Page 44 of The Sweet Spot

With no one around, I figure it’s time for us to have an actual conversation. One I've been thinking about since the eighteenth hole yesterday. Possibly since the tenth.

Who am I kidding? I've been thinking about it since she put her hands on my hips on the practice green and told me my glutes were the problem—a sentence I’ll be thinking about for the rest of my natural life, if you must know.

“Whit?”

My throat tightens as she glances up at me.

She’s so pretty.

Fuck.

Now everything I had planned has left my head.

“I, uh, forgot what I was going to say,” I tell her, giving her an awkward smile.

“Are you coming to the gala tonight?” she asks. “You’re part of the winning team, after all. I think everyone will want to see you there.”

I’ll take that as her way of telling me she wants to see me there. Well, if she wants more of me, then I’m going to give it to her.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to act cool. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is wistful, and her gaze drops to my lips, making them tingle.

Mine immediately drop to hers, and I want to kiss her so badly.

Every instinct in my body tells me to close the distance, and I’m all for following my body’s desire.

I start to lean in.

Her breath catches, and she starts to lean back a little.

Oh, shit.

Maybe I misjudged this.

I move back, about to release my hands, when she pushes onto her toes and brings her hand behind my neck.

We’re inches away from kissing.

“JB!”

Larry.

His voice makes me jump away from Whit, and I hold my hands up as though I’ve just been caught committing a crime.

Did he see us?

Whit runs over to her father and wraps her arms around him. He picks her up and spins her around, making her skirt rise slightly.

Don't look. Don't look.

I look.

Duh.

Whit is like a 7th inning hot dog, and I'm starving. In no universe am I ever going to stop myself from getting a potential look at her promised land.

“Congratulations, honey.” He kisses the top of her head. “Your back nine was something else.”