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“Yes. But try the swing first without hitting the ball, just to get the hang of it.”
I feel ridiculous, standing there beneath his scrutiny, but I swing the club.
He nods, eyebrows drawn together. “Again.”
I do it one more time, and then another.
“Good, but you need to make it slightly more fluid.” He takes a step closer, a hand half-extended to me. “Can I show you?”
I nod and hand him the club. But he shakes his head and comes to stand behind me instead.Oh.
His arms reach around and grip the club over my hands. He’s warm against me, and the scent of shampoo and of man brushes against my senses.
“This okay?” he murmurs.
I nod. Speaking feels like too much.
He shuffles closer until his body is curved around mine entirely, and the cotton candy cloud beneath me evaporates.Poof.Goosebumps rise along my forearms despite the warm temperature and the shining sun.
This feels real.
“Like this,” he says and pulls both of our arms up. He takes the club in a full arc over my head, before whooshing back down and connecting with an imaginary ball. “Keep the arc going,” he says and completes the swing with both of our arms up by our heads again. Opposite side this time.
He’s warm. Warmer than me, at any rate, and my lips tingle with the memory of his kisses from last night.
It’s been a long time since a man hugged me like this. Even if it’s not an actual hug—just “help”—and it’s only his front pressing against my back. But it still counts.
“Eden,” he says. His voice is a murmur in my hair.
“Yes?”
“Think you can try swinging again?”
“Oh. Yes, yeah, so… I’m supposed to do this?” I’m the one carrying the weight of our arms this time, moving the club in a slow arc.
“Yes, that’s it. You’ve got it.” His hands brush over mine in a lingering touch before he steps back, putting some healthy distance between us.
My entire body feels electrified by the contact.
Phillip clears his throat and takes another step back. “All right,” he says. “Okay. So, want to give it a try?”
“Yeah, okay.” I get into position and look down at the tiny white ball, so innocent looking against the green. I still feel too-light, and a bit charged, as if I have more energy than I need.
I look over at him. “Are you going to watch?”
He cracks a full smile for the first time today. “I was planning to, unless you don’t perform under pressure.”
“I don’t think this will be much of a performance.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, that smile still there. “Just take a swing.”
“Okay. Maybe you should take another few steps back,” I say. “And get some protective gear. Did you pack a helmet?”
“I’ll be fine,” he says, amusement in his voice.
“Okay,” I say again. I’m gripping the club tight. Bending my knees. My eyes are on the ball and I’m not going to let it escape. “Here goes nothing.”
I make the swing, putting force behind it, and feel my club connect with the ball. It flies a full three feet away, and wildly to the left.
