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When her muscles stiffened, I began to back away, but she stopped me. “It’s okay.”
Relenting, I stepped closer, my chest flush against her back. “You’re too tense. You need to loosen up. Breathe,” I told her like it was so easy for me, her hair smelling of vanilla as it tickled my cheek. “That’s good. Now, you want to keep your grip relaxed and a slight bend in your knees. Rotate from your hips and keep this elbow straight. Ready?”
I led her movements, lifting our arms up behind us, and in one fell swoop, the club struck the ball high into the air. We faced each other, and the sight of a blush creeping into her cheeks had me smiling.
“I did it,” she said.
“Wedid it,” I corrected.
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tipped up.
“Good job, Gemmie,” Caroline cheered.
“Yeah.” I readjusted my hat. “Who’s next?”
We moved down the fairway, and when it came to Gemma’s turn again, she lined up behind the ball. This time, I didn’t have to be told. I wrapped my arms around her, and she glanced back at me.
“Keep your eye on the ball,” I directed, and those fiery brown eyes refocused. Together, we hit the ball all the way to the green, and I offered her a congratulatory little shoulder rub.
When we arrived to putt, I followed Gemma to her ball and placed my hand on top of hers to tap the ball into the hole. “You made par this time.”
“That’s good?”
“Yeah.”
She twirled her club like a baton. “Getting pretty good.”
I held my hand up for a high five, and when she slapped my palm, I curled my fingers around hers, tugging her close. “With my help. I don’t think you could get that ball into the air without me.”
She wrinkled her nose all adorable like an angry kitten. “We’ll see.”
At the next tee, she lined up solo and missed.
I slow-clapped. “I told you to loosen up.” When she shot me a look, I strolled up behind her and put one hand on her hip, the other on her forearm. She connected with the ball and sent it flying. “God, I’m good.”
She shouldered me, and it took all my self-control not to toss her over my shoulder in retribution. Maybe press her up against one of the trees lining the fairway.
At the next spot, I attempted to help her putt, but she pushed me away, saying, “I can do it. I can do it.”
And she did. She sank the putt and danced past me, using her club like a cane. Obviously feeling her mojo now, she stepped up to the next tee, leveling her club at me. “I get this one into the air, I’m driving.”
I bowed to her. “You don’t, you buy me dinner.”
“You’re on.” She stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth and wiggled her ass in quite possibly the cutest bout of concentration I’d ever witnessed. She swung, and after the ball rose into the air, she jumped up, whooping. “Get in, loser.” She hopped in the driver’s seat. “We’re going shopping.”
“Huh?”
“Mean Girls? No? Okay.” She shook her head when I sat down next to her. “Never mind.”
“Double or nothing?” I asked before she promptly took off, flinging me over a few inches, her laughter ringing in my ears.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Gem
I was woman enough to admit when I was wrong. Golf was fun…or, really, more than bearable. Because of Jason, that gorgeous jerk.
I liked the way he kept his arm up along the back of our bench seat in the cart, and how he gently coached me without a hint of superiority in his voice. The snug fit of his polo shirt didn’t hurt either.
