“Oh, that just won’t do,” Tristan said, handing over her purse with one hand and holding the door open with the other. “Our first stop, the pro shop.”
This was coming from a guy who prided himself on being a graduate from the clown university look. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah,” he replied, looking her over, “I do.”
From the back of the Escalade that was taking them out of the city, Zoey compared herself to Cinderella, only instead of a ball gown, she was going to be adorned in ill-fitting neon plaid. When Tristan took her hand and began to trace sensual circles with his thumb over her knuckles, it was a small price to pay.
Luckily, she didn’t have to make the sacrifice. After entering through the front door, Tristan led her past the raised eyebrows of the country club staff and other members, with his hand surrounding hers. He smiled in return to every greeting with a nod of his head and didn’t stop until they were at the door of the pro shop. He held the door open for her, and they stepped inside.
“Good morning, Mr. Malloy!” the clerk greeted him and tried to stifle her surprise at the sight of Zoey still firmly attached to him.
“Good morning. I’d like to have my girlfriend outfitted for a day on the course, please.”
He was still polite, but there was a new air about him. Maybe he was merely adapting to his surroundings, but now he sounded more authoritative than accommodating. And he called her his girlfriend. The moment set her heart fluttering again.
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Malloy,” the clerk said.
Tristan finally let go of her hand and said brightly, “I’m going to go see if I can switch up our tee time. Have fun.”
He gave her a quick kiss and made for the door, adding over his shoulder, “Whatever she wants. Just add it to my account.”
As the clerk profusely nodded her head and reiterated her delight at the task, Zoey took a look around the opulence and thought, Forget Cinderella, this is right out of Pretty Woman.
As she began to look through the racks, Zoey was also pleasantly surprised to find out that women’s golf clothes were a million times more fashionable than men’s.
Without Tristan in the room, the clerk’s focus turned to Zoey. She gave Zoey a look up and down. Zoey did the same, making note of her name tag—erica. The two women pasted smiles on.
“So, what are we looking for today?”
Erica’s voice was syrupy sweet and that meant only one thing. Artificial, which leads to probably bad for you.
“Something to divide my boyfriend’s attention between me and his game.” Zoey grinned. She normally wouldn’t be so liberal with the word boyfriend, but she had encountered this kind of woman before.
Erica immediately walked over to the rack and pulled out a pair of black capris, presenting them to her.
“These hide a multitude of sins,” Erica said.
Zoey was willing to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. After all, she was wearing her work outfit, which consisted of black pants and a white button-down.
“All my sins take place when I’m not wearing any clothes at all,” Zoey replied pointedly, returning to her search of the racks. “And you see how he’s dressed. I have to at least try to keep up.”
Whether Erica’s subsequent laugh was in response to embarrassment or appreciation of her joke, Zoey didn’t care. Then her sight alit upon something.
Oh yeah. This should hit him right in the meatballs.
She pulled it off the rack and held it up for Erica to see.
“I want to start with this,” Zoey stated firmly. “I don’t suppose you have it in plaid?”
After Erica’s initial surprise, given away by the raising of her brows, she broke out into a smile. “Afraid not. But I think I know where you’re heading with this. I’ve got just the things to complete the look.”
Sometimes all a person needs to get on board is the knowledge that you don’t hate your own body. Erica gathered some other things, and the two of them went to the dressing room giggling.
When Tristan returned, almost an hour later, it was his turn to hide his astonishment, but his reaction was more of a carnal nature.
Zoey was dressed in a white pleated golf skirt that settled midthigh. She had waved off the skort version with a conspiratorial wink to Erica, who supplied her with white spandex boy short panties. It was paired with a pink polo shirt, tucked in at the waist, and a black belt. She topped it all off with knee-high socks. It was Catholic schoolgirl, golfing edition.
The sight of Tristan’s jaw unhinging was priceless.
“I’m glad they had the right shoes for you” was his poor attempt at hiding it.
“I know,” Zoey replied casually, forcing his attention back up her curvaceous, muscular legs. You don’t hoof around New York City for almost a year without reaping some sort of reward. “I’d hate to slip and get grass stains on this white skirt.”
Golf was now the last thing on her mind. By the look on Tristan’s face, it had fallen down the ranks of his priorities as well.
He signed the sales slip and took Zoey by the elbow to lead her out the door.
“You should’ve bought ten of this outfit.” He breathed seductively in her ear.
Mission accomplished.
“Can I drive the golf cart?” she asked, using her best sexy voice. “Please?”
“Of course.” He smiled, picking up on it. Then he shook a stern finger at her. “But don’t you dare drive it on the green. They will kick me out of the club so fast, my head will spin.”
His next order of business was to cancel the use of a caddy.
“I don’t normally use one,” he explained. “But I thought we could use a chaperone.”
“You thought wrong, mister.”
“I think I can forget about trying to show off my skill. I have the funny feeling I’m about to have my worst round on record.”
