Page 46 of The Sweet Spot

He knows there’s something going on between his daughter and me. I’d have to be a fool to think he didn’t see that almost-kiss just now.

There’s just one weird thing about this whole situation. He’s not looking at me like he wants to lock me in the back of a van, drive me out into the country, and leave me there. He’s smiling. An expression I’ve never seen on any of the women’s dads I’ve dated.

He’s happy about it.

I guess that’s not too surprising. The man has been a Fish fan his entire life; getting the Carolina Catfish's starting catcher as your son-in-law is probably the single greatest flex in the history of Catfish fandom.

I hold his gaze and tip my chin in response.

I know you know that I know you know.

He grins.

“Okay, kiddos,” he starts. “I’m going to head back into the clubhouse. They’ve got sandwiches, apparently.”

“No hot dogs?”

“Sorry, JB. We’ll have to save those for Monday.” He squeezes Whit’s shoulder and kisses her temple. “See you in there, sweetheart.”

He heads off across the now quiet green and Whit watches him the entire way. I find myself watching her. For someone who doesn’t like to show much emotion, I can see all the love she has for her father in her deep blue eyes.

Perfect. She’s absolutely phenomenal. Not only is she driven, competitive and family-oriented; she’s funny, loving and sexy.

“So,” she says, folding her arms and turning back to me.

Should I kiss her?

I want to. Badly.

“It worked,” I blurt out, holding my hands up, and making my fingers dance.

Yeah, it’s not my smoothest move, but I’ve never been cool no matter how hard I try.

She lets out a little laugh. “Oh, please. I think it had more to do with fixing your swing, than anything.”

I shake my head. “No. It was you. And you know what? I'm starting to think that if it worked that well with my golf game, maybe we should try it out before my game on Monday.”

Shit, did I really just ask her out on a date by offering to finger her before a baseball game?

Idiot.

“Oh my gosh.” She rolls her eyes, and her hand comes up, landing flat on my chest. She's absolutely about to push me away from her and say something sharp, but I take her wrist before she can and pull her in instead. She lets me, until there's almost no space between us.

Her eyes drop to my mouth.

Come on, Marlow. Make a move.

She steps back.

Both hands smooth her skirt, and she looks toward the clubhouse, then back at me. When her eyes land on mine, she's got most of the shutters back in place, but not all of them.

“I'll see you tonight,” she says calmly. Almost unbothered. “At the gala.”

“Yeah,” I say. “You will.”

“Good.” She nods once, then turns and walks toward the clubhouse. I stay exactly where I am, the trophy long gone, but the winning feeling still rushing through my veins.

“I’ll see you tonight, Coach,” I whisper to myself knowing full well there’s no way I can let this be the end.