Page 19

Water Hazard

Holland

I motion to the hole. “How’re you feeling about the shot? Two strokes for birdie?”

The way the waterfall hole works is you have to putt over a tinier bridge, this one with no railings, that’s only intended for golf balls, not for walking.

Then your ball has to travel behind the waterfall, between the rushing water and the rockface.

It’s not actually that hard of a shot if you can hit the ball straight—which is sort of true for all of golf, I guess.

But you also have to factor in the speed of the ball going up the bridge and back down.

Hit it too soft, and your ball comes back at you or falls into the water, and you lose a stroke.

Hit it too hard, and it’s tough to keep the right line.

Not to mention, there are some variations in the green around the hole.

Mallory tugs her top lip behind her teeth, and my throat goes dry.

I can’t look away from her, from the stretch of her upper lip and where it disappears into her mouth.

I’ve felt that mouth on mine. I know how soft those lips are.

There’s something incredibly alluring about how she looks when she’s concentrating.

She stands up straight. “I think I can make it in one.”

I arch my brow. “How much are we betting?” I ask out of habit.

“Oh, this sounds fun.” Ava steps forward. “Who’s betting?”

Mallory scowls at me, but I grin back before turning to Ava. “It’s a little game Mallory and I play at practice sometimes. We wager how many strokes it’ll take me to make a particular putt. Or we bet on how many putts I’ll make out of the ten she’s having me take, that sort of thing. ”

Zelda nods. “I’m in. Sorry, Holland, but I’m with Mallory here.”

Ava glances around. “I’ll side with Holland. Sorry, Mal,” she adds with a shrug.

“All good. If I make the putt, let’s say Holland and Ava have to read a book I pick out for them.”

I feel my eyes widen. Mallory always keeps our bets related to our golf game, so this is new.

Ava makes a face. “I told you I only like non-fiction!”

“That’s a situation I’m going to remedy if…no, when …I make this putt.“ Mallory smirks at her. “I’ve got a stack of romance novels with your name on it.”

“You like romance novels?” I blurt.

Mallory arches her brows. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” I scratch the back of my neck with her scorecard. “I didn’t know.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Bradley.”

I dip my chin, because…yeah.

“The question is…do you like romance novels?”

My lips twitch. “No comment.”

This is definitely something we’re going to revisit, Mallory and me. She’s looking at me like she knows my deep, dark secrets…or at least the secret that I like to read happily ever afters. I’m not ashamed of it. I just don’t broadcast it. But it feels like Mallory can see right through me.

Ava grins. “You’re on, Mal. What do we get if you miss?”

“How about if Mallory takes two or more shots to make the putt, then she has to wear her hair down at the Grand Masters,” I suggest.

Mallory’s eyes widen, and Ava and Zelda look confused.

“Would that be a penalty for her?” Zelda asks.

“She always wears her hair tied back.” I’m suddenly flushed.

Have I revealed too much here? I think about my coach’s hair more than a player should, and I definitely just admitted as much on national TV.

But, man, what I wouldn’t give to see Mallory’s hair loose and down.

“Maybe this will push her out of her comfort zone,” I add.

“Oh, okay, then…for Zelda, she has to go eye-liner free to the next bouquet ceremony,” Ava chimes in.

Zelda looks horrified.

“I’ll give you a chance to switch your loyalties, Zelda.” Mallory says it with a wry grin. “I know how much you love your cat eye.”

Zelda faintly touches the corner of her right eye where a perfect black slash angles back toward her ear. “I do.” She stands up straighter. “But I also think you’re going to make this putt. I’m sticking with Team Mallory.”

“Alright then, Mal.” I sweep my arm forward in a go-ahead motion. “No pressure.”

“You kidding? Hair and makeup are on the line here, Bradley. The stakes could not be higher.” She’s got her head tipped down as she studies the ball and then the line she’s trying to follow to the pin.

She sounds so deadpan again, and I can hear her sarcasm ringing loud and clear.

My word, she’s funny . I’m fighting a smile when she glances up and pins me with a challenging look. “Good thing I thrive under pressure.”

I arch a brow, and she smirks, looking back down.

She takes two practice putts, following the same exact pre-putt routine she’s taught me to use, and then she taps the ball.

It’s perfectly straight as it eases its way up the incline of the bridge and gains speed as it heads down the other side.

It’s still on a perfect line to travel behind the waterfall.

Ava and Zelda jog around to get a better look at the ball on its way to the hole.

Mallory simply crouches in place so she can follow its track.

The ball curves ever so slightly as it makes it to the green area.

This is where I was banking on Mallory failing.

I’ve played this mini-golf course enough times to know that there’s a weird dip in front of this cup, and unless you hit your ball at exactly the right speed, it’s got no chance.

If it’s coming in a hair too quickly, it’ll hit the dip and bounce over the cup.

If you don’t give the putt enough juice, it will die in the dip of doom, not three inches from the hole.

“Come on, come on.” Mallory stands up and holds out her putter, as if willing the ball to go where she wants it to go.

I crane my neck so I can see the hole beyond the waterfall, and I’m in time to watch Mallory’s ball drop with a satisfying plunk into the cup.

Zelda whoops, and Ava’s jaw drops. “You are super human!” she yells from the other side of the putting green.

“And you’re going to read a romance novel!” Mallory calls back. She turns to me with a grin on her face. “Both of you.”

I shake my head. “Show off.”

