He did neither, which only makes me like him more. I’ve been so used to men in life thinking they are better than women. They underestimate our worth, especially when it comes to sports. Because what woman will know more than a guy?

  I was brought up by a single dad who owned a golf course. Once boyfriends or potential boyfriends found out, they’d make hints about going. After all, the clientele is prestigious, and my dad doesn’t just let anyone in. I let them think they talked me into it because I learned early on it gave me an insight as to what type of man they are. And there’s nothing better than to show a man you are more than a pretty face.

  I swing the club back, hearing my father’s voice instruct me to take the perfect shot. I hold my breath as I watch it roll down the greenery, and then, like I knew it would, into the hole.

  “And that is how it’s done,” I holler, doing a little jig.

  He laughs, throwing his head back. “Shit! I thought I’d have a chance with crazy golf. Your dad said you were good on the course.”

  “A hole is a hole,” I tell him, arching my eyebrow.

  “Not every hole,” he murmurs, and for a second, I’m unsure whether I heard him right. He clenches his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please forget I said that.”

  “What do you mean, you thought you’d have a chance at crazy golf?”

  “Well, you mentioned your dad signed you up for different sports, and the other day at Mum’s, he was boasting about how good you were on the course.”

  Hearing an and, I ask. “And?”

  “So, I didn’t think you’d want to go to the golf course to relax and have fun. This is fun. Or it’s meant to be,” he murmurs, scrubbing his jaw. “I didn’t think I was this bad. I’ve got a steady hand.”

  “What gives? Why are we really here? Because clearly it wasn’t as spontaneous as I assumed it was if you were thinking about where to bring me.”

  “Because it’s fun?”

  I jab him with the end of the golf club. “Seriously. It would be sweet if you weren’t acting weird,” I tell him. “Not every hole.”

  “Okay, I admit, that really wasn’t my finest moment, but is it really so difficult to believe I want to do something fun with you?”

  Steeling my spine, I stand a little straighter. “Is this about last night? Is this your way of letting me down? You went down on me. I orgasmed. You orgasmed. The end.”

  “This—

  A throat clears, and my stomach bottoms out at how close they sound. “Please tell me it’s a young couple,” I grumble under my breath.

  “Yeah,” Eli replies in amusement. “With one little extra.”

  Oh fuck. Turning to the couple, who must be in their late twenties, and their son, who must be five or six, I grimace. “I’m so sorry.”

  The woman laughs, dropping her hands from her son’s ears. “It’s fine. I don’t think he was paying attention to what you were saying.”

  “It’s the not the worst he’s heard,” the dad jokes, and the mum slaps his shoulder whilst rolling her eyes.

  The little boy pushes his glasses up his nose and steps forward. “How did you do that in one go? You’re a girl.”

  I glance in the direction he’s pointing to and shrug. “I guess I’m just lucky.”

  He stares at me in disbelief. “My dad said women can’t play golf. They don’t have patience. And he said they don’t have a sense of direction. Mum got us lost on the way here, so I believe him. And he said it doesn’t matter if I don’t get any balls in the hole because Mum won’t either.”

  His dad drops his chin to his chest, groaning. “Okay, the kid hears everything.”

  The mum laughs as she runs her hand over her son’s head. “I’m sorry. He can be a little blunt.”

  I wave her off. “It’s all good,” I tell her before addressing her son. “Eli here underestimated my skills. No one should underestimate women. We have the power to move heaven and earth.”

  “My grandpa said heaven is hogwash.”

  I have to fight back laughter at his honesty. “Then he never met the right woman.”

  He ponders that before nodding in agreement. “He didn’t like my grandma. Always called her a bat.”

  “Eddie,” the mum scolds, while the dad is unable to control his amusement. “Matt, stop encouraging him.”

  “The kid has a point. Your dad couldn’t stand your mum.”

  I lean down to the kid’s level whilst the others are distracted in conversation. “Do you want to win?”

  “Yes.”

