The Perfect Stroke (7 page)

“You order for us,” I tell him, literally unable to care less what he orders and just wanting it over and done at this point.

“You sure?”

“Surprise me.” I don’t even pay attention as he orders.

“Why am I getting the feeling this isn’t going well?” he asks.

I jerk up to look at him. “I’m not really a country club kind of girl.”

“What kind of girl are you?”

I study his face, trying to figure out if he’s truly interested, or just trying to get into my pants. I can’t decide. I take a breath and decide to just put it out there.

“I’m just guessing, Gray, but I’d say that a mechanic hasn’t set foot in the doors of this place, unless it was the back entrance to get to the garage area so they can work on club cars or something.”

“Why does it matter? You’re here now. You’re here with me and I want you here, that’s all that matters.”

His response annoys me. I’m not sure why I thought he would understand, but I did. “You’re right.”

He sighs, as if he can hear the doubt in my voice. He stands up, reaching for my hand. “Come on.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going to get out of here. If you’re not comfortable, then we’ll go somewhere where you are.”

“Gray! Is that you?” The high-pitched voice, squealing until it rakes across my nerve endings, cries out. I know that voice. I abhor that voice. The fact that the voice is calling out Gray’s name only makes me detest it more.

I look up at Gray and see a look of distaste cross his face. I feel a little better. I would almost smile if the bane of my entire childhood Cammie Riverton wasn’t standing there looking at Gray like a moon-eyed dog in heat.
What the hell?

“Cammie,” Gray says, and I think maybe I mistook his look, because his voice sure does seem awful warm now—welcoming, even.

“What a great surprise seeing you here! I thought you said you had another business meeting today.”

“I did, I was…”

“Oh. My. God! Claudia Cooper, is that you?”

I grind my teeth together, wishing I had the superpower to turn invisible. “That’d be me. How are you, Cammie?”

“What on earth are you doing here with Gray? How could you two possibly know each other?” she asks. Her voice is so snide and her eyes shoot imaginary bullets at me. I probably shouldn’t do it, but as always when Cammie is involved, I find I can’t stop my mouth from reacting.

“I gave him a head job and he’s taking me to dinner as a thank you.”

“You what?” Cammie asks, her head reeling back as if I slapped her. I probably spoke much too loudly for this place too because it’s deathly quiet now, and I can see all of the eyes on me. I’m in too deep to back down now.

“I said I gave him a head job and he’s buying me dinner to show me his appreciation.” I hear Gray cough and when I look over at him, he’s smiling broadly and giving me a look I can’t quite decipher.

“Dear Lord! I can’t believe you,” Cammie whispers. “Gray! I don’t think my father will want to do business with a man who…”

“She means my car broke down and she fixed it.”

“She does?” Cammie asks, confused.

“Yes. A part of the engine is referred to as heads. Sometimes they blow a gasket,” he explains, but he’s looking right at me. I do my best to give him an innocent look. I know I fail. I don’t give a damn. I just want out of here.

Why is Gray doing business with Cammie’s father? A better question is: why do I even care?

“Goodness, I should have known that’s what it was. Really, Claude was always so coarse, it shouldn’t surprise me that she hasn’t changed,” Cammie answers, as if CC isn’t even in the room. I see CC’s face tighten and her eyes narrow. I am tempted to see just how this exchange will go down because I think I might get an honest look at CC—and that is very enticing indeed—but Seth would probably kill me. I wasn’t sure I liked Cammie before this, and now I’m positive. The little minx currently trying to figure out how to leave, however, is someone I definitely like. After this, I believe she does in fact owe me a head job. 

“I like the way CC is upfront. Kind of like, what you see is what you get. It’s much better than trying to figure out who a person is when they pretend to be someone else entirely,” I tell Cammie.

I see CC sit up at my barb just as it flies over the top of Cammie’s head. Cammie might be pretty in a clean, polished, Ivy League kind of way, but she’s obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe her parents kept her too sheltered. If that’s the case, they didn’t do her any favors.

“I suppose,” Cammie agrees reluctantly. “But really, Claude, you should be more aware of your surroundings. I mean, you are sitting at my father’s table. Your behavior reflects on him.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” CC asks loudly, and I’m thinking this could get ugly real fast. “Tell me, Cammie, how is dear old Dad? Still feeding your trust fund monthly?”

“I think you should leave now. Gray, you’re new to the area here, but I think you can clearly see that CC and her kind of people don’t exactly mix well here.”

“I was just telling him that very thing before you got here,” CC says, standing up. “And if there’s one thing that I’m thankful for Cammie, it’s that I don’t mix well here. Gray, it’s been real. Don’t bother getting up, I’m sure Cammie here would be more than willing to take my place.”

Before she can finish her sentence, I’m up with her. I wrap my hand around her wrist and pull her towards me. “Cammie, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be seeing CC home.”

“Of course you will. It’s the only gentlemanly thing to do. It’s a shame I couldn’t have warned you sooner. We’re still on for lunch tomorrow right?”

I feel CC jerk away from me, and it’s annoying. I barely know the woman and I can feel myself getting embarrassed all because I have a business luncheon with Cammie and her father.
What the ever-loving fuck?
My brothers would be laughing their asses off at me right now.

“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you then.”

“Definitely,” she chimes. “CC, I do hope you find a way to get your anger under control,” she calls out. Either Cammie’s smarter than I gave her credit for, or she’s just a bitch. 

“Cunt,” CC growls under her breath.