I hand her the scorecard so she can record her hole-in-one. She takes the pencil and pauses with it hovering over the paper. Her gaze flits across the words I wrote. Simple words. But true.

I like watching you have fun.

Her eyes bounce up to the cameras, which are still recording our every movement and conversation, and then cut over to meet mine. She doesn’t say anything in response, but her cheeks turn a bubble-gum-pink color.

“Thanks,” she says, and leaves it at that.

The other two women take their turns, and then Ava calls, “Picture time!”

I look off camera, and Callen nods and steps forward.

“Let’s do it on this cute little bridge.” Ava points at the smaller of the two bridges—the one for golf balls.

“It’s not meant to be walked on,” I tell her. We had that drilled into us as kids. You got in big trouble if you were caught crossing the water via the bridge instead of via the designated walking path. “We could go on that one.”

“But the background is way better over here,” Ava says, like it’s obvious.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Zelda skips up the incline. Ava joins her and motions for Mallory and me to come on .

Mallory shrugs and sets her putter and scorecard down by the tee box. I wait for her to go first and then follow her up the small incline.

Callen has moved around to the walking bridge so he’s getting the shot of us with the waterfall in the background. Ava is directing him.

“Holland, come this way so you’re in the middle of us,” she says.

There’s not a lot of room up here, and as I try to skirt around Mallory, I inhale the peachy scent of her skin, and I feel momentarily lightheaded.

My hands connect with her hips as we navigate the narrow space, and my hands are immediately on fire.

This is what I was hoping for when I gave Mindy Sue her little lesson earlier.

But no. I have to be having a visceral, physical reaction to my coach. What is wrong with me?

“Uh, Holland?”

I blink and look down. I’ve still got my hands on Mallory’s hips. “You good?” she asks.

“Yeah. Sorry. Let me squeeze over here.” I step around her, and we get situated. Now I’ve got Ava to my left and Zelda on her other side. Mallory is standing solo on my right.

“Scoot in, everyone.” Ava loops her arm around my waist and squeezes. I barely register the contact until I feel a softer, more tentative touch coming from the other direction.

I’m acutely aware of the feel of Mallory’s fingers against my back, and as I sling my arm around her shoulders, I can’t help but catalog the way the right side of my body is burning up at the close contact to my coach, and the left side of my body is perfectly neutral.

Where’s Mindy Sue when you need her? This weather is not adding up.

“Smile!” Callen calls.

“Take a couple!” Ava says, sounding strained as she keeps her mouth closed .

“All set.” Callen pockets his phone. “Let’s keep going. We’re on a schedule.”

Zelda skips down the far side of the narrow bridge, followed by Ava.

I turn to do the same when, out of nowhere, a giant, blindingly white seagull divebombs toward me. I turn to avoid a collision, but my shoulder knocks into Mallory, and then my foot steps on top of hers.

Her eyes go wide, and her arms pinwheel as she lists backward.

I take a step toward her and grab hold of her arm in a desperate attempt to catch her before she tumbles into the water.

In my hurry, my foot hits the edge of the narrow bridge, and I go flying sideways.

Instead of sparing her a dip in the stream, I end up yanking her along with me as I careen off the other side of the bridge.

The next thing I know, I’m flat on my back in the mini-golf stream with Mallory splayed on top of me. Our bodies are submerged, and the splash from our impact kicked water up and into my eyes. My hands are pinned under Mallory, so I blink and shake my head like a dog, trying to clear my vision.

When I open my eyes, it’s to find that Mallory’s face is less than an inch from mine.

Her green eyes are saucers as she stares down at me.

Her mascara is starting to run at the corners, and she opens and shuts her mouth a couple times.

I’m convinced she’s going to reem me out for being careless and uncoordinated, and messing up her hair and her outfit, and making her cold and wet.

I open my mouth to apologize profusely.

But before I can, she drops her head to the crook of my neck, and I’m so stunned by the feel of her nose tucked into my collarbone and the way her warm forehead rests against my slick neckline that I forget every word in the English language.

Then I hear it.

It’s such a low sound that at first I think she’s sobbing.

Her shoulders are shaking. But then I realize she’s not crying.

She’s cackling, and the peals of laughter are racking her body.

She lifts her head again and looks at me, and I swear, it’s like this woman is single-handedly changing the beat of my heart.

“You looked”—she pants between laughter—“Like. You saw. A ghost!” She bursts into a renewed bout of giggles.

“It may as well have been. That bird came out of nowhere! It had those crazed, beady eyes.” I shudder. “I hate birds!”

“It was a seagull, Holland. Nothing vicious about them.”

“You don’t know that! It looked ready to eat me.”

She laughs louder.

I vaguely register that we’ve drawn a crowd, but I couldn’t care less.

I’ve discovered a new plan for my life, and it’s to make Mallory Walsh laugh.

Because this is priceless. I shift my arms so they’re out from under her and rest them against her sides, mostly so I can enjoy this position while it lasts.

And you know what? This right here might be my new favorite position. Write it down.

Mallory must mistake my shift for discomfort instead of optimal positioning, because she immediately sobers. “Oh gosh. Holland, am I hurting you? The Grand Masters.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m fine. Cold and wet. But fine.”

She’s already scrambling up, and the little water-nymph spell we were under thanks to the seagull, who I’ve already determined is my best wingman—pun fully intended—to date, is broken.

Even though I have a feeling the sensation of Mallory’s body splayed against mine is going to be seared into my memory for a long time to come.