Love Her - Andrea Johnston Page 0,53
family.”
Ah. The reputation. Lucky for her, I anticipated this thought process. “Good thing we’re not eating in Lexington.” I don’t have to look at her to know her shoulders have dropped in relief. “There’s a place about an hour from here I’ve heard good things about. It’s a military themed brewery.”
“Ranks?” she asks hopefully.
“Yep. So, settle in and relax, beautiful. We’re going to have a great day.”
Pulling her hand out from beneath mine, she cups my cheek. I turn to look at her and am greeted with the most stunning smile. “Thank you.”
Turning my cheek into her palm, I relish in the feeling of her hands on me. Nothing else needs to be said as she reaches over, turns up the tunes and settles back into her seat, then slips her hand beneath mine again.
Chapter 20
Felicity
He thinks I’ll be easily distracted by his rock hard abs. It’s the only reason I can think that he’d be stretching his arms over his head again before each of my shots. Well, jokes on him. When I’m in the zone, I’m in the zone. Not even a hot guy like Connor will distract me from winning.
Unfortunately for me, he’s just as competitive and, while I’ve faltered a few times with my own distractions, the last four holes have been his bitch and we’re neck and neck.
“This is it. Final hole. Can she do it? Will she take the victory?”
“Your commentator voice needs work.”
“Oh come on, darlin’ you know you like it.”
What I like is when he says things like “darlin’” and “baby.” Damn. He says he’s from the Midwest, but the man can turn on a drawl in a nano second. Right now, though, I need him to shut his pie hole and let me make this shot. The damn windmill is my least favorite, but I know I can hit this. Two strokes and we tie. Hole in one and I win.
I line up next to the ball, shifting the weight from foot to foot, setting my stance. Thankfully I opted for a pair of flat ankle booties and not a heel or I might just tip over. Adjusting my grip, I pull back on the club and wait, counting the rotations of the windmill. Three, two, one. I tap the ball with enough power it will fly though the obstacle but hopefully not too much that it’ll miss the hole.
“Dammit.”
Giggling, I do a little victory dance while Connor groans in frustration. I skip over to him and without thinking about it, launch myself into his arms. He spins me around and we both laugh, making a spectacle of ourselves but I don’t care. My club dangles in my hand down his back as he kisses me. It is a perfectly respectable kiss for public but regardless of its simplicity, it sends a wave of heat through my body. Slowly, he lets me go, my body sliding down the front of his. Holding my face in his hands, he searches my eyes; what he’s looking for I don’t know but I hope I have the answer. I’ve never been looked at with such adoration.
“I know you have to get home but—”
“I don’t. I mean. I texted my mom earlier and she and Dad have the entire night planned out for the kids. As long as I call them and say good night, it’ll be fine.”
What am I doing? I’ve not missed a bedtime since the divorce. Even the last two years before Michael presented me with the papers, I was home as many nights as possible. I lost so much time with Clem, but it was when she went to our nanny, Mrs. Honeycutt, instead of me for comfort that I knew I needed to make a change. Michael said my refusal to socialize with him was the biggest issue in our marriage. I’d say it was his narcissistic, controlling nature, and his refusal to accept responsibility for being an asshole.
“What if we go back to my place to hang out? We can order a pizza. Maybe watch a movie. I mean if you want. No pressure. I just thought . . .”
I love seeing this side of Connor. He’s always a flirt and confident, but standing here with families and young couples milling around us he’s clearly nervous and rambling.
“Sounds good. I’m going to use the restroom before we get on the road. Will you turn in my winning club?” I ask, extending my hand with a smirk on my face.
“I’ve