They loaded her rented clubs beside his in the golf cart, and they set off for the first tee.
It was slow for a Thursday afternoon at the club, with most of the dedicated members having chosen the earliest tee times. Some of them could be seen as small dots on the horizon smattered on the course. It was quiet, with the exception of the cart’s low motor-running hum and intermittent birdcalls. And lush. So much rolling green, with the strategic placing of sand traps, trees, and ponds of water off in the distance. The air smelled clean and fresh. Wildlife peeked out and dashed from behind trees and out of bushes. It was easy to see why Tristan was so dedicated to the sport and the serenity it provided.
She had also forgotten how much she loved to drive. She looked over at Tristan to tell him so. He looked deep in thought.
“Don’t worry. I have a license to drive a real car. This thing is a piece of cake.”
“It’s not that. I was just thinking that I’m supposed to have come up with some sort of nickname for you. You know, a term of endearment that only I use. Like honey or baby or darling.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“All of them sound stupid and disrespectful. Belittling. Shouldn’t these sorts of things come naturally?”
She stopped the cart and grabbed his hand, looking into his eyes.
“Tristan, there is nothing more endearing to me than to hear you say my name. I get butterflies inside every time you do it. If something suddenly comes to you, fine. If not, you’re still giving me all the feels.”
He instructed her where to stop near the first-hole tee and hopped out of the cart to grab a club, eager to get started.
“Do you mind if I just watch you for a hole or two?” Zoey asked. Not only did she want to take some time to adjust to wearing the skimpy outfit, but she also wanted to watch him in action. If he looked anything like he did in his living room the day they met, she would need a while to adjust to that too. She wasn’t disappointed. First it was the precious look he got as he concentrated on the ball. Then it was the delicious way his hips and tush wiggled as he shifted his
weight from one foot to the other before he swung. As he teed off and his upper body responded with the motion, she officially abandoned the notion that golf was boring. Maybe it was because he was in his element. Maybe it was the way his body twisted that reminded her of the night before. She lost sight of the ball as it rocketed through the air, mainly because she hadn’t watched it. She was preoccupied with looking at him. Her excitement over driving the golf cart was all but forgotten, replaced with an entirely different desire.
At first, they sporadically encountered other golfers. Some were making their way back to the clubhouse, others moving farther away as their games progressed. Most of them were dressed in solid colors that were both neutral and matched.
“I just have to ask,” Zoey said after making that observation. “What is your obsession with all the crazy outfits?”
“I think I picked it up from my grandfather. He spent most of his life in colors designated by the army, which basically meant beige or green, with the occasional camouflage. But you think I’m bad? He really made some fashion statements on the course back in his day. For such a disciplined man, golf clothes were where he cut loose.”
She wondered what Tristan must have been like as a boy. He painted a picture that had her imagining waking up to a bugle every morning at dawn and being tested to see if a quarter could bounce on his bed ten minutes after that. A little towheaded Tristan, dressed in fatigues.
On their way to the third tee, she was ready. And not just to play golf.
It started with bending over in front of him to put her ball on the ground. After finally getting the ball to balance on the little tee, but before standing up, she coyly looked over her shoulder in his direction. His eyes were riveted on her backside. One of his arms was crossed over his chest, gripping the elbow of the other, his hand with a firm grab on his chin, his mouth slightly agape. She would never tire of that look.
“What do I do now?” she asked innocently.
Tristan shook his head to break the stare. He pulled a club out of her bag.
“Drivers are the most accurate, but you sacrifice distance,” he explained while approaching her. “But since you’re just beginning, let’s start with a three wood.”
“That’s made of iron,” she pointed out while taking it.
“I know.” He chuckled. “Wood is the name of the club. They have longer shafts and rounder heads, to drive the ball farther.”
“I think I just found a term of endearment nickname for you!”
She waited for him to catch on to the joke, thinking, Good grief, didn’t this dude’s grandfather have at least one Playboy or Penthouse lying around for him to stumble across? She knew he had caught on when he started to blush ten shades of red.
“You are not only naughty, you’re dirty,” he admonished her with a bashful grin.
“You have a problem with that?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“If I had known just how much sexual innuendo came with golf, I would’ve taken an interest in the sport years ago. What do I do next?”
Tristan got serious. “While you might believe golf is all about the swinging of your arms, you really want to work your game from the ground up. Your footwork and interaction with the turf is vital. It’s not all about the hands.”
“You might want to rethink that in your case. Your hands can get pretty magical.”
“Thanks for the compliment. I realize you want to play, but I’ll feel like a complete failure if I don’t at least teach you the basics. Can you keep your mind on the game for one hole, please?”
“Trust me, it already is.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes, and she peered up at him with feigned innocence with hers.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll get serious.”
“Good. Now you don’t want to grip the club too tightly, because that would engage more of your wrist. You don’t want that. What you want is more like your arms becoming an extension of the club. You don’t want to break your wrists. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” she replied. She had been so busy watching his mouth, she hadn’t heard a word. But she didn’t want him to regret bringing her along either. Zoey stationed herself behind the ball and imitated his foot-to-foot shifting.
