The Perfect Stroke

by Jordan Marie

  “The way you’ve been tearing it up, you’ll need that week off you wanted before the next Florida match. Your official invite to the king of them all came today, by the way. Just four weeks away,” he says, like he had much to do with it. I’ve busted my ass and racked up win after win and climbed so far in the standings that the invite is an afterthought. The only thing he’s involved in is making the courses a little smoother and nicer. I finish this match here and then I get a week off. I return to Florida for one more match and the competition there will be the best of the best. I’ll need to be on my A game to make it out with my top fifteen rank intact. I’m currently twelve in the standings, which is a fucking huge accomplishment. But I want that trophy and that green jacket. Then, I’ll feel like I’ve made it to the top. It’s so close I can almost taste it, so I’m chomping at the bit to get rid of the Florida matches so I can look towards Georgia. “What do you say we have dinner and celebrate?” Riverton adds, and that’s the last thing I want to do. I am supposed to be on the course early in the morning and get this damn tournament done, then I am hopping a plane to Kentucky and getting back to my woman.

  “I got an early call in the morning,” I tell him. “I probably should get back to the hotel and pack. I’m leaving right after the tournament.”

  “Nonsense. A quick dinner will still get you back in plenty of time. Actually, you know what you’d enjoy? The boys and I have a poker game coming up at the local club. That’s just the thing to help you unwind before tomorrow. What do you say about joining in? Brayden was called out of town and it left an empty chair.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “It’s good to rub elbows with the tour members, son,” he warns, instantly annoying me. Still, if I go home, all I’ll do is jerk off to the memory of CC and God knows I’ve been doing that enough since she’s been gone. I haven’t had her in two fucking weeks. I’ve never missed a woman before CC. I absolutely ache for her. Memories of her laugh and smile haunt me. Thoughts of being inside of her keeps me from sleeping. Hell, I think part of the reason I’ve been doing so good on the course is that I’ve been working on pure frustration.

  I’ve been talking to CC every night and the only thing that manages to make me feel even a little bit better is the fact that she seems to be missing me, too. So much so, she’s talking about coming to Georgia to the big tournament to, in her words, mop the floor with those other ball whackers.

  I love that woman. Just thinking about our conversations makes me smile. Now, if I just knew the right way to tell her I love her and need her in my life. When I told her I was keeping her, she didn’t react exactly how I wanted her to. I figure if I even try to bring up the word “love”, she’ll run hard and fast.

  It’s crazy, actually. Before CC, women were lining up for me. If they thought they could hook me anywhere close to the way CC has me right now, they would have been jumping for joy. CC would be running for the hills. I don’t doubt that at all.

  “I can stay for a couple hands. Just a couple, though. I have a phone conference with CC later tonight.”

  “A man in your place who’s on the verge of hitting his hard earned dreams? You shouldn’t be tying yourself down to a woman who won’t be able to further your career or appreciate your achievements.”

  “CC is all I need,” I correct him, and turn the subject back to safer ground. I’m not discussing CC with Riverton. I hope I’m not making a mistake.

  As the night goes on, that’s one line that keeps repeating—I hope I’m not making a mistake—and when I leave late that night and Cammie shows up to pick her father up and comes running up to hug me, it just repeats louder.

  The only saving grace is that I took Riverton’s money in cards, but as I endure Cammie’s hug goodbye, I don’t think even that makes it worth it.

  “I can’t believe this is what we’ve been reduced to,” Jackson growls, but he plops down on the half-broken sofa in the break room, pops open a beer, and stares at the TV screen, despite his complaining.

  “No one is twisting your arm to make you watch golf.” I shrug, taking a bite out of the pizza. The gooey cheese and garlic spiced crust burst on my mouth and I can’t stop from moaning. I’m starved. We’ve worked straight through all day so we could close early for one reason and one reason only: to watch Gray on television. This is his second-to-last match before the big one, the one all the money is riding on. He doesn’t need to win to have a good standing, but he wants to, and I can understand it. He wants to beat everyone that crosses his path. When they say he’s the best in the sport, he wants there to be no question.

  “Hey, if watching this shit makes you quit moping around here with that hound dog look on your face, I’m willing. You’re starting to scare off some of the regulars,” Jackson mumbles.