I feel myself grin a little. I always did like my women with a little bite. The little tigress in my hands right now definitely bites—
and boy, does she have claws
. I manage to get her back to my vehicle and I forcibly, over her objections, buckle her into the seat. Truthfully, I’m afraid if I don’t buckle her in, she’ll take off running.

“Well, that was interesting,” I tell her, leaning against the opened passenger door and taking a breath as soon as the seatbelt buckles. Damn, why do I feel like I just wrestled a mountain lion?
Why am I wondering what my mother would think of CC?
“Care to tell me what that was all about?”

“Not especially,” CC all but grunts, looking
very
put-out with me.

“I think I’m owed an explanation, don’t you?”

“Cammie Riverton is a cunt-a-saurus,” she says with a smile.

“And you don’t think you need to explain that further?”

“Nope.” She shrugs, picking at imaginary lint on her dress.

“You could have ruined my chances of sealing the deal with Riverton Metals.”

“He’s a slime ball. You’re better off,” she grumbles. “So… see? I did you a favor.”

“He might be, for all I know. I don’t really give a fuck. I need his backing for my tournament. His name and wallet are instrumental in me achieving my dream.”

“Tournament? I thought you were a salesman?”

“No. You
assumed
I was a salesman. I just never bothered to correct you.”

“What do you do then?” she asks.

Shit!
This wasn’t exactly the conversation I wanted to have tonight. I sigh, seeing no way around it. I rub my forehead in aggravation.
Will she know who I am? Will it change how she is with me?
I don’t know why, but I don’t want that to happen… which is weird. I usually play the whole
I’m-A-Golf-Pro-Fuck-Me
card right away. CC is different. I’ve said it before and I have a feeling I’ll be saying it again for as long as I’m around her.

“I play golf,” I tell her, nervously waiting to see what her reaction will be.

“Golf?”

“Yeah,” I say, wincing at her disbelief.

“Like… weird-hats-crazy-pants-ugly-shirts golf?”

“I don’t wear clothes like that, but yeah.”

“But you don’t look like you’re eighty!”

“What? I’m not. What are you—?”

“Oh my God! I had sex with a grandpa! How old are you? I mean, I knew you were older, but Jesus!”

“I am not old! What are you going on about? I’m thirty-five, for God’s sake. You know, not only old men play golf.”

“I know.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I’ve been miniature-golfing before. Little kids eat that up, but seriously, dude. We’re talking regular golf here, right? Where you hit those little balls with sticks and try to knock them in a hole?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. And there was once a twelve-year-old who played in a tournament, I’ll have you know.”

“Golf,” she says again reproachfully.

“What is your problem now?”

“Well, I mean, if I was gonna have a one-night stand with a pro athlete, I’d much rather it was football or basketball… something. I mean, at least then I could brag a little. I can’t here.”

“Why the fuck can’t you?” I ask her, getting annoying and forgetting the fact that I don’t really want a woman to fuck me just so she can brag.

“The first thing they would ask me is if you smelled like muscle rub!”

“What? Jesus!”

“I mean, I never noticed you smelling like that stuff, but now that I think about it, you
did
have to—”

Before she can finish her rant, I lean down and pull her towards me. The seatbelt holds her back, but I more than meet her halfway. My lips crash against hers, stopping her tirade and ending it with a muffled
umph
of a noise that vibrates against my lips. My tongue pushes in and I groan at the familiar taste of her mouth—sweet, hot sugar and spice. It’s a flavor I’ve never had before CC, and instinctively I know I will never find it anywhere else. It’s all her and I have a feeling it could be more addicting than any drug. Her tongue boldly wraps around mine. That’s another thing that’s all CC: she’s not shy. She knows what she wants and she goes after it completely—body and soul. As her tongue tangles with mine and fights for dominance, my dick hardens, pushing against my slacks. God, she’s something else. I thought I had somehow imagined just how great her kisses were. I now instantly know I was wrong.
They are that great.
Her fingers bite into my shoulders as my hands push under her shirt. Her hot skin greets my touch—hot enough to brand a man. I pull away for a breath and she whimpers, her mouth following me. I groan, giving in, and dive back into her mouth to drink again before slowly breaking away.

When the kiss is over, our foreheads remain connected. Her hands remain on my shoulders and I sure as hell will not take my hands off of her sides and stomach unless she makes me. She takes a very shaky breath, swallows, and then slowly pulls away from me. She looks up at me, her green eyes almost glowing.

“You kiss pretty good for an old man,” she says, and I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I laugh before I can stop myself. Shit, this woman constantly surprises me.

I might be getting in over my head.

“You okay, C?” Jackson asks, when I drop my damn wrench again.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter, lying out of my ass. I’m not fine. I’m very far from fine. My mind is where it has been for the last three days ever since Gray dropped me off at my house after our date—a date which started off horrible, got worse, never did result in food, and ended with a kiss that has haunted me ever since. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, and for several reasons. The biggest of those being that Grayson Lucas is some kind of golf god. I googled him after our date and what I learned was enough to blow my mind… and turn my stomach. He’s famous, he’s rich, and worse: he’s a big time player. His exploits with women have been plastered on every tabloid coming or going. Just last month, his biggest sponsor booted him because there was a video uploaded of him online. A sex video. A video of him and
two
other women—one of those women being the daughter of a very well-known golf sponsor. Gossip on the net was that he was shuffling to find a new sponsor, one that would get him back in the good graces of the upcoming tour promoters and committee. That would be why he is here and why he is dealing with David Riverton. All that together spells disaster with a capital D, and reveals a million reasons why I have to stay away from Grayson.