  I lean in closer, like it’s a big secret. “The wind is going east. For the straight shots, always head a little to the right.”

  He steps closer, his pupils dilated. “What else?”

  I scan his parents, who are still in deep conversation with Eli. “Distraction,” I tell him. “Cough when they are about to take a shot or ask something.”

  He tilts his head. “Isn’t that cheating?”

  I press my lips together and shake my head. “Nope. Cheating is dropping the ball in the hole when they aren’t looking or shaving off points on the card.”

  He grins, his chest puffing out. “Then I can do this.”

  “You’ve got this,” I tell him, before straightening. “We’ll let you guys carry on with your game.”

  “It was nice meeting you.”

  I let my shoulders drop. “And sorry again for what you overheard.”

  Eli exchanges a few more words with the dad before we move on to the next game. “Did you know they were standing there?” I ask once they are out of earshot.

  “Honestly, no, but your face was priceless.”

  I elbow him in the stomach as I line up my next shot. “We’re alone now. Answer me. Why are we really here?”

  He stops as he drops his ball to the ground. “Because we’ve either been at yours or mine. Aside from the night of the gig and a few meals, we’ve not really gone out together. And I remembered your dad mentioning you like to do fun stuff in your free time.”

  I don’t want to admit it, but I love how much he pays attention. “Yeah. My life revolves around being taken seriously. I’m a public figure as such and have to remain professional. So, when I do have free time, I like to let loose,” I admit. “But I don’t think that’s what this is really about.”

  “Why does it have to mean anything?” he asks, taking his shot and missing epically. He lets out a sigh, walking down the course to the ball. “Not everything has to have meaning, Becca.”

  “Everything has meaning. Numbers. Words. Choices. They all have meaning,” I tell him as he misses his third attempt. “You’ve been preaching for weeks about honesty and transparency, so be honest with me.”

  He finally gets it in the hole, and we both reach down for our golf balls, our hands colliding as we do. My breath hitches for a second, before we stand, heading over to our next game.

  He clears his throat as I line up my next shot. “And what if I think you aren’t ready for honesty? What if I’m not ready to disclose my reasons?”

  I take my shot and watch the ball go around the loop, then hover around the hole before finally falling in.

  I twist to face him, seeing his jaw drop at the hole in one. “Then I’d tell you to stop thinking for me. I can make my own decisions,” I tell him as he lines up his ball. “And if you weren’t ready to disclose your reasons, we wouldn’t be here. You don’t seem like the type of guy who likes to play games.”

  “I don’t like playing this one,” he grumbles as he misses again on his fourth try.

  I give him a few minutes to get the ball in, and once we’re on the way to the next course, I reply. “Eli, this isn’t cool,” I point out, hitting the hole in one shot as it rolls through the windmill and down the hill, straight into the hole.

  Gobsmacked, he turns to me. “How many times have you played crazy golf?” he asks incredulously.

  “Since I began to walk,” I reply offhandedly. “Now stop avoiding the subject.”

  He scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know whether to be turned on over you being this good, or pissed I suck at it.” A throat clears, and we both grimace at the older couple waiting for their turn. “Sorry,” he grumbles, picking up our golf balls.

  We move on to the next, and after taking my shot, the ball rolls over the bridge and down into the hole. “You really do suck at this.”

  “But you are having fun, right?”

  “Beating your arse?”

  “Yeah.”

  I grin. “Of course.”

  “Next time I’m choosing the arcades. I grew up in them,” he mutters, deep in thought. I glance away, hiding my smirk, but not before he notices. He groans. “Arcades too?”

  “What can I say, my dad loved taking me out.”

  He growls as he misses his ninth shot. “There has to be a trick to this.”

  Normally by this point a guy gets annoying when they lose. It’s like watching a toddler not get his way. With Eli, however, there’s only amusement. He’s taking it on the chin and not out on me.

  “There is,” I reply. “Don’t be distracted.”

