Page 14

The Hate Kiss

Holland

M allory and Cy wander ahead toward a line of carts, and I follow with my clubs. Cy leaves us to it, and Mallory and I go through an hour of short shot simulations. Putting, chipping, reading the greens.

I can’t say I’m improving with my putts within nine feet, and Mallory is getting frustrated.

“A lot of this is mental,” she says as I miss a putt an inch to the left. “You got to get out of your own head about this.”

I drop another ball to the green and go through my pre-shot routine without responding to her. This one I drain.

”I am out of my own head,“ I say smugly.

“You sure about that? Because you’ve got a lot of things vying for your attention right now. A lot of people asking a lot of you. MEM is a distraction, Bradley, whether you like it or not.”

“Plenty of professional golfers have personal lives, families, relationships. Why can’t I?”

“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying being on the show isn’t normal. It’s a lot. It’s okay to acknowledge that.” She’s staring at me with wide, serious eyes. There’s no taunting in her gaze. “As your coach, it’s my job to check in and make sure you’re handling everything okay.”

I don’t respond to this, because I don’t know what to say.

I appreciate her concern…I do. She’s right.

She is my coach. But I’m all out of whack where she’s concerned.

Because I want her to care about me as a person.

It sort of feels like maybe she does a little bit?

But then she pulls back and hides behind a shield of professionalism.

I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with her.

If I’m in my head about anything, it’s her.

“Alright,” I say, steering us back into familiar territory. “I bet you I make the next four putts in a row.”

She crosses her arms. “You do that, and we can be done for the day.”

I nod, focusing in. I make the four putts and turn to her with my arms held wide, basically saying, what else do you want from me?

“Good.” She motions for me to pack up my bag, not giving me any reaction otherwise. “That’s good for today.”

I shove my putter into my bag and take off my glove, ramming it into a side pocket before I hoist the bag into the back of the golf cart.

I take my seat behind the wheel and wait for her to join me.

She’s scribbling down something in the notebook that gets tucked inside my scorecard billfold.

Probably some reminder about my form. I’ll look later.

“You sure you’re good?” She drops into the seat next to me and hands over the billfold.

I toss it on the cart’s dashboard and start driving us back toward the clubhouse. “I’m fine.” I’m grasping for something normal to talk to her about, to take the attention away from myself. “You get home okay with Poppy and Mack?”

“Yeah. They were great. Poppy talked my ear off about some place called Wool Beach. I feel like I have a new best friend.” Mallory smiles at the memory, but then she turns serious. “Are you still into her?”

My foot slips off the gas pedal, and the golf cart slows. I grip the steering wheel and reposition my body to continue the winding drive along the golf course path.

I glance over at her. “What do you mean?”

“I…you looked…off. Last night on the patio. When we were talking about Poppy’s childbearing hips and how the two of you used to date. ”

I study her for a long minute. She reaches up to tighten her ponytail and won’t meet my gaze. She’s uncomfortable, and I want to know why. A little bell is ringing in my ears, heralding the sweet sound of hope. Like maybe, just maybe, she cares enough to be worried about me.

“Am I really that pathetic that you think I’m still holding a flame for my brother’s wife? The woman he’s madly in love with?” I press the brake pedal and pull the cart to a stop, waiting for her to look at me.

She grimaces, and there’s uncertainty in her gaze when it meets mine. It’s a new look for her. “I—I’m sorry. Forget I mentioned it.”

“Oh, heck no. This needs more of a discussion. Now, for the second time in the last hour, you’ve got me wondering if you actually care about me and my feelings.“ My lips curve up, because this is new too, and I’m not going to lie…I love it.

“Absolutely not, except to the extent that it affects your golf game. If you’re going to be pining over a woman who you absolutely can’t have, then I need to know about it, because it could be taking up valuable head space, and I can’t have that.”

“Then you’ll be happy to hear that I definitely do not have feelings for Poppy. I’m ashamed of how I treated her,” I admit. “Two years ago, when Poppy and I started dating, I was just breaking in to the pro golf world. You remember how I was back then?”

She snorts. “Who could forget?”

I crack a smile. “One hundred percent golf-minded, egotistic in my pursuit of my goal, which was to be the next Tiger Woods—minus all the personal life issues, of course.

“Poppy was collateral damage. I like to believe I wasn’t directly awful to her, more like awful by omission.

I was selfish. I took advantage of her goodness when we were dating, and that’s not how I want to be.

Since she’s in my family now, the reminder of how I treated her, my carelessness where that relationship was concerned, is sort of hard to forget. ”

Mallory’s mouth forms a perfect O shape.

That’s not what she was expecting me to say.

I can tell by the way she isn’t ready with her usual quick and dismissive response to my antics.

It feels good to tell her the truth, to let her see a side of me that she’s never seen.

Not many people have, because I haven’t let them.

It’s been easier to lean into the caricature of professional-athlete playboy.

Most of the women I’ve been with before and after Poppy wanted me for my looks or my fame.

That’s been okay with me, because I wasn’t ready to commit.

I want Mallory to know I recognize the error in my ways where Poppy is concerned. I’m not still pining for her. No way. But I want to find someone for me like Poppy is for Mack. A partner. A friend. The love of my life.

That’s the whole point of Most Eligible Mister , crazy as it seems.

Mallory smooths the seam of her skirt. “Oh. Okay, then.”

“Does that surprise you?” I press the gas again and drive onward, but I hit a bump in the cart path, and my scorecard billfold slides across the dash. I swipe for it before it lands in her lap. She reaches for it at the same time but yanks her hands back when our fingers tussle.

