Page 5 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)

Chapter five

Leah

A s I make my way across the deck, Hays glances in my direction, a pleased smile curling his lips.

He turns back to an animated conversation with his friend.

Even from this distance, the man I’m assuming is Rory, is gesturing and speaking in what looks like a warning tone.

But Hays just shakes his head with that easy smile and steps off toward me.

His confident stride cuts through the crowd. My pulse quickens. Before I know it, he’s there, with that devastating smile, as he guides me toward a secluded spot by the railing.

“Thank you for the drinks,” I offer, ingrained politeness outweighing everything else at the moment.

“Anytime.”

“I have to admit your covert mission was a success, Hays.”

The moment his name leaves my lips, something shifts in his expression, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. But then he clears his throat and leans close enough I breathe his scent again, an unmistakable smell I’ll forever associate with tonight. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

“How’s that?”

“You caught my name, but I didn’t have the pleasure of learning yours, which left me to speculate what it might be all throughout dinner.”

My eyebrows lift. “You’ve been speculating about my name?”

“It’s never a good idea to leave me to my own devices.”

And just like that, I’m at ease again. “What did you come up with?”

He examines my face with an intensity that warms my skin, as if he’s trying to puzzle out a name. Or memorize every detail. Finally, he says, “Leah.”

My jaw drops. “How did you—”

“Lucky guess?” He shrugs it off and tries to look innocent, but mischief dances in his green-blue eyes.

“Hays,” I warn, my voice stern.

“I’ll do naughty things around you all the time if my reward is you saying my name like that.”

And there goes my libido. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

He runs a hand through his hair, his expression half-sheepish, half-proud, and lifts a shoulder. “I may have mentioned to your waiter that I’d appreciate knowing the birthday girl’s name. So much so, I’d be happy to compensate him for the information.”

“You bribed my waiter?” This man is too much, but I’m suddenly fighting another smile. “That explains why he kept hovering around our table. I thought he was being exceptionally attentive.”

“Fifty bucks well spent,” he confirms with such satisfaction I can’t help but laugh. Really laugh in a way I haven’t in a long time. His face lights up, and for a moment, all the walls around my heart threaten to crack.

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head. “Though, I suppose I can’t judge. I Googled you after dinner.”

His expression sobers as if he doesn’t like hearing that. “You did?”

“Apparently, you’re quite the rising golf star. Swaggering, smirking heartthrob was how one article put it.” I pause, studying his face for any sign of the ego I expect to emerge. “Though they failed to mention the complete lack of subtlety.”

But instead of preening, he shrugs it off and looks out over the water. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

“Maybe, but we couldn’t be more different,” I point out, the rum and caffeine making me babble.

“How’s that?” He seems genuinely perplexed.

“You’ve got a dozen collegiate golf wins, a professional sports career, your own Wikipedia page, and a well-used international passport.

I have a 4.0 in English Lit, a manuscript that needs extensive rewrites, a blue ribbon from the county fair, and a reserved coffee mug at Bayfront Beans with my name on it. ”

“You sure have a unique way of flirting.”

Tabitha’s head would explode if she could hear me right now, but I can’t help but point out what’s blatantly obvious. “I’m not flirting. I’m—”

“What is it they say? Opposites attract?”

“Not in real life! I mean, sure, in theory it works, but think about it. You’re a man who likes to party, out here slinging smiles and making hearts race, whereas I prefer to be at home curled up in bed with a book. Don’t be fooled by the mascara and heels tonight.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, if the choice was between being here right now or being at home in your bed, trying my best to distract you from your book, this boat wouldn’t even be a consideration.”

Oh.

“Plus, you drop the fact you got a 4.0 in college like it's nothing, but you’re looking at a guy who barely scraped by with a 2.8, and that was with an army of tutors and countless hours of required study groups.”

The admission catches me off guard. In my limited experience with successful men, I haven’t found they highlight their academic shortcomings to impress women. But the way he says it, without shame or defensiveness, gives me pause. Not because we’re similar, but more because he’s not perfect.

When I risk a glance at him, there’s something unexpected in his expression.

“And you write novels? Believe me, that’s much more impressive than being able to smash a ball four hundred yards. What do you write?”

The genuine interest in his voice surprises me. David never asked about my writing. Instead he complained I always had my nose in my laptop rather than giving him the attention he thought he deserved. “Romance.”

“You don’t sound so sure about that.”

I hesitate. “Let’s just say I’ve been less than inspired lately.”

The words come out more bitter than I intended, and I immediately regret them. I glance toward the horizon, pushing away the memories of David’s excuses and broken promises.

“Then it seems we met at the perfect time. I’m happy to serve as your inspiration.”

I can’t help but laugh, my imagination already racing with what this man could inspire me to write.

“So,” he continues, “you’re telling me you’re going to be a published author and I’m still trying to win my first tour event? I’d better step up my game if I want to keep impressing you.”

“Please.”

“No, really. Plus, I’m praying you’ll tell me you won that blue ribbon for best pie or something like that. I’m a sucker for dessert.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Really?”

“What? You don’t picture me as a dessert kind of guy?” He slaps a hand to his chest in mock offense. “And here I was, thinking we’d already established my honest nature.”

I gesture toward the servers carrying plates of some sort of chocolate dessert across the deck. “They’re serving dessert now, and you’re missing it.”

“Something much more tempting is occupying me, at the moment.”

My cheeks redden at the obvious implication, but I choose to ignore it. “If it makes you feel better, your wish did come true. My blue ribbon is for Dutch apple pie, my grandmother’s recipe.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I’m wishing for a lot more than pie, at the moment. Although, if you have some at home right now and invite me over after we dock, I’d down at least two slices, I swear.”

Did he really just suggest I invite him back to my place? The casual way he said it, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, makes my pulse race.

Is that how things are in the dating scene now? Straight from hello to let’s jump into the sack without bothering to pass Go? “I’m fresh out at the moment.”

“I’ll take a raincheck.”

I can tell he means it. And the way he acts as if this conversation isn’t idle flirtation to pass the time while we’re stuck on a sunset cruise makes something flutter in my chest.

“Believe me, we’re not as different as you think.” He leans against the railing, close enough that our elbows touch, sending electricity through the point of contact. “I mean, we both prefer individual pursuits over group activities, for one.”

“Individual pursuits?”

“Golf’s a solo sport, darling. Just me against the course and whatever’s in my head.

And writing? That’s about as solitary as it gets, isn’t it?

” His voice drops to the velvet tone that makes my knees weak, and he draws a finger slowly along my forearm.

“Though, I have to say, I’m very good at one-on-one activities, too. Really lets me focus on my technique.”

My breath hitches at the contact, but I hold my own. “Subtle, hotshot.”

His grin widens as if I’ve just given him a trophy. “A nickname? Now, I know you’re really falling for me, too.”

Too?

But the approval in his voice, as if I’ve done something right, something that pleases him, sends an unexpected warmth spiraling through me. God, what’s wrong with me? Since when do I react like this to a man’s approval?

“Plus,” he adds, drawing a lazy circle on the back of my hand, “life’s too short for subtlety.”

“I don’t know about that. But I’ll admit you’re right. We officially have one thing in common.”

“Surely, you could come up with something else.” He turns to face me and suddenly, the space between us feels charged with possibility. “I bet we’re both good kissers.”

My gaze drops to his lips. Victory flashes in his eyes, and I realize I’ve just revealed my tell. “Why… Why would you think I’m a good kisser?”

“Are you?”

The question hangs between us, loaded with invitation and challenge. I should deflect, make a joke and step away from whatever this is building toward. But before I can answer, a sharp hiss cuts through the air.