Games We Play (6 page)

Myra had met with her sister, Kendall’s mother,
the
Vivian Edwards, two months ago at the pub. Cooper had made sure he was the one to wait on them personally, wanting to get a sense of her. He’d found her to be just as he’d expected: an arrogant and entitled piece of work.

Myra had assembled her crew together at the conclusion of their lunch. She’d needed advice and assistance regarding the professor’s upcoming summer visit. Given what they all knew of her mother, the renowned beauty and model who was a genius at parting men from their money, Myra was concerned that her niece might be following in mommy dearest’s footsteps.

He’d starting mentally sketching together a plan for approaching the professor once she’d arrived. He’d decided on a simple approach—inviting her to the pub to talk. There he’d introduce her to Myra’s support system, the people living in town who had her back. He would then question her, and depending upon her responses, he would either hand her a get-out-of-town card or one of the welcome-to-the-neighborhood variety.

But now, having run into her and having spent the entire morning thinking about her very lovely ass, all thoughts of his original plan had evaporated, and he’d hastily concocted this alternative. Hell yes, he’d felt the pull between them at the station—sexual, of course—and he wanted to take advantage of it. They could hook up first, and he would ask questions later. He’d let her be his guide, though, let her make the first move. But if the way she’d flirted with him earlier had been any indication, he was good. He smiled, put the gator in gear, and drove away, heading in the opposite direction of the professor…for now, at least.

He was out here tonight checking the timer and the coverage on the sprinkler system, ’cause they’d just punched and fertilized the course. Not him, of course, he’d hired help, but he tried to follow up, make sure everything had been done according to his specifications. He never wanted anything he owned to grow so big that he couldn’t see to it personally.

His clubs were in the back of the gator. He usually kept them with him when he was cruising the course so he could play a few holes in between whatever maintenance he’d assigned himself to do, and he’d better hurry if he wanted to catch up to her.

Kendall looked up at the sound of the gator approaching. She smiled. LC was here. “I found you. LC, right?” she asked.

“You were looking for me?” he asked.

“It was more a matter of keeping my eyes open,” she said.

He smiled, admiring her up close, as he pulled up to the back of her cart.

“I was hoping to see you again,” she said, scanning the area around him, eyes lingering over his body, undressing him. She stood leaning on her club, her other hand on her hip, all sassy and saucy, and it unwittingly pulled him in, not that he needed any additional pulling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling.

“Lucky for you, I spend quite a bit of time here,” he said.

“Yep, lucky me.”

“And just how do you know my name?” he asked.

“The guy at the gas station,” she said.

He nodded and smiled. He was all sexy and confident, sitting in that gator, watching her, calm and a little cocky—understated cocky, though, if there was such a thing.

“I wondered if you lived around here,” she said.

“I knew you didn’t. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Kendall Edwards,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Kendall Edwards.”

“Nice to meet you too, LC.”

“Is this your first time on the course?” he asked. He sat watching her, his expression implying that he was accustomed to women searching for him.

“Yes, it is. It’s been at the top of my golf bucket list of places to play,” she said, smiling.

“Well, you only have another couple of hours of daylight left. I suggest you cut over to hole number seven to finish out the nine. Do you mind if I play with you?”

She stood next to her cart and smiled, a kick to his gut. A few strands of hair had come undone, black against the smooth brown of a heart-shaped face. She was a pretty woman, a smooth dollop of milk chocolate dipped into the white and pink of her golf attire. His eyes roamed over her again quickly, and he didn’t care if she noticed; in fact, it was a good thing if she did. So what if he hadn’t dated anyone like her before? That didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed them. Pretty was pretty, irrespective of race. He guessed it had seemed easier somehow to stick to his own kind, given the way he’d grown up and all the hatred he’d been exposed to.

“Sure, I would love that,” she said, and he had no doubt she meant it.
Yes, taking candy from a baby, this would be
, he thought in his Jedi master’s speak.

“Show me the way,” she said, smiling at him again, wanting to do a happy dance at the thought of getting what she’d wished for, and at the ease she’d gotten it, like it had been fate or something. Now, if only things would end up where she wanted them, with him showing her what it meant to be with a man who knew what to do. She hoped he did anyway.

“Follow me,” Cooper said. He drove the gator around to the front of her cart, watching as she took a seat and pulled up behind him.

They stopped at the top of hole seven. She parked her cart, grabbed her driver, and walked over to join him where he stood next to the gator, waiting for her. Did she say fine? He was dressed casually in shorts, the flat-fronted, navy twill kind, with a grey polo shirt with the Quarry logo on the left breast pocket tucked into them. A brown leather belt rounded out the ensemble. Brown, beat-up golf shoes graced his feet, the only hitch in his otherwise smooth outfit.

“My lucky shoes” he said, smiling at how her face had twisted upon catching sight of his shoes. He’d watched her look him over—she was such an easy read—and he added “concerned with outer appearances” to the negative column in his tally of her virtues and vices. He smiled.

“Will this be a friendly game or a competitive one?” he asked.

“Make it light on yourself,” she said.

“Competitive, then.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he added, and widened his smile. “Are you going to play the girly tees or you going to play back here with the big boys?” he asked.

“We’ll keep it fair. I wouldn’t want to beat you too badly. I’ll play from the men’s tees, if you’ll play from the back tees.”

“Sure, not a problem,” he said, pulling his driver from his bag.

“What’s your handicap?” she asked.

“Scratch.”

“Not that you’re bragging or anything,” she said, chuckling. He laughed. “I’m single digits. I play to a nine.”

“Since I’m feeling generous today. I’ll give you a full stroke a hole.”

“Okay. Thanks, I’ll take it. What are we playing for?” she asked.

“What do you want to play for?”

