Searching for Perfect

by Jennifer Probst

"What's the matter?"

  "Nothing. Now you need a complete follow-through. Keep your eyes on the ball and swing." She did. "You didn't keep your eye on the ball."

  "Yes, I did!"

  "No, you thought you did. That gets beginners all the time. What's the best thing you've ever seen in your life?"

  "What?"

  He let out an impatient breath. "An image. A photo. What was the most intriguing image you set eyes on, where you felt like you couldn't look away?"

  Her cheeks turned pink. "My cousin showed me a copy of Playgirl. I had never seen a naked man before."

  Nate stabbed a finger toward the floor. "That ball is your first naked man. Got it?"

  She giggled. "Don't you mean balls?"

  "Concentrate."

  "Sorry."

  "Now, do it again." He made her practice a few times until he was satisfied she got her basic grip, stance, and gaze on the ball. "Good. Let's try it now with the simulator. Move up to the swing pad and get ready."

  "That grassy thing there?"

  "Yes. Relax, breathe, and concentrate on the ball."

  She mumbled something under her breath but obeyed. She wriggled her hips, adjusted her grip, and gazed at the ball. He wondered what man she was fantasizing about naked. The idea annoyed the crap out of him, so he pushed the thought aside.

  She swung.

  The ball hit the screen with good trajectory. She peered at the screen while the ball launched toward the fairway, hooking a bit left, but sailing nicely to land for perfect setup to the green. She frowned. "Is that good? How come it's so far away from the hole?"

  "That's excellent for a first swing. Okay, you hook left so we need to straighten that out. Speed is a bit low. Trajectory decent. Now you're going to set up the shot to get onto the green." He took her through the steps, readjusting her stance and swing, then stepped back.

  Gaze glued to the imaginary naked man, she nibbled at her lower lip, then drew back. And swung.

  The ball landed on the green a few inches from the hole. "Oh, yay! That's good, right? Now I just have to push it in the hole."

  "Putt. Huh, you corrected the hook, even though there was a dog leg on this course."

  "Dog what?"

  "Dog leg is a hole that's not straight. I haven't seen a beginner able to accomplish that. Can you putt?"

  She stuck out her chin. "Of course. I like miniature golf. It's fun to try and get through the windmills and water fountains."

  He rolled his eyes and grabbed a putter from the shelf. "Here, try this one."

  She set herself up and sunk it in one perfect putt. "Yay, did I win?"

  "There's no winning here. It's a game of how many strokes it takes to get your ball in the hole. Your statistics are impressive. Let's do the next one."

  They completed the nine-hole course. Nate computed her numbers and watched them increase in quality with every hole. He went to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, then remembered he was wearing contacts. Odd. It was almost as if she had a natural swing. Which was impossible, of course. Maybe a bit of beginner's luck? But the computer didn't lie.

  "Nate? Can we go now?"

  "In a minute." The club face dimensions were a gift most golfers prayed for and never got. Her grip was still awful. But what would she be like when she increased her strength and practiced more? Would she get even better, or worse? He reached for his pencil to do some quick calculations, but the pocket protector was gone.

  "Nate, I'm done with golf. I want to go."

  He came out of his fog. "Sure. Listen, any chance you can take off Wednesday morning? Meet me at the golf course? I really want to get you on a real green."

  She narrowed her gaze with suspicion. "How many more sessions do I have to complete before our favor is officially over?"

  "Three times on the course. I can drag you out on a weekend morning if that works better."

  "Wednesday's fine. I can rearrange my schedule."

  "Excellent."

  "Do you have decent golf clothes?" she asked. "We forgot to pick anything up today."

  "Actually, my golf wardrobe is highly rated and all designer."

  She perked up. "Cool. I always wanted to wear this tennis dress that's been hanging in my closet."

  He followed her out and tried not to groan. Great. Watching her short skirt flip up when she bent over and took a swing would likely kill him. Kennedy was with him to find his soul-mate. Crushing on her wouldn't help either of them. They shared a similar past and understood one another on a different level. And he wanted to sleep with her.

  Bad.