  He stops as the ball hits the hole and arches his eyebrow. “Then stop being you. It’s you distracting me.”

  I feign innocence. “How am I distracting you?”

  He taps the edge of the golf club against his chin. “Let me see; you’ve stuck that arse out every time you’ve taken a shot, your tits bounce every time you do that little victory jiggle, and you’re you. You’ve done every shot with ease, and I’m pretty sure crazy golf isn’t meant to be this quick. We only have two more plots left.”

  “Then you’ve got two plots to turn this night around and tell me what’s going on with you. Because I’m telling you now, you are making me irrational. I’m never like this. Ever. And I need it to stop.”

  I leave him smirking as I take my next shot. The ball flies over the hill and through the cannon, swinging around the round court at the bottom before finally falling into the hole.

  “Are you saying I get to you?” he smugly asks, taking his shot and once again missing epically.

  As he gets it in on the second try, I reply. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  We move on to the next one, and this one is harder since you are taking the shot uphill. It’s also the one I got Dad to build a replica of, just so I could perfect my shot.

  “You are never going to do this one,” Eli teases, kneeling at the top to watch.

  “I wouldn’t make that bet, because you’ll lose,” I tell him, squinting as I take my shot.

  And as always, the shot is perfect. There’s a round of applause, and I stiffen. A bunch of people have stopped mid-game to watch me.

  Eli grins as he applauds me. “She’s with me,” he announces, taking a bow before strolling down the small hill.

  I jab him in the stomach when he reaches me. “Take your shots, asshole.”

  The deepness of his laughter has my stomach fluttering. I watch him take his shot, then watch as the ball rolls back down the hill. “Yeah, I give up. I’m never going to get that, and I’m not going to embarrass myself trying.”

  “I didn’t picture you as a quitter.”

  His gaze sweeps over my attire. “Oh, I’m not a quitter. I’m just making a play to work smarter.”

  We hand our stuff over to the young female running the booth and head out. The park is beautiful at night. With the streetlamps and twinkly lights on a rope from one lamp to another, it gives it a romantic feel. It also hides the fact that teenagers have ruined the park equipment with graffiti and what-not.

  “Want to walk down the lake path to the carpark?”

  I nod, and we veer off onto another path. For a few minutes, neither of us speak, but once we reach the bank that leads down to the water, the silence begins to grate on my nerves.

  “Eli—”

  “Becca—”

  Our laughter is awkward. When we reach a bench facing the water, I sit down, running my hands through my hair. “Talk. Because I can handle rejection. You aren’t the bee’s knees you know.”

  “Are you always this defensive?”

  “No. But you bring it out in me,” I admit, sitting back.

  He straddles the bench close to me, his knee grazing mine. “You said earlier I make you irrational.”

  I glance away from the glittery water. “You know you do. You drive me crazy, Eli. I’m an independent woman who knows her mind and body. I know what I want and what I don’t want. But you... You come with so many mixed conflictions and emotions. I never know where to categorise you. Because you don’t feel like a friend. And you don’t feel like a lover or an ex.”

  A rumble rattles from his chest. “Have you ever asked yourself if it’s because you don’t want to be my friend?”

  “No. You’re more like a fungus I can’t get rid of,” I grumble. “But this isn’t about me. This is about you and how you’re acting. Which, by the way, is freaking me out.”

  He cups my face, forcing me to keep eye contact as he leans in a little. “What if I were to tell you friends isn’t what I want anymore?”

  I hold my breath, seeing no deception behind those gorgeous eyes, but at the same time, I feel like I’m being tricked. “What do you mean?”

  “What if I want it to be more?”

  Unable to look at him, I gently remove his hand and glance down at my pumps. “Then I’d say you’ve lost your mind. You put those restrictions there, Eli.”

  “So did you, subconsciously.”

  I let out a dry laugh. “I guess I did,” I reply. “Is this why you’ve been acting weird all day?”

