Page 29 of The Sweet Spot

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.