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When Landon got a look at my outfit on Saturday morning, he grinned and pulled me back into the bedroom. “Forget the tournament. Let’s stay in.”
I laughed throatily. “I am in a khaki skirt, polo, and tennis shoes!”
“Sexiest I’ve ever seen you.”
“Oh my God, you get turned on by golf attire! I’ve heard of everything now.”
He kissed my lips. “I get turned on by you in golf attire. You look sexy as hell in everything you wear, but you wore this for me. So, how can I not like it?”
“Are you trying to stall so that we don’t have to go out there?”
He gave me a searching look. “Why would you think that?”
“Because…you’re not playing,” I said softly. “I thought that would be hard on you.”
“It is.”
“Yeah, I could tell.”
“How do you read me so perfectly?” He tugged me closer.
“Because I know you.”
“I approve of this.”
“You’d better.”
He laughed. “Oh God, I’m so glad that I brought you with me.”
A knock on the door startled us apart, and Landon waved away my anxiety. I wasn’t completely comfortable with being here with him. Even though I knew no one and clearly no one here would know me, I couldn’t relax. This was Landon’s element, not mine.
Landon opened the door and shook the hand of the guy at the door. “Hey, man!”
“Landon fucking Wright,” the guy said, strutting into the hotel suite as if he owned the place. He was an exceptionally tall and handsome African American man with the most amazing smile. “Finally got your ass back to a golf tournament.” His dark eyes shot to me, and his eyebrows rose. “Well, hello there.”
“Hello,” I said with a raised brow.
He reached out and placed a kiss on my hand with a boyish grin. “I’m sure Landon has told you all about his charming single friend.”
Landon rolled his eyes. “Heidi, this is Ryan Copeland. He’s on the Tour.”
“Um…hi. You’re the one who got us the tickets for tonight.” I deftly pulled my hand out of his.
“Us?” Ryan said, glancing between me and Landon. “You left Miranda and already found the hottest replacement on the course? The man with no game always gets the hottest fucking girls. How do you do it?”
“Heidi isn’t a replacement,” Landon said with a shake of his head. “Heidi is…her own person. She’s not a real PGA.”
“A real PGA?” I asked in confusion.
“It’s awful,” Ryan said with a grin, as if he didn’t find it that awful. “Party Groupie Association. Basically, the putt sluts who chase down our balls, if you know what I mean.”
I opened and then closed my mouth. I hadn’t really thought that much about what the girls who followed them around on Tour were like. Sure, everyone knew that Tiger Woods had fucked more people than the average porn star, but it just hadn’t registered with me.
“I suppose I do,” I finally said.
“Try to avoid the locker-room talk,” Landon said. “Y’all are disgusting enough without bringing it to my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? Girlfriend.” Ryan sighed. “I thought you were bringing me a treat. I’m so disappointed in you.”
