by Lynne Silver
She tried to sell it as an easy way for him to repair his damaged reputation, and she’d hinted that she wanted to see him again socially. It was tricky to read her signals. Now that he was here, he was questioning the ease of golf for charity.
He got to the front of the line feeling entirely out of place and looked around desperately for Valerie, but she was nowhere to be found. He eyed his fellow firefighters roaming through the crowd in their familiar navy work wear and wished he were among their ranks today and not about to play golf.
“Hi. Name?” A perky brunette with an overly whitened smile grinned up at him from behind her place at an official-looking checkin table.
“Uh. Jason. Jason Moore.”
She riffled through some sheets of paper with long lists of typed names. “Hmm, don’t see your name here. How do you spell your last name?”
He spelled it out for her and shifted from one leg to another, feeling both hope his name wasn’t on the list so he could escape, and longing that his name was on the list so he wouldn’t feel like more of an ass than he already did. What had Valerie gotten him into? This was not his crowd, not his scene. At all.
Clusters of well-dressed golfers greeted one another. They wore odd colors that probably had names like tangerine or sea foam. He tugged at the hem of his old Green Day concert T-shirt and waited for the girl to declare what he already knew: he didn’t belong here.
“Oh, found it.” Her smile widened. Her teeth had to be fake. No one’s teeth were that white naturally. “You were a late sign-up, so your name was handwritten on the last sheet.”
He nodded without smiling, wondering if he could fake some horrible golf injury on the first hole and get the hell out of there. It was a waste of a perfectly good Sunday off work. He could be washing his truck or biking a trail somewhere. And where the hell was Valerie? He was about to ask Miss Perky if she had a clue as to Valerie’s whereabouts when she started talking again.
“We’re so glad you could join us, Mr. Moore. We’ve been trying for years to get a real fireman to play in the tournament, especially since it benefits a children’s hospital burn unit, but they’ve always claimed to not play golf or be on call.”
Yeah, he shoulda known the rest of his comrades were too smart to get caught up in this elite country club set. He was the sucker who said yes because a pretty girl asked him. Shit, he was stupid.
“You’re on Team 7, Mr. Moore, or should I call you Jason?” Suddenly the girl’s tone took on a husky accent.
Now she was flirting with him. Crap. She was probably some little rich girl caught up in the fantasy of seeing a fireman’s hose. Well, it wasn’t going to be his. That was for damn sure. He grunted in response to her question and hoped she chalked his rudeness up to his blue-collar roots.
“If you head to the white tent that way, you’ll find the rest of your foursome. You’re the last of your team to check in.”
Without looking back or thanking her, he stalked off to the tent in the opposite direction of the other firefighters, getting angrier with both himself and Valerie. He didn’t belong here, and to top it off, he didn’t play golf very well. He could put up with being the odd man out if he could let his game do the talking, but unfortunately, he was going to look like an ass all the way around.
When he got to the tent, it was a cluster-fuck of Ralph Lauren and Lacoste. White banners with Valerie’s firm’s logo hung from two of the half walls. At least there were drinks. Long tables covered in white linen sagged under the weight of buckets filled with ice. Resting on the ice were plastic bottles of water and fancy longnecks of beer. He grabbed a beer, and a waiter in a black suit immediately reached out with a bottle opener to assist.
“Thanks.” He took a long swig and eyed the room. He supposed he should go look for his teammates. Now that he looked more closely, he noticed tall round tables with numbers perched on each one. He ambled over to the table with the bold 7 on it, but before he arrived at the table, a gorgeous woman in a powder blue golf shirt caught his eye. Valerie. He changed direction and charged toward her, worried she’d disappear if he didn’t grab her quickly.
“Jason.” Her smile was warm and friendly, and he was ridiculously relieved to see her face. “I’m glad you were able to make it.” Her smile flickered slightly as she glanced over him from head to toe. “Didn’t they give you a shirt?”