  I push a bag of chips and a can of bean dip into his hand. I’m not the dishes-and-fancy-crab-dip kind of girl. Besides, it’s a fucking garage. Then, I plop down beside him with a can of my own French onion dip.

  “Have they shown Gray yet?” I ask.

  “Nah. For some weird reason, there seems to be other players out there. Strange, right?”

  “Sarcasm can be an ugly thing, Jackson.”

  “So can anxious, love-sick girls.”

  I ignore the flutter in my chest as he mentions love and, instead, choose to stick my tongue out. Jackson just ignores me and takes a drink of his beer. My attention returns to the television. I’ve never been one to watch golf. It all seemed rather boring and all too quiet. Sports are supposed to be full of screaming fans, marching bands, fly balls, touchdowns, or even a dunk. Somehow, hitting a little white ball into a hole seemed stupid, or like something I do on vacation from time to time, but the hole is usually the mouth of a clown, or a windmill—anything to make it interesting, because otherwise I’d be bored as hell and, hence, not watching. But here, the attraction is not a clown, an elephant, windmill, or anything else. It’s all Gray. I think my breath lodges in my chest when the camera zooms in on him. He looks so good, though different. He’s wearing relaxed slacks, not his usual jeans. His t-shirt has been replaced with a polo shirt. He’s got a hat covering his beautiful hair. It’s not that he looks bad, but he doesn’t look like my Gray. Even when I was on the road with him, he didn’t seem this different. I shrug it off. It’s just been awhile since I’ve seen him. That’s all it is.

  I’m sadly glued to the television as Gray moves from hole to hole, zooming to the top of the leader’s board. At one point, I think I even cheered out loud. The same can’t be said for Jackson, who is snoring. I threw chips at him once to get him to stop, but he shoved it off his face with his hand and went back to snoring.

  At the last hole, Gray struck once and got so close to the hole, I’m sure he could almost taste it. He’s standing at it now, ready to baby it in the hole. I watch as he chooses his club and I’m literally sitting on pins and needles. The camera zooms in on him, the wind ripples through his hair, and I’m holding my breath as I watch him swing and connect with the little white ball. It rolls towards the hole… and sinks. Cheers erupt, and I’m not any different as I screech out in celebration, waking Jackson up. I immediately want to call him and congratulate him.

  I reach for my phone just when I see Cammie running out and hugging him. I want to bust the television screen. Gray returns her hug, though I can’t say he was overly friendly. He’s shaking hands with some of the other men and players. I’m still frowning at the television, wondering how I can kill Cammie Riverton from afar.

  The reporter pulls Gray to the side and I breathe a little easier because it cuts Cammie out of the picture enough that she doesn’t show up on my screen.

  “That was outstanding, Gray. Can you walk our viewers through that last hole and how you rebounded after getting that bogey early in the match?”

  “It’s all a blur, honestly, Pauline,” he says, laughing easily. “I just went into competition mode. I want to hurry and get this match done because I’m heading to Ke
ntucky to spend the week with my woman.”

  “Does this mean that golf’s most notorious bachelor is off the market?” she asks.

  “Completely. My heart belongs in Kentucky. Now if you’ll excuse me, Pauline, I have a plane to catch,” he says, and then, adding with a wink, “See you soon, sweet lips.”

  My stomach flutters. What did Gray just do? Oh my God! Then I fall back on the couch giggling like a school girl. Jackson’s glares from my waking him up again can’t even stop the happiness surging through me.

  Holy crap! I think Gray really likes me!

  I’m more than half asleep when I hear it: a noise coming from the living room. At first I think I dreamed it because I don’t hear anything else right away. I sit up in bed and do my best to focus my eyes in the dark. There’s a faint light in the hall coming from the bathroom, and it helps keep me from being completely blind. I reach over beside the head of my bed and wrap my fingers around the baseball bat I keep there. My fingers tighten against the wrapped handle as I wait. I hear the noise again. This time, it’s definitely real and definitely coming from the living room. I can no longer write it off to just sleeping.