  That didn't mean they'd make a good couple or that she was interested in something more. Yes, he swore a few times she had also sensed the connection and wanted to kiss him back. But it quickly disappeared, and Kennedy wasn't the type to follow impulse if it affected business. He needed to concentrate on the original plan to find himself a suitable woman. One who wanted to settle down, share his life, and love him as he was--geekiness and all. One who would stay and not be tempted by the next hot guy who came along.

  "You okay?" she asked.

  He forced a smile. "Yes. Actually, I'm amazing."

  Her laughter soothed his soul as they walked out.

  "YOU'RE MOVING OUT?"

  Nate winced and kept his head down, taping down the box and clearly marking it in black marker. "I told you yesterday. I managed to get a small rental in Verily, near Kinnections. I think we both need some private space."

  "I don't mind you bringing women home, man." Connor paced through the cluttered room. "What do you expect me to do? I can't afford this rent on my own."

  "No worries, I'll take care of it. It's not fair I sprung this on you last minute."

  "I can pay my way."

  The resentment in his brother's tone made Nate look up. "I know you can. This isn't about you. I just don't want my future wife to think I'm a partyer who likes hanging with his brother and getting drunk."

  "Yeah, I did teach you well. Where are your glasses? You're blind without them."

  "I'm wearing contacts."

  His brother gasped. "You put something in your eye? Holy shit, you're going hard core on this makeover thing. Does it bother your eyeball?"

  Nate tried not to squirm at the thought. Damn older siblings. "No. And don't talk about it, or I'll get weirded out. I don't feel a thing."

  "Fine. Listen, Ned--"

  "Nate."

  "Sorry. I'm worried about you. I think you're focusing too hard on this one-woman thing and it's gonna blow up in your face. Why don't you play it cool for a while? Sleep around a bit. I bet you can get some serious play with this new look you got going for you."

  He studied his brother. Usually Connor reflected an easygoing, uncomplicated guy who wanted nothing more than to get laid. But today, underneath the words, something darker loomed. He simply looked unhappy. Nate gentled his voice. "Aren't you tired of just getting laid? Don't you want more from your life? More of . . . anything?"

  His brother jerked back. "Who'd want more than a good piece of ass?"

  "Not all women are like Mom."

  Connor stopped pacing. His cheeks grew ruddy. "Don't ever talk about Mom. You don't know what happened."

  "She left us. Doesn't mean they all will."

  The anger deflated but left behind only a shadow of the brother he knew. What was going on? Flat hazel eyes gazed back at him without expression. "Yeah. They will."

  "Forget it." Nate grabbed the last box and unrolled the tape. He knew from experience that Connor was well versed on the family-and-kids speech. He cited their own parents' failings, the divorce statistics, and the innate biological drive of the male species to stray. Depressing. His brother was right on most counts. Love and marriage made no logical sense if approached analytically; the failure rate way outran the successes. Yet, here he was, a scientist who devoted his life to analytics, aching to take the leap, while Connor refused to get hurt again. "The truck's coming this week. I left you e
nough groceries. You should have plenty of time to get paid from the new job."

  "Don't need your charity, bro."

  "Not giving you any." He laid the last box on top of the pile and wiped his brow. "You put me through school and gave me everything I needed. Let me handle the rent on this place for a while. Hell, when you get supervisor, I'm making you take me out for a steak dinner."

  Connor's lips turned up. "Prime rib?"

  "New York strip at Delmonico's. Nothing less."

  His brother grunted. "Whatever. Wanna hang out tonight? We can go to the bar and meet Jerry, knock back a few, then catch True Blood."

  "Can't. I'm meeting Kennedy for a session at the gym."

  "Again? What's up with all the working out? You sure you're not screwing her?"

  He tamped down his anger at Connor's crude words. "I'm sure. She's just helping me find my best self. I'll be meeting a bunch of women at a mixer next week, and she wants to be sure I'm prepared."

  "Prepared? I did that for you, man. My advice is stellar."

  "Maybe for you," he muttered. The memory of getting shocked at the bar over and over still made him squirm. Talk about hard-core therapy. "I'm looking for more than a one-night stand. I want something real. Is that too much to ask?"

  Connor turned his back. "Do whatever you want. It's your funeral."

  The door slammed behind him.