“Uh, no. The girl at the welcome table sent me here. Hey, I’m sorry for how we left things last week at the school. I was an asshole.”
She smiled slightly. “You already apologized. It’s no big deal. You’ve more than made up for it by showing up to play golf.”
“It’s my pleasure.” And it kind of was, especially when she looked ridiculously cute and professional. Her collared shirt was tight enough to cup the curves of her breasts. The tiny golf skirt paired with athletic socks up to her knees made her look like a porn fantasy and was going to bring him to his knees.
“Come with me.” She grabbed his elbow and escorted him out of the tent to another tent. This one wasn’t as fancy. It was for the behind-the-scenes staff. Large cardboard boxes littered the ground, some empty, some filled. Valerie let his arm go and riffled through one. He stared as she bent over. The tiny golf skirt barely covered her ass, and her golf shirt rode up her back, exposing a strip of silky skin. If she were truly his woman, he’d drag her out of the tent, find a tree or patch of soft grass somewhere, and take her with the skirt hiked up. She’d keep the socks on. Shit, now he was getting, well, as hard as a damn golf club. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his worn khaki cargos to cover the arousal.
She turned back and held a royal blue collared shirt against him to see if it would fit. It was covered with logos on the chest and sleeves as though he were a NASCAR driver.
“After you change, I’ll take you back to your team. Are your golf clubs in the stands outside the player pavilion?”
They started walking back to the other tent. Or player pavilion, as he now knew it to be called. “Nah. I don’t own clubs. Is that a problem?”
She stopped on a dime and turned to him. “Oh, I thought you said you played golf?”
“You asked if I had played, and the answer is yes. I’ve played twice in my life. I don’t own a set of clubs.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened. “Shoot. I’m so sorry. I misunderstood. Let’s get you a set of loaner clubs from the pro shop. And I’m glad I put you with Lance. He’ll go easy on you and carry your weight.”
He didn’t like Valerie thinking anyone needed to carry his weight, and he wondered who this Lance guy was. The day was getting better and better. He needed another beer. Unfortunately, the beer was in the other tent in the opposite direction of where Valerie was headed. Feeling a bit like an elementary school boy in trouble, he followed her, wishing he could rewind to a few days ago when she’d called and asked if he played golf. Hell no, would’ve been his answer, but he was stuck now.
They stopped in front of a glass-fronted building looking more like a ritzy resort than a golf pro shop. A small window at eye level was open and Valerie went right over and chatted up the young man on the other side. Within minutes, a navy leather bag with a full set of clubs was trotted outside and presented for his inspection. He nodded. Given his experience, making sure the clubs were fitted perfectly to his height wasn’t going to make a hell of a lot of difference. He lifted the garish green knitted cover off a club, pretended to examine it, then nodded as if he knew anything about Taylor versus Ping.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Valerie said. “You should switch into the shirt. It’s from one of the sponsors, and it would be a great photo op if you wore it.” She handed over the royal blue collared golf shirt feeling like a first-class snob for doing it.
Her eyes widened and all the saliva in her mouth disappeared as Jason took hold of the hem of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. He stood bare-chested for a glorious few seconds while swapping out his T-shirt for the golf shirt. It may have been only a f
ew seconds, but it was enough to see every cut muscle in his wide shoulders and abdomen. It was also enough time to finally see a tad more detail of his two tattoos, one band around his wide right biceps and another on his pectoral that looked like the firefighter Maltese cross. Unfortunately, the blue polo was covering up the intriguing tattoos before she’d had a chance to examine them properly.
If Jason had been appealing before, he was doubly—no triply—attractive now that she’d seen he was packing a ripped body. All those hours of toting hoses and cats out of trees had paid off in spades. She wanted to tell him his T-shirt was fine and he could put it back on, just to gain another opportunity to see his bare chest. She knew she’d be replaying the visual in her head on a loop tonight. Maybe she should sleep with the guy. Lord knew she’d never have the chance to find a body that hot in her bed again.