I tuck the billfold next to my leg, and she traces the movement of my hand before meeting my gaze.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s good, I guess. That’s all good. Self-growth and self-analysis…signs of mental toughness. Very good. And good that you don’t love Poppy. Because that would be messy. Yikes. Um, thanks for telling me.”

“Happy to. Now, question for you.”

She cocks her head to the side, waiting on me.

“Would you like me to let you know if there happens to be any other woman I start pining over who I absolutely can’t have? You know, so you can adjust your coaching accordingly to account for her taking up valuable head space and all that? ”

Like you .

I leave those two small words unspoken, but I can’t not think them.

She could take up valuable head space, and not just the reminders about how I position my shoulder or the rate of my swing.

If I let myself, I could get lost in her eyes and get caught up daydreaming about wrapping her fiery red hair around my hand and tugging her mouth to mine. And…

“That won’t be necessary. We should keep things professional.”

I hold her gaze, and her green eyes flicker with gold in the late-afternoon sun.

“But didn’t you ask me about Poppy? You brought this on. Now I think we should get personal. Very personal.”

She punches me in the shoulder. “Cut it out, Bradley.

“No can do. Because it feels like you care.” I hold up my thumb and pointer finger. “A smidge. Or…wait a minute. Are you jealous?!” I turn my smirk up to eleven and gasp. “Is it possible you like me, Mal?”

“Not even a little bit.” She tips her chin up.

“That’s what they all say.”

“Exactly. I will never be one of your women in waiting. I don’t care about you outside of golf. I told you that.”

I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel. “What if I don’t believe you?”

Her eyes narrow in a look of determination. I catch it in my periphery, and gosh, I love that look.

“I’ll make you believe me.”

“How?”

“Stop the cart.”

Instinctively, I do as I’m told. What can I say?

I’m used to taking orders from this woman.

She looks around the nearest green, like she’s trying to find the fastest way to sprint away from me, and for a minute, I think I might have pushed her too far.

Like maybe she’s going to run off and coach Andy Mason, because that would probably be a walk in the park compared to my constant goading.

But then she flicks her gaze back to mine, and instead of jumping out of the golf cart and running away, she reaches one arm around my shoulders and drags my mouth to hers.

It’s not so much a kiss as it is an attack. A forceful takeover. She’s plundering my castle. Swimming across the moat and scaling my walls. Is she trying to take out all my defenses? Because it’s working.

I’m so stunned by this power play that I don’t move.

I’m paralyzed by the peachy scent that wafts off her skin.

Or maybe it’s coming from her hair? I can’t tell.

My whole world is tilted on its axis, and I don’t know which way is up or down at the moment.

My senses are overloaded with not only the feminine scent of her but also the grip of her arm around my shoulders and the press of her hand against my chest. She grips my shirt and keeps her mouth fastened to mine.

She’s almost fully on my side of the golf cart, kissing me hard and sure.

I’ve never stopped to think about or guess how Mallory would kiss, but if I had to draw it up, this feels about right.

She’s confident and aggressive. She takes control and holds it.

How does she smell so dang good? How have I never noticed it before?

Her grasp on my shirt loosens, like she’s getting ready to pull away.

I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I am sure I don’t want it to end.

I reach for the back of her neck, letting my fingers slice through the hair on the underside of her ponytail, and angle her lips so I can kiss her back properly.

I’ve never experienced a kiss like this—one that’s such a clash of wills. There is no hesitation. No lessening in intensity. This is full-throttle.

Are we hate-kissing right now? Does Mallory hate me?

I hope not, because I’m into this. But if I’m being honest, I’d also like to explore other kinds of kisses with her.

Like the slow kind. The kind that’ll allow me to explore every inch of her mouth.

The kind with nips and presses that draw out content sighs and make her lean in for more.

What I’m saying is I want to kiss her like this and a million other ways too. So, if we’re battling for position here, I will gladly surrender. She can take me. She can have the victory.

As long as I can have her.

A low growl emanates from the back of her throat, and the vibration rattles my pulse and makes every other thought in my mind evaporate. Leave it to Mallory to give me arrythmia and amnesia. She’s exhausting and exhilarating all at once.

I use my body to twist and push her back into her seat, keeping my mouth persistent in its devouring of her.

She’s matching my movements until she suddenly breaks the kiss, only to start trailing her lips in a soft path along my jawline.

I’m so startled at the change in intensity, the loss of pressure, that I let out a low gasp.

This is equally intoxicating to the forceful, demanding kiss from a moment ago—as I expected.

Mallory uses this moment—when I’m off balance—to push me back to my side of the golf cart. I miss the tantalizing feel of her breath against my skin immediately.

She’s breathing heavily and staring right at me. Her green eyes are darker than usual, and her face doesn’t give anything away, until she leans back and smirks. “There.”

I take off my hat and run my hands through my hair, trying to control my breathing. “What was that ?”

“That was me proving to you that this”—she motions between us—“is never going to go beyond a professional, working relationship.”

“ That’s what you got from all of that?”

“Yep. I’m not into you romantically, Holland.

It’s that simple. That kiss did nothing for me.

” She’s cool, calm, and collected as she slides out the side of the golf cart, even as my heart continues to stampede around in my chest, not only from that kiss, but because any time she uses my first name, it does something electric to me.

“Have a good date tonight. See you for our next practice.”

It’s then that I realize the clubhouse is straight ahead, and the parking lot is to our right. She saunters off, and I’m left in the golf cart, reeling. I want to call after her, to say something smart or teasing, but my brain is a pile of mushy oatmeal…topped with peaches, of all things.