Page 88 of The Sweet Spot

She stares at me. I stare back, holding a duffel full of gloves I fully intend to use on her before her flight.

She closes her eyes. Shakes her head, and smiles.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

“Wait, seriously?”

She rolls her eyes as she takes my hand and guides me down the steps. “If we’re soaking ninety day’s worth of gloves, we’ve gotta get started.”

“You got it, Coach.” I laugh, letting her take me wherever she wants to go.

Epilogue

Nine Months Later

The thing about defending a title is that everyone expects you to be nervous.

I'm not nervous.

I'm annoyed, which is an entirely different emotion. And the source of my annoyance is currently standing fifteen feet away from me on the practice green doing the exact same spine-wringing stretch I told him not to last time.

Nine months, and he's still stretching wrong.

His club is behind his back, his arms are looped over either end, and he's wiggling his ass flagrantly to all who want to see.

I'm going to spank his ass tonight if he doesn't get his shit together.

I head toward him, and when I'm facing him, his eyes are closed and he has this small, satisfied smile on his face.

I don't say a thing. I just cross my arms and stare at him.

“Knew this would get you to come over,” he sings with his eyes still closed. “Missed you this morning.”

“You're going to be tight for the first three holes,” I say monotonously, glancing down at his catfish printed pants. The same print that's on my skirt. At least it's not one giant fish, showing off my holes again.

“Good morning to you too, Coach.” He opens his eyes, his dark eyes sparkling as his grin grows wide. “I'd ask how you slept, but I kind of got the answer when I woke up and you weren't in the apartment.”

I shake my head, ignoring his comment. I wasn't in our apartment when he woke up because I had to do a few interviews before the start of play. Not that it matters right now.

Stepping forward, I rest my hands on his hips, and even though I've done this a thousand times, he still jumps slightly. “I'm being serious. You're rotating without any hip engagement.” I move his hips, trying to prove my point.

“Mhm. You weren't complaining about my hip engagement last night, Coach.” He cocks a brow.

I will not blush.

That's what he wants.

“I think I vaguely remember you calling my name when I thrust—”

I immediately place my hand over his mouth, stopping him from finishing that sentence.

“We are in public, JB. You can't talk dirty to me here. We have to be professional.”

I drop my hand away from his mouth, taking my time just in case he says something else. When all I'm met with is a goofy smile, I place my hands on my hips.

“Good boy. Keep quiet and win and who knows what will happen when we get home.”

“Home. Fuck. Say it again, baby. We're going home together tonight.”