  I carefully get out of the bed, clutching the bat as tight as I can. My heart is pounding in my ears and bumping so hard against my chest, it’s a wonder I can breathe. Quietly, I walk through the hallway. As I near the end of it, I can make out a shadowy figure standing by the couch, bending over. I pick up my speed, walking quickly and forgetting silence in hopes I can attack fast and hard. He has to have heard me because he jerks up just as I swing with the bat, claiming the lamp on my sofa table. I close my eyes tight as I hear my lamp shatter, then wait for the dull thud of hitting the person breaking in.

  That sound never comes because the bat is jerked out of my hand. I try to hold on and wrestle with it, but it only succeeds in bringing me closer to the person. So, instead, I let go all at once. I hear a muffled, “Motherfucker!” before the figure goes barreling back and falls on the ground.

  I take off running towards the front door, deciding there’s no way I’d win in a fight with this asshole. If it had been a woman, sure, and even some men, I think I could take on. But this man was strong when we were fighting over the bat and his voice was very male. Banger didn’t raise a fool. Run now, live tomorrow.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  I stop with the door halfway open. I know that voice. I hit the light switch by the door. It takes me a few minutes before my eyes adjust, and when they do, it’s to discover Gray lying there looking pissed—but somehow still sexy as hell. He’s sprawled out on the floor, which I can only assume is where he landed, and he’s sitting among the broken glass of my favorite lamp.

  “Gray?” I’m sure I’m hallucinating. Heck, maybe I am still asleep.

  “Fucking hell, Cooper. Are you trying to kill me?”

  “What? No. I mean… Wait… What are you doing here?”

  “I caught a red-eye so I could get home to my woman sooner! Now I’m thinking I shouldn’t have bothered.”

  I close the door slowly and lean on it while I still my breath.

  It’s just Gray. Gray, home early. Gray, coming in the door at four in the morning to surprise me. Gray, missing me so much that he took a flight out of Florida to get here. Gray, calling me his woman. As soon as I kill him for scaring the hell out of me, I might finally admit that I’m… in love with him.

  “You almost gave me a heart attack!” I growl, trying to ignore the way my heart is still pounding. I have a feeling it has more to do with the thought of being in love with Gray Lucas than it does still being scared from thinking someone is breaking in.

  “Yeah, well, you almost killed me, so I guess we’re even,” he grumbles, slowly getting to his feet. I watch him for a minute before walking to him and taking his hand in mine, palm up, and trying to see what he’s looking at. I wince as I see little slivers of glass all over his skin and some of them sticking in it.

  “Shit, that doesn’t look good.”

  “It doesn’t feel good either,” he grumbles.

  “Let’s get you into the bathroom and I’ll clean the glass off of you,” I tell him. As we walk down towards the hall, I look back at my shattered lamp forlornly. “I really loved that lamp,” I sigh.

  “You would have never known it. I think you could probably give my brother lessons in swinging a bat there, Babe Ruth.”

  “Bite me. You owe me a lamp. It won’t be easy to find one that I like as much.”

  “I’ll give you something besides a lamp you’ll like better,” he says, grinning.

  “You’re horrible. Besides, that will be hard to do, but I’m lonely so I’ll let you try.”

  “I’ll show you hard.”

  “You never stop, do you?”

  “Not even when you beg, but there is just one thing that’s going to have to happen first.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” I ask him as we make it to the bedroom and I head in the direction of the adjoining bathroom.

  “You’re probably going to have to dig glass out of my ass first, sweet lips.”

  I look around at his behind and wince when I see one particularly big shard sticking through the jeans.

  Yikes.

  “Ow! Damn it, woman, leave some of my ass back there, will you?”

  “Oh, good Lord, you’re such a baby. There’s no way that could hurt.”

  “Easy for you to say. It’s not your ass all bleeding and cut open. I may need a blood transfusion,” I exaggerate, hiding my grin as I bury my head in my hand so she can’t see. We’re lying on the bed and, even if all CC is doing is bandaging up my ass, I’m completely naked and she’s in a t-shirt (mine, by the way; she’s totally wearing my shirt to sleep in while I’m gone, and I call that a fucking win) and I’m happier right now than I have been since she left.