“You need to adjust your grip. One hand over the other, not too tight.”
She shot him a knowing look.
“Spread your legs a little and keep your eye on the ball. Bend your knees a little.”
He had to know that sounded downright perverted.
She put her head down to look at the ball, but when she swung the club, she closed her eyes. The end result was her looking out to see how far it went and finding it still on the tee.
“You’re swinging too fast without keeping your focus on the ball. You have to hold the cock.”
Zoey purposely flipped the club, sending it flying. It landed several feet away.
“Now you’re just asking for it,” she told him, landing her hands on her hips. It was her turn to blush.
“What?” he asked, all innocence given away by his twisted grin. “It’s when you pull back your arms before the swing.”
“Now I realize why guys play with guys and women with women,” she mumbled while trying again, with a marginally better result.
“Good job.” He congratulated her effort. Her ball had landed what looked like miles away from his.
For the sake of keeping the game from taking forever, she asked if they could take her ball and put it closer to his. What Zoey didn’t know was both of them were losing interest in the game.
They scooped up her ball on the way to his and he took his next shot. She didn’t bother getting out of the cart. When he made it close to the green, after sinking his put, he insisted on giving her a putting lesson. He dropped her ball about ten feet from the hole and she situated herself behind it. Then he pressed himself flush up against her from behind, his hands wrapping around hers on top of the club.
“Now when you are putting, it’s more about the shoulders. You gauge how far to pull back by the distance you want the ball to travel.” His mouth was only an inch away from her ear. His breath was hot and tickled the back of her neck. She was hot all over. Keeping her eye on the ball was impossible and her eyes drifted closed as she leaned back against him.
He guided her through the motion, and to her own surprise, when she forced her eyes open, the ball had disappeared.
“Look at that.” He smiled into her neck before giving it a kiss, his voice and proximity setting her ablaze. “It went right in the hole. We’re pretty good on the short putts.”
She dropped the club and twisted herself within his arms. Her hands went to his neck and she pulled his lips to hers.
They drove to the next hole, and he promptly teed off into the trees.
“You did that on purpose,” she accused him.
“Damn straight,” he replied, grabbing her hand and racing for the cart, commandeering the driver’s seat. “I know this course like the back of my hand.”
They drove to the edge of the woods and she hastily got out with him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the forest. They passed his ball on the way and both ignored it. When they were deep within the woods and far enough for his satisfaction, he gently steadied her against a tree and after an intense open-mouth kiss, he dropped to his knees.
This gentle man had hidden wolf tendencies, and it was driving her mad. The fact that he was just as turned on and willing to take the risk of doing this someplace where they could be caught had her throbbing all over.
He started a trail of kisses that began at the top of her knee sock, his fingers brushing against the back of her legs. Zoey grabbed onto handfuls of his hair until his head began to disappear under her skirt. Then it was all she could do to remain standing.
“Oh. My.” She gasped as his fingers began to push aside the material of her boy shorts to gain better access to her. She heard his grunt of impatience, and with a forceful tug,
he pulled her panties down. They pooled around her ankles. With his hands firmly gripping her bottom, he kissed her there.
“Yes, Tristan, yes.” He added his tongue, and she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle the impending scream that she was sure would follow.
She heard him saying her name repeatedly through the haze that lingered after he stood back up, reaching into his back pocket. He ripped the foil packet open with his teeth and began to quickly roll on the condom. She tried to help him, but he pushed her hand away.
“No time,” he groaned into her mouth while lifting her. “If you touch me, I’m done.”
In the next breath, he lowered her onto his sex, thrusting himself deep inside her.
* * *
He helped her back into her panties, righted his own clothing, and brushed the bark off the back of her clothes before taking her hand, and on shaky legs, they returned to the cart.
“I can’t believe you were capable of that,” Zoey said when she was once again able to think rationally.
“I’ve overheard men talking in the locker room in the past. If half of what they’re saying is true, it happens more than you think. Did I overstep?”
“It was my favorite lesson today, hands down.”
“Well, you know what they say. Practice makes perfect.”
“I can honestly say that right now, there is nothing I care less about than golf.” The memory of what they had done was still so fresh, she was light-headed and swoony.
“I hope I didn’t ruin the sport for you.”
“On the contrary, I will never look at it the same way again.”
“That makes two of us.”
“That’s really saying something. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was certainly meant as one.”
Instead of driving to the next tee, Tristan turned the cart back in the direction of the clubhouse. Zoey turned to Tristan, puzzled.
“I was only kidding before. Sort of.” Zoey could feel herself blushing furiously while looking at him. He had once again left her feeling weak, in a multitude of ways. She suddenly felt shy and had trouble telling him that he had provided the most climactic experience of her life. She settled on telling him, “I love watching you play.”
Under the Table Page 15