Page 15 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

Margot

You don’t think it’s weird that a man who said he didn’t want to date a mom is taking you on a date?

I know.

I found it odd, too, when Dex started using the words date and see where this can lead in his messages to me but shrugged off the niggling in my stomach because as friends have said, You can’t sit around waiting for men to come to you—you have to get out of the house.

Okay, but what if the man doesn’t actually want to be in a relationship? Should I waste time hanging out with him?

Wyatt is with her dad this weekend, so it’s not as if I didn’t have time to spare. No other men on the apps have asked to meet, and I haven’t asked to meet them, so here I am, with only the sage advice of Wyatt’s and my friends’ words ringing in my ears.

As I push through the heavy glass doors of Glam Golf USA, a rush of cool air hits my face. It’s one of those indoor and outdoor places—bars and food inside, golf turf outside—the perfect combination for people who may not be golf enthusiasts.

People such as myself.

I step inside, and the soft whacking of golf balls and loud chatter create an electric backdrop for a day that started off partly cloudy.

Maybe this is going to be fun, I think, despite the doubt in my gut.

My heart races a little faster than usual. After all, this isn’t just any outing, it’s a second date, and I haven’t been on one of those in what feels like forever.

My eyes scan the room, taking in the scene. Flat-screen television sets are everywhere, showing the turf, targets, and games that players are here to play. There’s an actual golf tournament on others. Baseball too.

I walk farther in, my sneakers making no sound against the polished concrete floor. I’m feeling a bit out of place in my casual yet carefully chosen outfit.

Black capri leggings.

Black cropped quarter zip.

Black ball cap.

I’m wearing more makeup than usual, simply because I wanted to dress up and look cute, and this activity didn’t give me the opportunity to wear anything else.

I didn’t want to golf in jeans, though now that I’m glancing around, plenty of people are wearing them.

Dammit!

I walk all the way into the lobby, my confusion growing.

Where is Dex?

Am I the first one here?

I half expected him to be waiting near the entrance—or maybe in the parking lot—but there is no sign of him.

I dig my cell out of my cross-body bag, checking our message exchange once again to make sure I hadn’t gotten the time wrong.

Huh.

I’m on time, if not a few minutes late.

A flicker of doubt hits me. Did Dex change his mind?

Determined not to let my nervousness show, I approach the reception desk, where two cheerful young women greet me. “Welcome to Glam Golf USA! Do you have a reservation?”

“Hi.” I sound more confident than I am. “I’m supposed to meet someone here. His name is Dex? He might have reserved a booth or whatever?”

So. Confident.

She taps at her keyboard, then looks up at me with a reassuring nod. “Yes, I see a reservation for a Dex—looks like he checked in. Simulator 202, up on the second floor, second spot on the left.”

“Thanks.”

I’m breathing heavy by the time I make it up two flights of stairs, and to my relief I find Dex already practicing his swing as if he weren’t expecting company.

He raises his head as I approach, broad smile spreading across his handsome face. “Hey! You made it!”

“I made it.” I grin at him, waving my arms so he can see I’m in one piece. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Then he does something that shocks the hell out of me. He bends down and envelops me in a hug. Squeezes. Smells the top of my hair, even.

Is he drunk?

I didn’t realize he was a hugger.

“I was starting to think you might have changed your mind.”

Me, change my mind? I was worried he was going to change his!

“Not a chance. I don’t have Wyatt this weekend, so I didn’t have a lot going on.” I laugh, hoping that doesn’t sound like an insult. “Though I was worried I might have walked into the wrong place for a second there.”

“Nope, you’re exactly where you need to be.” He pauses. “And don’t you look adorable. Ready to show off your skills?”

Skills? Hardly. “I’m more likely to show off my ability to make a fool of myself.”

But that’s not what happens.

Turns out, I’m shockingly good at hitting targets on a turf golf course, especially after I’ve consumed an entire Twisted Lemonade.

I wiggle my ass during my turn, glancing over my shoulder to see if he’s actually watching my ass, disappointed when he smiles, eyes nowhere near my bum.

Darn.

I may not be trying to reel him in, but it never hurts to be consensually ogled.

Squeezing one eye shut, I survey the landscape down in front of me, then check the monitor to make sure I’m aiming at the spot giving me the highest number of points. Because this is a game, and so far I’m kind of kicking his ass.