  “Oh my God, men are such babies,” she says as she slaps a Band-Aid on my butt. “There. You’re finished, whiny boy.”

  I roll over and pull her down against my chest. For a minute, I can do nothing but stare at her. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her, but I must have forgotten just how beautiful she is. Right now as I’m staring at her laughing face, her eyes glowing, her cheeks red, her lips moist and plump and begging for attention, the curve of her neck, the gentle sway her breasts make with each breath, I’m completely and utterly hypnotized by her. I’m owned by her. The man I was before I met her seems like a different person. I never want anyone in my life but this woman. I want her when I’m old. I want babies with her. I want to fight with her and, fuck, I really, really want to make it up with her. I want her face to be the last thing I see before I go to sleep and the first thing I see when I wake up. I’m dying to tell her that, but I hold back, still unsure of her. In a lot of ways, CC is like a frightened doe, ready to take off and run at the first approach. Keeping that in mind, I give her the only words I feel like I can right now. They’re thick with unspoken emotion; I can’t help that.

  “I’ve missed the fuck out of you, Cooper.”

  Her eyes dilate and she licks her lips nervously. Just the simple move of her tongue sliding against her lips to moisten them makes my cock push against her leg, begging for attention.

  “I’ve missed you too, Gray. Very much,” she says quietly, and just like that, I feel like I have the world at my feet.

  “Show me,” I dare her, and I stare at her lips as I wait to see what her next move will be.

  “Show you?” Her hand comes up so that her thumb moves back and forth on my bottom lip. I suck it in, letting my tongue graze over it, kissing it gently before releasing.

  “I’m tired. It was a long flight.”

  “Poor baby.”

  “Yeah. I’m too tired for anything, but I want it.”

  “You want… it?” she asks, and I hear the laughter thick in her voice now.

  “Oh yeah. I definitely want it.”

  “I see. So what do you suppose we should do? I mean, maybe you should nap befor
e you get it.”

  “I could. But I like my plan better.”

  “And what is your plan, dare I ask?”

  “I’m just gonna lay here and let you have your wicked way with me.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yep. That’s it.”

  “That sounds kind of boring for… me.”

  “I have confidence in you. I think you’ll make sure you get yours, too.”

  “How do you suppose I should start?” she asks, and I know she’s trying to sound deadly serious, but the slight laugh in her voice gives her away.

  “Surprise me,” I tell her, then I lay completely back on the bed and see what she does next.

  It’s fucking good to be home.

  I study him for a minute. The smile on his face, the almost child-like happiness that oozes from him… and it feels good. It feels really good. Almost as if I’m the reason for it. For that reason alone, I feel another piece of my defenses completely fade away. I touch my lips to his, bringing them together gently, slowly. He tastes minty and warm with a touch of spice that I can only describe as Gray. It’s a taste that I know I won’t forget until the day I die. Gray takes my kiss and, though he drinks from my lips, he doesn’t offer his tongue or take it deeper. When I pull back, he’s smiling at me. If it wasn’t for the way his breath and heart rate have noticeably picked up, I wouldn’t be sure I affect him the way he does me. But the evidence is right there, and that gives me courage to touch his lips again, letting the tip of my tongue run along the outside of them. I push a little harder and my tongue slips inside. I immediately search his mouth for a deeper taste, for something to satisfy the need inside of me that is already raging with little more than a kiss.

  I find his tongue and caress it with mine, slowly at first, but as more of his taste hits me, I lose myself in it and whimper as our tongues begin dancing. Gradually, our kiss becomes more heated. Less about remembering and savoring and more about need. We break apart and I take oxygen into my lungs, but my eyes are glued to his. I can’t tear them away even when I slide further down his body so that my lips can find his nipple. I capture it gently between my teeth, rolling it carefully. His hand comes up and tangles in my hair, tightening in it. I smile at the way I can so easily tell I’m getting to him. As a reward, I suck hard on his nipple, bringing it all the way in and using enough pressure so that it’s pressed against the roof of my mouth. His hand tightens to the point that it’s almost painful. I pull away anyway, kissing my way down his ribcage and even lower to that fantastic V outline pointing the way to his cock. His body is so well defined, it’s a work of art.