  “Kind of. My head has been a mess since last night. I didn’t know what it meant or what it means now. I only know what it means to me. I’m not a guy who likes to play games,” he tells me. “When I was talking to Jaxon about us earlier, you know what his solution was?”

  “What?” I ask, sheepishly glancing at him.

  “To make you fall in love me, then bring up being more.”

  I arch an eyebrow and cluck my tongue. “Yeah. Because I’m that easy.”

  “That’s the thing. You aren’t easy. You aren’t a plaything. Plus, you would have seen right through it. I want you to want me because it consumes you. I want to be all you can think about. I don’t want to be a fuck or an orgasm you need but the guy you want and crave.”

  He shuffles closer, and my leg trembles as he runs his hand up my thigh. My lashes flutter at the touch. His declaration isn’t love, and that’s okay. Neither of us know what we want or what this is, but there’s no denying we share a mutual attraction.

  Still… “This isn’t what you want.”

  “You don’t know what I want,” he replies shortly.

  “Neither do you, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

  “I wanted you even when I told myself I wasn’t supposed to.”

  “You said friends, Eli. You. You said that.”

  “A friend doesn’t know how you taste, how you feel beneath them. A friend doesn’t know how fucking sexy you look and feel when you orgasm. A friend doesn’t want to rip your clothes off every time they see you. And a friend doesn’t find excuses to spend more time with you.”

  My heart beats rapidly. “You said friends,” I rasp, as his hand runs higher.

  “Yeah, and I could probably keep lying to you and to myself that I don’t want you. I could probably keep pretending I don’t enjoy the taste of you on my lips. But that’s all it will be. A lie. A well-hidden lie.”

  His fingers press into the crotch of my jeans, and I moan, dropping my head back a little.

  “This is about the baby,” I tell him, my voice hitching when he unclasps the button on my jeans and tugs down the zip.

  I don’t stop him. I don’t want to. I’m weak when it comes to him, and I have a feeling I always will be.

  His fingers run across my pubic line before sliding under my knickers.

  “No. This is all you. Baby aside, it’s you I think about. Just you,” he growls as his fingers rub circles over my clit. “You’re soaked.”

  “You’re rubbing my pussy and we’re in a public place where anyone can happen upon us, and I’m always horny as fuck, so of course I’m fucking turned on.”

  “I’d stop before anyone got close,” he promises.

  “More,” I plead, spreading my legs.

  “Play with your tits,” he demands, and tingles shoot through me.

  My hand snakes up my chest, under my T-shirt. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Oh, it means everything,” he growls, and leans down, capturing my nipple through my top and bra, and biting down.

  “Fuck!” I moan, thrusting my hips. “It’s attraction. We’ve both established we have g-great chemistry.”

  “No. If I was any other guy, you wouldn’t be letting me play with your pussy in public. You wouldn’t even let them get boob action. And I’m willing to bet my life if you were wearing a skirt, you’d be straddling my thighs and letting me fuck you. You’ll grit your teeth to try not to make a sound, but I’ll fuck you so hard, your screams will echo into the night.”

  His dirty words have me crying out. I need more. I hate that he’s right. If I had a skirt on, any inhibition would fly out the window and I’d let him fuck me here and now. Still, there is no way I will be admitting that to him.

  “You have no idea what I want.”

  “Yeah, I do. You are letting me finger fuck you because you trust me. You trust I’ll take care of you and your heart.”

  “N-no,” I rasp, and as his fingers thrust inside me, my orgasm tears through me. Every fibre of my being soars with pleasure.

  “Yes,” he growls, low in his throat. “Because deep down you know we are meant for more. I knew it from that first night, but I was too dumb a fuck to see it. But I see it now. And so do you.”

  He’s wrong.

  He has to be.

  Because if he’s right, then these feelings I have stirring inside of me are real. And I don’t know if I’m ready for it to be real.

  “You’ve already burned me once,” I tell him, letting him see the vulnerability, something I don’t let anyone see.