“You didn’t tell me I could’ve brought my own clubs,” I complain as he selects a driver from the bin next to our computer screen. Evidently Fox is “Player 1.”
“That’s because I don’t want you cheating. You have to come out here like the rest of us and hit blind.”
He takes his stance at a square of green Astroturf. Several other guests are doing the same, and the sound of clubs hitting balls is interspersed with laughter and talking.
It’s definitely a different way to play golf, but I admit it looks fun.
Thwack!
His ugly swing is back, but it’s impossible not to admire his athletic form or the way his biceps bunch. He cracks the ball so far I swear it’s going to soar over the net and ding one of the cars in the parking lot. It doesn’t, making its home at the back of the course and sliding into a hole that’s worth one thousand points.
“Seriously?” I’m at a massive disadvantage. I can’t hit that far. If I want a thousand points, I’ll have to be precise and aim for the center of the giant circles. I immediately start calculating how to score more points than him.
“Jealous?” He saunters my way. “You can’t always win, you know. Haven’t you learned that in life yet?” The second it’s out of his mouth, his cocky grin fades some.
I ignore him and pick out a lady’s club.
“Kitty Cat.” A warm palm lands on my shoulder. “You know I wasn’t referring to your situation with East, right?”
I glare.
“West? Southeast? Why is his name so hard?” He stops pretending to be obtuse and grins. “Let’s drop the perfectionism and have a good time. Let your hair down.”
That tenderness again. It throws me off, so I change the subject. “How can you play golf after your shoulder injury? Doesn’t it hurt?”
He rolls his right shoulder. “Sometimes, but it’s better to move it.”
I nod slowly, having a belated realization. “That’s why your swing is ugly.”
A frown bisects his brow. “Thanks a lot.”
“Your backswing.” It makes total sense. “You tuck your shoulder to protect it. Use your hips to help with the momentum. It’s ugly but effective.” I pat his scruffy jaw. “Just like your face.”
I let out a squeak of surprise when his arm lashes around my waist. He leans in, bowing my body back. My leg is pressed against one of his and my torso and my left boob is smashed against his solid chest. I grip his arm to keep from toppling over, finding my breath as his blue eyes drill into mine.
“’Scuse me,” he says, before sliding his club into the rack from whence it came. Then he straightens, sets me on my feet, and leaves me to take my swing.
“Effective.” He drops the ball on the Astroturf at my feet. “Your turn.”
I take one practice swing before hitting my little electronic ball right into the center hole of the neon pink area. It’s only five hundred points, but I can do this all day. I make sure to tell Barrett as much.
Chapter 10
Barrett
Kitty Cat’s cute when she has a few in her.
I’ve never seen her quite this loose. She’s been jabbering since we left Hole in One about how golfing indoors was “way more fun” than she would’ve imagined. She’s also been giving me tips about my swing, which I find even cuter. Whenever she’s explaining how to achieve a goal, she gets this serious look on her face and moves her hands a lot. The art of success is one Catarina Everhart has mastered. Weirdly enough I don’t think she cares that I won both rounds.
“I appreciate the tips,” I tell her as I arrive at our destination. In the parking lot of my apartment building, I turn off the ignition and lean my head back. I left the top off my Audi, so it’s a perfect opportunity to check out the stars.
“Where are we?”
“My place.” I gesture to the tall building. “It’ll make a good story. You describing my apartment will be far more interesting than if I do it.”
I put the top up and then climb out of the convertible before she can argue. She follows suit, meeting me outside of the car. Again I admire the slim pair of jeans that make her legs appear a mile long. Her tank top stretches across her breasts—black with shiny gold dots.
She pulled her hair into a low ponytail for the ride. I mean, of course she did. Like she’s going to allow her hair to go wild? She finger-combs back a few stray strands that have escaped and smooths them against her head. Truth is, she looks cute either way. Smooth and sleek or with a dab of disarray.
“No funny stuff, Fox.” She slings her handbag over her shoulder. “And I’m not drinking more alcohol.”
“You don’t have to drink more alcohol,” I promise as I open the door and let us into the building.
We bypass a quiet lobby that leads to the bank of elevators, but not before Mack in security calls out a “Good evening, Mister Fox.”
I wave to him and hold the elevator doors for Catarina. She steps on and offers a smart-aleck echo of my security guy. “Mister Fox.”
“I’m kind of a big deal.” I smile, pleased when her own smile holds fast. I have a feeling she doesn’t hate me as much as she used to. Typically, I don’t give a rat’s ass if someone hates me or not, but Kitty Cat’s different. I don’t crave approval—never have—but earning hers is a perk.
The elevator stops at floor thirty and she steps off, inspecting the doors lining the hallway. “Which one’s yours?” She points at a door with a sunflower wreath hanging over the peephole and wrinkles her nose.
“Yeah, not mine. I’m not on this floor. Come on.” I walk to the end of the hall and use another key to open a separate entrance to a stairwell. “The elevator’s programming is screwed up. We normally would’ve been able to take it directly to my front entrance.”
“You have a private floor?”
“Yes.” I pop open the door for her. “It’s a short flight of stairs.”
Since I asked her to dress casual tonight, she wore flat black shoes instead of tall, spiky ones. She walks ahead of me up the stairwell as the door shuts behind me. I trail behind, watching her butt wiggle in jeans that hug her hips, thighs, and calves.
“Enjoying the view?” she snaps.
I reroute my gaze to her frowning face. “I was, actually. You have a great ass.”
“Is that what you tell all your dates?” Her lips twist into a bemused smirk.
“Only the ones with nice asses.”
Another eye roll. I excel at getting her to do that. She steps on the landing and tugs on the metal door, but it won’t open. “This is locked, too? What if there’s a fire?”
“It’s locked from the outside only. Can’t be too careful with crazed fans.” Using my key, I unlock a door that enters the laundry room at the side of my penthouse apartment. A light is on in the foyer, illuminating our path and throwing dim shadows into this room as well.
“Nice Samsung.” She strokes the charcoal gray washing machine as she walks by. “This is terribly neat for a bachelor.”
“I don’t like clutter.” I hang my keys on a hook in the foyer before flipping on a few more lights for the living room and kitchen. It’s not overly bright. Just enough so that we can see our way around.