Dex may be bigger and stronger and more arrogant , but that’s where it ends when it comes to skill level.

He’s biting the green weenie, and he’s making no secret that he’s getting frustrated.

When it’s his turn—after I score yet another whopping thousand points—he struts to the little square piece of grass designated for swinging, stretching and making a show. I lean on the table where we have our drinks and snacks, trying my best not to laugh out loud.

He’s taking this way more seriously, and perhaps that’s his problem?

“You’re trying too hard,” I tell him with authority, as the lead scorer. “Do you want me to show you how to swing the putter?”

He gawks at me. “This is a 9 iron.”

Potato, po-tah-to.

“Whatever.” I can’t flip my hair because I’m wearing a ball cap, but I would if I could, just to be a brat . “You’re holding the club all wrong.”

I don’t believe half of what I’m saying, inwardly giggling at my own audacity.

“You’re an expert on golf now?”

“Trust me.” I grin, taking the club from his giant hands. “First, you need to loosen up a bit. You’re as stiff as a board. Go like this.”

I shake my body like I have the wiggles, feeling slightly ridiculous, arms and legs jiggling. It pays off when he tips his head back and laughs, copying my movements.

“I feel so stupid.” He laughs again.

“Don’t. It’ll make you a better player.”

Then.

I position myself behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, but because he’s so much taller than I am, guiding his hands is a fail in the most hilarious way. Our heights are so mismatched, I can’t see what I’m directing him to do.

The proximity sends a shiver down my spine.

“Like this,” I speak to his back.

“This?” he asks, amusement in his voice. “Are you sure?”

“Exactly like that,” I murmur, even though I can’t actually see around his body to know what he’s doing with his hands. “Now, relax your shoulders.”

The tension in his muscles eases slightly, my arms still around him. I feel for his hands, making a show of adjusting his grip, fingers brushing his.

His hands are warm. Large. And electric.

The touch is electric, sending tiny jolts of excitement coursing through my sleepy veins, and instead of adjusting his grip, I want to wrap my arms around him in a hug and squeeze, relishing the weight and feel of him.

He’s like a burly mountain man, and ugh, it feels so good .

“Now swing,” I tell him, giving his neck a little push with my fingers so he bends his head. “But keep your head down.”

He swings, and the club slices through the air with surprising grace.

The ball? Soars up and over.

Over some more, to the right ...

Too far to the right.

Like, way way too far.

“Yikes,” I mutter as it hits the mesh barrier that stops balls from flying into the land next to Glam Golf USA. “You may have put too much man power into that.”

“Maybe it was the coaching.”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “You’re too strong. You should relax a bit.”

Dex laughs. “Listen to you, giving me instructions.”

“Somebody has to. I feel like you’ve been running amok for too long.”

I realize two things:

The words are probably true.

He knows it and is suddenly aware of it.

Dex steps away, moving toward the outdoor furniture arranged in our pod, then sits on one of the couches. He pats the spot beside him, still holding the club in his other hand.

“Let’s chill for a second.”

I nod, joining him on the sofa, sinking in next to him cross-legged.

I look at him, so casual and cool—meanwhile, my traitorous heart is racing far faster than it freaking should be, considering how casual this “date” is supposed to be. We’re here because he is going to wine me and dine me for the simple fact that he fucked up my kitchen sink.

“Everything work out with Dan?”

Dan is the guy who actually knew what he was doing, the one who came and put everything to rights with a few twists of the wrench. Took him under ten minutes. Also, Dan was cute, single, and flirty.

“Everything was great with Dan.” I stress the word great , remembering how he leaned against my counter, smiling broadly when I offered him a glass of wine.

We chatted for a while, and he casually tried to find out if I was single, too, only mentioning his divorce four times. “Thanks for sending him over.”

Dex looks slightly embarrassed. “No more leak?”

“No more leak, no more noises. Everything is dry. Things are right as rain.”

I might also have a date next week!

“That’s good.” He sets down the golf club and reaches for his drink, a beer he’s only drunk half of. “How is Wyatt?”

“Living her best life.”

“What’s the deal with you and your ex?” he blurts out, taking me by surprise. “You told me you weren’t together after you had Wyatt, but you never really said if the two of you get along.”

I cock my head to the side. “We get along fine. He’s a good dad—spends plenty of time with her.”

I leave out the part where Colton is mostly an asshole.

“You were saying he had a girlfriend?”