  Nate groaned. Ah, hell. He didn't want to hurt Connor's feelings or insult him. He just needed to be his own person and stop being his brother's clone. Guilt ate at his gut, but soon he heard the outer door close and knew he'd left. Probably out to the local bar to drown his sorrows and talk smack about his ungrateful little brother.

  Nate checked his watch. He needed to meet Kennedy for Zumba in a bit. He'd make it up to Connor later. Maybe take him out for dinner and spend some quality time with him. He tossed on sweat pants and a T-shirt and shoved his feet into sneakers. Then looked in the mirror.

  Funny, he looked . . . normal. Even halfway attractive. His eyes seemed more interesting without the large frames, and the goatee that he'd despised and wanted to shave off had grown in nicely. He'd gotten in the habit of lifting some weights after Zumba while Kennedy drilled him, and the muscles he sported already seemed a bit tighter and more defined.

  He was officially deemed socially acceptable. His big mixer was set up for Friday night. All three women had declared him ready to hit the next level.

  Now, if he could only learn not to shove his foot in his mouth like Fred Flintstone, life would be perfect.

  He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. Shame on him for wishing Kennedy Ashe would be his very own Wilma, ready to accept and love him even with all his noticeable flaws.

  This wasn't primitive times. And that cartoon got canceled a damn long time ago.

  Nate ignored the ache in his heart and told himself he was looking forward to the mixer.

  ten

  NATE WATCHED GREEDILY as Kennedy climbed out of her car, the short tennis dress flipping up in the spring breeze. He figured she'd text him an excuse rather than show up on a midweek morning on the golf course. Her hips swung with an innate sauciness that was part of her core, and she stopped in front of him. Her scarlet nails contrasted sexily against the white dress.

  "I didn't think you'd come."

  She arched a golden brow. "I don't welsh on my promises. I'm ready to play some golf."

  He almost laughed at the disdain in her voice as she said the word. His spirits lifted and suddenly, he was excited for the few hours ahead. He was such a chump.

  "I'm helping someone else out with his swing, but he's running late. He may catch up with us later. Let's hit the course."

  He shifted his clubs, guided her into the golf cart, and led her to the first tee. The wooded pines and fir trees tangled amid acres of bright green under a cloudless sky. The air held a hint of chill, but the sun poured down bright and cheerful. Her hushed voice floated in the wind. "It's so beautiful. And quiet."

  "Midweek is the best time. We can just relax and play around a bit. Less serious stuff."

  "Do you ever think of playing professionally?"

  He shook his head and set the clubs down. "Nah, not interested. I enjoy helping others, though, and I'm constantly looking to shave a stroke or two off my game. It's a mental challenge, but it's also soothing. Out here, I can clear my head."

  She dragged in a breath and smiled. "Yeah, I see what you mean. I'm always focused on my next task, even when I'm alone, I forget what it's like to just be."

  "Must be tough trying to bring love to the world."

  She crinkled her nose. "You making fun of me?"

  "No. I think you're held to a higher power than me and my rockets. I help people get to space. You help people find love."

  She drew back in surprise. Those gorgeous whiskey eyes softened. "Thanks."

  "Welcome. You remember the grip we talked about?"

  "Like this?"

  He spent a few minutes going over the basics and rules of the game. "Use this club for your approach shot. Do you know the target?"

  "Oh, can I put the ball in that pretty beach thing there?"

  "No, that's a hazard. Sand trap. If it looks pretty, avoid it." He pointed right. "Over there, see the flag?"

  "That's a million miles away!"

  "You don't get there in the first shot. Aim that way, and we do it in stages. Each one is a stroke. Right now I want to concentrate on your natural swing. We learned a lot from the simulator, but this will be different. Remember to keep your eye on the ball."

  "Hello, naked Channing Tatum."

  "Thanks for the visual. I just threw up in my mouth."

  Her giggle charmed rather than annoyed him. She drew the club back, rotated nicely, and slammed the club forward, completing a nice full arc.

  The ball flew in a perfect spin and landed on the edge of the fairway.

  Very close to the green.

  How the hell had she done that?

  "Oh, man, I suck! I told you I'd suck."

  "Ken, that was a great shot. Most men I teach can't do that for at least a few weeks. Have you practiced?"

