Page 42 of The Sweet Spot

“I was born ready,” he replies, raising his hand between us and letting his fingers dance. To Jess and Max, who I assume are watching, this will probably seem weird, but not for me.

Fuck, why do I like it?

I just smile, push him a little, and turn on my heel. Then I make my way toward the golf cart, more optimistic than ever.

Chapter 8

The crowd is on its feet, cheering, when Whit and I lift the ProAm catfish cup over our heads. With one hand holding the cup, I wrap my arm around Whit’s waist—she’s holding the cup’s other side—and pull her closer to me.

She looks up at me and smiles.

Invincible. I feel fucking invincible when she’s pressed against my side.

“We did it,” she says, and it takes everything in me not to lean down and kiss her.

“That we did, Coach.”

“Smile!” The photographer calls, drawing our attention to the group of them. We both smile. Mine’s more of a full-blown grin, if I’m honest.

I’ve got the cup. I’m holding the girl. Who needs the fucking All-Star Game to feel like an All-Star?

The photographers keep firing off shots as Max, Jess, and the rest of the ProAm couples crowd around us.

“Good game,” Austin says, slapping me on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Rookie. You didn’t do too badly yourself.”

“This should’ve been mine,” Max jokes, reaching over all of us because he’s one tall motherfucker, and tries to take the trophy from us.

Whit pulls the trophy down, hugging it into us. “Maybe next year, but for now, it’s ours.”

Ours.

Yeah, baby. This weekend it’s fucking ours.

“JB,” Sienna, our usual on-field reporter, says. She pushes through the crowd, knocking Max with a visible elbow to the side. Max steps back, laughing as he takes her in.

“Sorry for getting in your way, Specs.”

She doesn’t acknowledge him, instead she moves to stand in front of Whit and me. “Congratulations on the win, you two.” Then she turns to Whit. “And thank you for making our catcher look good out there.”

“Oh, I did noth—”

I lean toward the mic, cutting her off. “Whit did everything. She's the only reason we're holding this right now.” I refuse to let her minimize everything she did for us. We are only here because of her—and because she entertained my superstition.

Sienna nods. “She certainly did. It seems like the momentum shifted for you both during the back nine yesterday. What did you do to lock in?”

My fingers squeeze her hip. She makes a little noise but covers it by looking down and laughing quietly.

“Whit fixed something in my swing when we were stretching in the morning, but it took me until the tenth hole to stop fighting it.”

“So she reeled you in?” Sienna tilts her head at me, smiling. “I didn't think that was possible for you,” she says with a light edge to it, one that might be considered flirty to anyone who doesn't know her. It’s not. It’s just her cadence.

Beside me, Whit shifts her weight, trying to subtly pull herself away from me. My grip tightens on her waist, keeping her glued to my side.

“Many have tried. Only Whit has succeeded,” I answer.

Sienna looks between the two of us, and a small smile grows on her face. “You guys really are the dynamic duo. Are there any future collaborations in the pipeline, since this one proved successful?”