“Drinks at the clubhouse on you if you lose. And I might think of something else later,” she said, and smiled.
You rock, Kendall,
she said to herself, proud that she’d included that last-minute addendum.

“Go bold or go home,” he said, chuckling. “That’s one approach. What if I win?”

“That’s not even an option,” she said, all confident, standing before him. “You mind if I go first?” she asked as they made their way to the tee boxes.

“Ladies first, of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He stood leaning against his driver, admiring the swing of her ass underneath her little skirt, the nice lean brown legs sticking out below it, strong legs with a nice amount of muscle definition.

“Tell me about this hole,” she said, breaking into his thoughts.

“It’s a par four, straight away on your first shot, and your second shot is a dogleg left over a ravine.”

“How far do I need to hit it?”

“From your tees, about two hundred yards. That will leave you with a shot of about one fifty into the hole,” he said, and watched her walk over to the men’s tee, keeping his eyes on her as she hit it perfectly down the middle of the fairway a few minutes later.

“Someone paid attention in class,” he said when she walked over to stand next to him.

“Since I was a little girl, and thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome. They were worth it.”

She flashed him a grin, and they switched places. This time, she was standing on the sideline, admiring him, observing as he stood at the tees preparing to swing.

She followed his movements as he hit the ball, good form and setup, no kinks in his swing. He hit the ball hard, and it followed hers, landing a few yards behind her, near the edge of the fairway. He was a strong hitter, a long-distance kind of golfer, and he was good, aggressive—okay, a little better than good.

“Nice shot,” she said.

“I’m good with most things. You should know that before you go any further,” he said, smiling at her.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, chuckling.

“Not a bad little drive you got there,” he said, a minute later. They’d driven over to the fairway and were walking side by side.

Her ball ended up about 150 yards from the green, with his slightly more at 160.

They both walked to his ball first, and she watched him as he played, still impressed by his abilities—the confidence, the focus, his nice body, his smooth and sexy stomach, his strong arms and chest, and the way his lean hips rotated as he compressed the ball. A good golfer too?
Can it get any better than this?
she thought, and she was back to considering what had been on her mind since she saw him getting gas earlier. It was her time, and he was her man.

She followed his ball as it landed on the green about thirty-five feet to the pin. They walked over to her ball, and he watched her hit, tracking her ball as it landed inside of his on the green.

Another two minutes, and they were at the green now, putters in hand. He was farther away, and he stroked the putt harder than was needed. It rolled into the cup and lipped out.

“Ah, you almost had that, dude,” Kendall said, laughing.

“I’ll finish,” he said, and hit his final putt, which went in this time. He retrieved his ball and stepped aside to watch her, worried at the very real possibility that she might beat him. He chuckled and shook his head. What was he thinking? She was game, win or lose, so really this was win-win for him.

She walked over to her ball and prepared to putt.

“You need to careful. The greens are all pretty quick here,” he said, smiling and hoping to get into her head. “You wouldn’t want to hit it too hard,” he added. She turned her head and smiled at him, as if she knew exactly what he was up too. He grinned. “Just trying to be helpful.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve played four holes now. I’ve got the speed of the greens down,” she said, turning her head to face her ball again.

“Then you know they break from left to right,” he said, interrupting her again.

She laughed. “I saw your putt, and it didn’t,” she said, back to looking at him and his up-to-trouble grin. “Nice try, though. You mind if I putt now?”

“Oh sure, go ahead,” he said, waiting until she turned to face her ball again.

“Do you breathe in or out when you putt?” he asked, grinning now.

She started laughing this time, amused that he’d made yet another attempt to rattle her. “The depths folks will stoop to for a dollar,” she said. She waited a second or two more to see if he had any further input before tapping her ball in. Unfortunately, it lipped out too.

“I guess we have to putt it out,” she said, hoping he’d concede.

“Yes, we will,” he said, grinning like he’d read her thoughts and was not about to concede anything.

She tapped her ball in. She was up by two now. “What do I win again?” she asked, her smile wide and cocky.

“It ain’t over till it’s over,” he said, chuckling, as they walked back to their carts.

“This must be convenient for you,” she said.

“What?”

“Being able to play whenever you like. The owner doesn’t mind?” she asked.

“Nope. He doesn’t mind at all. As long as I do my job.”

“That’s cool,” she said, looking around at the course. “So you’re like the groundskeeper here?” she asked, stopping as she reached her cart.

“Why?”

“Just curious,” she said.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said, bringing his attention back to her words. “Honest work is always something to be proud of. You play really well too, which requires practice. And if the care of the course is any indication, you must work hard around here too. It’s a beautiful course, an exceptional one, even without the fancy club.”

“I’m not the only person responsible for the upkeep of the course. Is fancy what you’re used to?” he said.

“What?” she asked, turning to face him.

“Fancy,” he replied.

“Who doesn’t like the finer things in life? My mother believes in being and having the best,” she said.

“And what do you believe in?”

“I won’t complain at receiving the best either. What’s not to like about that?”

“Money and fancy aren’t everything,” he said.

“True, but they can make life so much easier to endure. Don’t you think?” she asked.

“So what do you do when you’re not playing golf?” he asked, ignoring her question, but adding her comment to his internal tally of Kendall’s unfavorables.

“I’m a professor at the university,” she said.

“A professor. So you live in Austin?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing at him.

“What do you teach?”

“Mostly beginning-level business classes, usually to sophomores. I teach a few upper-level business management classes too, with an emphasis on sustainability, ways to incorporate green initiatives into businesses.”

“That’s interesting,” he said.

“How often do you play?” she asked.

“Most evenings after I work, if I can. Or I’ll play a few holes while I work here after the course closes…makes it seem less like work,” he said.

“I would love to live near here, to be able to play whenever I wanted,” she said.