“Valerie?”
It took her a moment to realize Jason was speaking to her. “Huh?” She shook her head, feeling like an idiot, then refocused on him.
“Should I go find my foursome now?” He stood in front of her holding the large bag of clubs as if they weighed no more than a school backpack.
“Oh, um, sure. I’ll walk you over there now and introduce you to Lance.” For some reason he scowled when she mentioned Lance. “Lance is a great guy. His family owns half of America, but you’d never know it to meet him, especially since he’s a Secret Service agent.”
Instead of nodding, Jason’s scowl deepened. She rolled her eyes and stepped in front of him to lead the way down the concrete path surrounded by grass so green it had to take a village of gardeners to maintain it. Once they were in the main reception tent again, Valerie introduced him to the rest of his foursome. She rested her palm possessively on his forearm as she made the introductions. It was a casual kind of touch, she told herself. It meant nothing and didn’t show how badly she itched to run her hands all over Jason’s body.
“Jason, meet my friend Lance Brown,” she said. “Lance, Jason is the firefighter I mentioned. We’re lucky to have him here today, so make him look good.”
While the two good-looking men shook hands, she leaned down to tug up her socks. The left one was half an inch away from slipping and revealing her calves. She stood again and checked that Jason was settled in with his team. Two men on the team were her father’s age, both possibly a little drunk given the multitude of empty beer bottles on the Team 7 table. Once it seemed Jason was fine, she took off for the dozens of administrative tasks she had to do while organizing an event such as this, and she had to physically get away from Jason for her own peace of mind. For the first time in six years, her body felt alive. Well, parts of her body that had lain dormant. Jason made her want to take crazy risks. She couldn’t. If and when she ever slept with a man again, it had to be with one who would emotionally be there for her. Jason wasn’t that man.
Jason wanted to hate Lance when Valerie introduced them, but found he couldn’t. The guy was laid back and friendly. He seemed to effortlessly blend in with the wealthy crowd and yet wasn’t quite one of them. In some ways the older men almost seemed to defer to Lance in matters of politics and other conversational topics. Why wouldn’t they? The dude was a freaking Secret Service agent and wealthy to boot. Hell, Jason half wanted to date him himself. He guessed the guy was appealing to women since he was tall and built, with dark hair and light green eyes.
“How does Valerie get us suckered into these things?” A tall, thin athletic man with dirty-blond hair walked up next to Lance, clapping a palm on his shoulder.
“Sam.” Lance clapped the dude on the back, with a wide smile. “Jason, this is Sam Cooper. Sam. Jason.”
Jason shook hands with the newcomer. “You’re not much of a golfer either?”
“Oh, no, I played golf on my high school team, which is probably why Valerie tagged me to be here. We went to high school together,” Sam explained, scratching his cheek with fingers that looked like they’d be more at home on a computer keyboard than gripping a beer. “I meant that I hate these charity events. I’d rather write a check.”
“You were friends with Valerie in high school?”
Sam shrugged. “Well, not friends exactly. I wasn’t very popular, but Valerie was one of the few girls who was nice to me, which is why I show up at these things for her.”
“And now he’s an FBI agent, which means all the high school bullies are in awe,” Lance said with a chuckle.
Sam smiled at the ground. “Don’t let Mr. Secret Service here fool you. I’m in the cyber security division. More of a computer nerd than Alex Cross.”
At that moment, someone on a loudspeaker called Lance’s and Jason’s team to the tee-off and they shook hands with Sam and headed out.
The deference toward Lance only deepened as they got out on the course and Lance proved himself to be a scratch golfer. Duke and Duke, as Jason dubbed the older men in their foursome, contained their impatience at his own shanks into the rough only because Lance’s score kept them on pace with the other teams. Plus, Lance handed out golfing tips in a way that kept him at ease. He didn’t know how the guy did it. If anyone else kept trying to correct his stance or grip, he probably would’ve slammed a golf club over their head, but Jason found himself laughing and working to correct his game under Lance’s tutelage. He was half tempted to invite the guy out for a beer after the event.