  She snorted. "With what? Listen, we need to talk about something serious. I thought you said your golf clothes were designer. When are you going to start listening to me regarding your wardrobe?"

  Nate ignored her, studied the landing, and did a few calculations in his head. How could she have completed a good square club face as a novice? Her natural swing was off the charts. This time, he found the pencil in his pocket, grabbed his scorecard, and scribbled down some calculations. Again, she held a slight left hook tendency, but that was an easy tweak.

  "Earth to Nate."

  "Yeah?"

  "The orange pants. That is a crime against nature. You're scaring the birds."

  He looked up with a frown. "Are you kidding me? These shorts are from Rickie Fowler's line. They cost a fortune."

  "Who's Ricky?"

  "One of the best golfers in the world."

  Kennedy rolled her eyes. "For God's sakes, why is he designing clothes if he golfs? Golfers have the world's worst fashion sense. You can't wear those again."

  "Fine."

  "Your turn, right?"

  "Yeah." He quieted his mind and his breath, and hit his approach shot. Damn, he'd end up getting a bogey if he didn't clean it up in the next swing. He barely missed the hazard and fell into the rough close to Kennedy's ball.

  "Yay, you did good. Cool, we're together."

  "Let's go."

  They trudged to the next hole. This time, he studied the way she set up her body. Her pullback was amazing, a gorgeous, graceful arc that connected cleanly with the ball. Rarely did females follow through with enough power to hit the ball far, let alone keep their eyes so securely on the target. Her shot cut through the air and landed right next to the hole.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  His eyes bugged out. She stuck out her lower lip in a pout to rival a mov
ie star's. "Aww, I missed."

  He jerked around. "Missed? You can putt the ball right in. You got a par three."

  "That's good?"

  "It's almost impossible for a beginner. Or so I thought."

  She brightened and did a little dance. Her skirt swung and showed off tanned, muscular thighs and a cute rear. The little white socks and sneakers gave her a juvenile look. Her full breasts strained against the dress and bounced to the rhythm. He cursed under his breath and bit his tongue on purpose. The sudden pain grounded him.

  He was missing something. What did she have that most first-time golfers didn't? How could she line herself up so perfectly without strain and manage to pitch the ball so far? "Your turn!" she chirped.

  "Fine." This time, the ball rolled in a drunken arc too far from the green and slid into the sand trap.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. That's bad, right?"

  Aggravation stirred inside him. "Yes, that's bad. You go. Use the putter."

  "Cool, I like the little stick better." She wiggled her ass and with a delicate tap, sank the ball. "Yay, I did it!"

  "Goody for you."

  "How are you going to get out of that sand thing?"

  "Watch." Usually he was a whiz at the sand traps, but this time he took two swings to get himself out. When he finally sank his ball, he was wondering if he was being pranked on some hidden camera show.

  The nightmare continued. Nate watched as she commanded each hole, her swing never wavering and giving her perfect pars while he struggled with his own game. She grew perkier, and he grew more annoyed as he started sporting a massive erection and a headache.

  By the time they were halfway through, he was done.

  "Maybe we should break. I don't want to tire you the first time we're on a real course," he said.

  "Good idea. Hey, this wasn't as bad as I thought. I'll do it again."

  "Hooray," Nate said humorlessly.

  They climbed into the cart and took off. Nate wondered if he could sneak back in an hour and finish his game. It must be the sexual energy that had messed him up. He quickly texted Wolfe that they'd need to reschedule for that week and decided to go to work early.

  "Nate?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Did you always want to be an aerospace engineer?"

  Her off-topic question pulled him back to the present. "No. I wanted to be a superhero. I always felt I could make Batman's cave a hell of a lot better, and the Batmobile needed some tweaking."

  That earned him another of her husky laughs. "Bet you were always smart."

  "Yeah. I got bored too quickly in school, so they pushed me ahead a year. And of course, once they introduced higher mathematical concepts, I understood exactly what they meant. I never struggled, and in my spare time I studied formulas. So I changed from becoming the next Batman to helping get a man into space. When the NASA program disassembled, I sided with the camp of the private sector that wanted to open up space travel to everyone. Rich billionaires began creating their own companies for the purpose, and I came back to New York."