problem in my very tight golf pants. Don’t need to add to it.
Squeezing her waist, I carry her the entire way to the golf cart.
“Good game,” I say to Max and Jess as we walk past.
“What are you doing?” Whit hisses.
I just smile, trying to walk, hold her, and keep my boner in check at the same time.
I round the golf cart before putting her down, and she glares at me with confusion.
“What—” It’s only when she looks down and sees me adjusting my cock that she steps back.
“Oh, um, okay.” It’s all she gets out as she smooths down her catfish skirt and looks anywhere but at me.
Is she trying to hide a smile?
It certainly looks like it. She's happy.
Actually happy, and I want to take it in, but I'm aware of how weird that would be while I’m still nursing an erection.
So I look at my hand instead, studying my fingers and thinking about where they were just an hour ago.
My boner is still there, wishing it was invited to the party at the tenth hole.
After a few minutes, she steps forward and rests her hand on my shoulder.
“You played well today,” she says, which I can only assume is a vain attempt at changing the subject. “The back nine was solid. Hopefully, we can play like that tomorrow.”
Yeah, that’s only gonna happen if—
“You seemed relaxed too.” I cut off my own thoughts, knowing full well how we can ensure we play like that.
“I wasn’t relaxed. I was focused.”
“Mhm, but it's a different kind of focused.” I hold her gaze, trying to drop a hint that it had everything to do with her coming undone on my fingers.
She looks at me for a second before turning her attention to the clubhouse, purposefully not picking up on the hint.
Oh, you want to play it like that?!
“Things shifted after the cart,” I add, removing any pretense of subtlety. “Everything started clicking into place.”
Like my fingers in your pussy.
Her lips purse, her cheeks flush, and instead of looking at me, she shakes her head vigorously.
“It was nothing,” she says with wavering conviction.
“Just a way to release some pressure.” It sounds so rehearsed, I wonder if she's been practicing it in her head this entire time.
She flits her hand in my direction. “We had tension, and it needed somewhere to go. It was a release valve, if you will.”
Release valve?
That's an unexpected way to describe what happened, but she's clearly in denial if that little squeal and moan she gave me just before she came is anything to go by.
“Sure, that's what it was,” I say, watching her expression. “But don't you think it's interesting that we weren't playing great until the cart? After that, everything worked... almost like magic.”
“Magic?” She starts adjusting the golf clubs in her bag to distract herself. She did the same thing earlier, thinking she’s subtle. She’s not.
“Yeah, you know, I think you relaxed because you knew I had something of yours on me."
She takes a deep breath, and I hold back my smile, knowing I’ve poked the bear.
"Helped me play a lot better knowing I could smell you.”
Whit whips around so fast her ponytail nearly knocks me out. “You can’t be serious?”
I shrug, taking a tiny step back to give myself some space. “I dunno. This just feels a lot like that fourteen-game winning streak I had back in my first big league season. Didn't wash my batting gloves once.” I pause and raise a brow. “Same principle.”
Her nose crinkles, her lip curls, and she looks at me the same way she did when I mentioned I'd shower before today. Disgust and slight intrigue, though she'd never admit it.
“That is—” She stops herself, shaking her head.
“I'm just saying, we've got another round tomorrow.”
My fingers dance beside me, drawing her attention, but she refuses to look. The tension between us has absolutely nothing to do with golf, and I'm sure we are both extremely aware of it.
She opens her mouth.
“Callahan.” Max appears at my shoulder.
Whit steps back, smooths down her skirt again, and pretends nothing happened.
The moment is gone, but not my thought process behind it.
We won because of that moment.
“Brennon. Sorry about that minor blip in judgement earlier. Didn’t mean to yell,” I say.
“No problem, man. Good game.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, pulling him into a bro hug. Max and I have been through too much over the years to let a little game of golf get between us. “You played great.”
“Yeah, well, I'd appreciate you taking the energy you got from the tenth and bringing it to our next game post All-Star Break. You were on fire.”
“It was very impressive,” Jess interjects as she leans against Max. “You even managed to calm Whit down.” She tilts her head. “Let me in on the secret. What did you do?”
She knows.
I made sure to drive us far away enough that no one could hear us, so she must be just basing this on Whit’s actions.
“We had a heated discussion. That's all,” Whit answers for us, putting to bed any further conversation.
Jess puffs out an amused breath. “Give me that kind of heated discussion, please.”
“Drinks?” Max asks. “After the TV interviews?”
“Sure,” I say.
“I can't—” Whit says at the same time. We all watch her, waiting for an explanation. Her eyes widen and her mouth opens a few times while she thinks up an excuse. Whit's a terrible liar, which is funny considering how controlled she is about everything else in her life.
“My agent's been calling all day about a scheduling thing that I need to deal with tonight.” She gives a vague hand gesture. “You guys go. Have fun, and I’ll be there tomorrow at the dinner.”
Her gaze sweeps over the group until it lands on me, but she doesn’t say a thing.
Before I can stop her, she’s walking away, that catfish skirt taunting me as it flits in the air.
Jess tilts her sunglasses down and gives me a long look. I give her nothing. She pushes them back up.
Max watches the clubhouse door swing shut and frowns. “What's wrong with her?”
I look down at my right hand.
“No idea,” I say. Luckily for her, I'm a better liar.
Eighteen holes tomorrow. If we want to win this tournament, we've got to do just as well, if not better.
I've found a formula that works. Now I just need to convince Whit it works too.