“How long have you known Valerie?” he managed to ask casually while one of the Dukes was up at the tee. They stood a few yards back under the leafy shade of an ancient tree.
“A few years now,” Lance answered. “We kept running into each other at various events around town.”
The kind of events to which he would never receive an invitation, no doubt. Lance was exactly the type of guy he expected Valerie to date. “Ever date her?” He gave in to his insecurities and dared to ask the question that had been scratching at his brain since meeting Lance.
Lance turned and gave him a sharp look, seeming to see deeply into him past the seemingly casual nature of his question to the burning desire below. “One date. We’re better off as friends,” Lance said.
“Mm.” Jason nodded as if that were the end of the matter, but Lance didn’t let it lie.
“Valerie’s a very nice woman. I wouldn’t want to see her hurt.”
Jason turned away and fiddled with his golf club, pretending to take a small practice putt.
“She’s not the kind of woman you do casually,” Lance continued.
Jason turned back. “My relationship with Valerie is none of your damn business.” Ironic, really, to call what he had with Valerie a relationship. It was more of a fantasy in his mind. He realized he’d changed the club grip in his hand, turning it from sporting equipment into weapon. “I’m not going to hurt her.” No, she was going to rip him apart, coming from different worlds as they did.
“Glad to hear it,” Lance said and strolled to the tee for his turn. He hit it long, low, and straight, landing near the green with a perfect setup for the next shot. Jason grimaced, knowing his effort wouldn’t produce half the result.
Lance strolled back from the tee-off point and Jason took his place. He was annoyed Lance had questioned his interest in Valerie and took it out on the ball, which protested by zooming off to the right in the middle of a small forest. “Shit,” he muttered.
“Take a mulligan,” Lance called and tossed him another ball. His second shot was better than the first, and soon they picked up their clubs and hiked out to their balls. Duke and Duke had opted for a cart and zoomed off ahead. Lance continued to talk about Valerie.
“She’s very competent at her job. She’ll likely be the youngest partner ever at her firm,” he said as they strolled on the velvet ultra-green grass of the fairway.
Jason stopped and looked at Lance. “You seem awfully interested. Are you sure you don’t want more with her?”
Lance smiled. “I told you, we went on one date. The chemistry wasn’t there. I’m happy to see she found a m
an, even though…”
“Even though, what?” He deliberately didn’t clue Lance in that he and Valerie weren’t a couple. Not yet anyway. He’d do everything in his power to make it a reality.
“Nothing,” Lance said.
“Even though I’m not her type,” he said, guessing at what Lance had been chicken to say.
Lance shrugged. “Hey, to each his own. Who am I to play matchmaker? I’m happy she picked someone I’ll be happy to hang out with. The last guy…” He gave an exaggerated shudder.
“Total tool?”
Lance swung his club bag onto his back as if it weighed less than a school backpack. “Total asshole. Asked me twice where my family ranked on the Forbes list.”
Jason hefted his own bag of clubs. “Dick.” It was hard to reconcile the easygoing guy strolling next to him as one of the wealthier men in the country. He was glad to get the inside info about Valerie’s love life and if he had a real shot. “I thought you were a Secret Service agent—don’t you carry a gun? You could’ve shot the guy.”
Lance laughed. “I’m riding a desk job at Treasury currently while waiting for a shot to work the presidential detail. No guns in my daily routine. Yet.” He held up crossed fingers. “Hopefully soon.”
Four hours later they were finally on the last hole. He was pretty sure he’d led their team to a grand last place finish. Lance didn’t seem to mind and was chatting as amiably now as at the beginning. They tossed their clubs into Duke and Duke’s golf cart and headed back to the main clubhouse for the final speeches and awarding of trophies. Jason was ducking out. He wasn’t getting any applause for the size of the check he’d written to the charity, nor was he winning a trophy for his golf game.