Page 29 of Sundown Somewhere

“Last hole. You ready for this?” Hux asks.

“I’m ready for a drink,” I tell him, knowing that I’ve lost this game so badly it’s not even funny.

I haven’t been paying close attention to the score, but I know that based on how many more questions I’ve had to answer over the last few hours compared to him, I’m in deep.

“That’s on the docket for later,” he laughs. “Then the real trouble can start.”

“Winner’s buying.”

Hux lets out a loud, boisterous laugh. “I was always buying.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Ladies first.”

He gestures toward the alligator at the end of the long straight fairway, its mechanical jaw opening and closing at a deceiving pace. I know this is going to take me a hundred tries, and can only hope that it takes Hux two hundred so that I can talk him into doing shots instead of questions for this round.

First shot, miss.

“Nice and slow, Doll. With the gator.”

“With the gator? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Here.” He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around me, pressing his front to my back, lining up his arms along mine to help me swing. I relax into him, inhaling deeply, wondering how he still smells so good after an afternoon out in the sun. All woodsy and manlike. Slowly, he draws our arms back, swinging the club softly, hitting the ball and sending it down the fake grass in a straight line. “With the gator.”

Resting my head against his chest, I watch as the gator swallows the ball, loving that he knew exactly what to do and hating that he was so good that he got it right the first time, and now he has to let go.

Stepping back from me, he repeats the motion by himself, getting his on the first try. A hole in one.

Shit.

It’s his first—and only—of the game, so there’s no way he’s not going to collect. Because he’s already made it clear I’m going to pay.

“What’s the price?” I ask.

To his credit, Hux doesn’t skip a beat.

“Our friend from check-in is right over there at the ball return.” He nods to a hut about fifteen feet away. Sure enough, the pimply kid from earlier is in there, sorting out the pinks from the purples from the greens. “I think you should show him what blue balls are really like.”

“Excuse you?”

He wants me to what now?!

“Go flash him. Unless you’re too chicken.”

Huxley Adams Hayes…

Invoking the four magic words from our teenage years, Hux flips a switch inside me. All afternoon he really had me thinking he was keeping this PG. That we’d grown up. But no. He had this up his sleeve the whole time. Unless you’re too chicken. Well, I’m not.

Because even at thirty-five, Dolly Norah McLain does have a wild side.

I blow Hux a kiss, then turn on my heel to march over to the hut, my heart racing. Wild side or not, it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. But here goes.

Clearing my throat, I grab the hem of my shirt, waiting for Blue Balls himself to look up. It takes a second, but he does, and it’s go time. I flip up my shirt, making sure my bra goes with it—not an easy feat at this age—and then bring it back down just as quick. The shock on his face registers only briefly as I turn to go almost immediately, heading back to Hux, who’s standing there, beaming.

“That’s my girl.”

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