Page 74 of Terror Tuesday

Impressed, his eyebrows lift, then twist into mock offense. “Half-truth. Only half.” He positions himself in an awkward stance, eyes squinting adorably as he swings—and misses.

My chest tightens at his exaggerated sigh, the theatrics endearing. Leaning close, he taps my nose conspiratorially. “And for the record, Olivia, it’s not the rich half.”

His second attempt succeeds, and he spins with a bow. “Not yet, anyway.”

I laugh softly, the warmth tempered by a cold, sinking dread. If anyone important sees me—someone powerful, someone who knows my family’s expectations—what would happen? The other day at Westmore was dangerous enough. My father would go nuclear. Elliot could vanish without a trace. And Vanq…

What would the masked man do to this innocent bystander?

Am I selfish, then, to chase this brief illusion of freedom? This fleeting sense of control, safety, and authenticity?

“Well done,” I murmur, moving ahead, burying my unease beneath another sweet smile. The second hole—a cartoonish dog with its tongue out—feels suddenly symbolic. “Sooo,” I probe with a playful toss of my hair, masking curiosity with flirtation, “what’s your grand plan for striking it rich?”

“Find the daughter of Xavier Cardell and charm her into giving me access to the fortune,” he says easily, that damn dimple deepening. His eyes sparkle, but something behind the light glints too hard. Too knowing.

My stomach sinks another inch.

Is he playing around?

Or is he telling me exactly what I need to hear…to look away?

“Joke’s on you,” I shoot back with a casual flick of my wrist. “I don’t think my father—especially not my brothers—would let you get anywhere near me if they knew.”

I strike again, another hole in one, but it feels more like a nervous tic than a victory. He watches me, resting his club over his shoulder and pursing his lips, mock serious.

“Guess I’ll have to get a job, then,” he says. And smiles. Not the dimpled one. The other one. Something I’m not supposed to notice. It flickers for a breath, almost distant. Like he’s already mourning something he hasn’t even lost yet.

It’s as if he knows that, no matter what he does…he’ll never be enough for them.

I hate the reality that settles between us. So I grip his club and show him exactly where to put his hands to ace the hole. If all we have is putt-putt, I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of it before we can’t anymore.

“I give up. I’m at your mercy,” he says, sliding a plate of pizza toward me as we grab a booth in the restaurant section of the place.

“Because you suck so bad?”

“Well…” He tosses his arm behind me, pulling me flush against his side. Without warning, his lips meet the side of my neck, making me lose a breath, and he sucks the skin, his teeth raking gently across it. Heated pants tickle my ear as he whispers, “I think I suck so good.” When he sits back with a satisfied smile as I dazedly look at him, he chuckles. “But, yeah.I’ll have to practice. Get good, then take you on again. I think I can win.”

The way my body is responding to him right now, I’d say he could.

“No one’s ever brought me here before.” I glance around at the sticky tables, the noise, and the chaos. Kids shrieking. A jukebox playing some sugary Top 40. Couples flirting, leaning close, laughing too loudly. It’s not what I’m used to.

And for that, I’m grateful.

“Not a high-class country club kind of date?” His green eyes peer at me seriously for once. “I hope it was still worth it.”

My hand slides down his thigh. “It definitely was.”

He blinks slowly, heat flickering in his stare. “If you keep touching me like that, we’re going to get kicked out.”

I smirk, but it betrays how fast my pulse is racing. “Then you better behave.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t do that.”

“Figures. You look like a detention kind of guy.”

He’s not looking at me when he licks his bottom lip and checks around us at the dining families. “Only if you promise to supervise my punishment.”

“Careful,” I murmur, dragging my nail along his zipper. “I’m starting to think you like being bossed around.”