What Lovers Do

Sex defines a real date.

“Let’s see it, Sophie.”

I don’t even think. No practice swing. No nerves.

Whack!

Shep whistles, tracking the ball in flight. “Damn, Sophie. I’m really turned on right now.”

“Again.” I tap the club next to the tee.

Shep eyes me, but he can’t hide his shock or maybe his pleasure. He tees me up again.

Again, I drive it perfectly.

And again, he whistles. “Looks like you have some explaining to do.”

“When I was five, my dad qualified for the PGA. Dalton Ryan. A car accident ended those dreams. He broke both arms. He’s golfing again, but he never made it back to that level. So I’ve been golfing about as long as I’ve been walking.” I slip my feet back into my wedges while holding out the club to him. “Now, I’m going home to grab a late lunch.”

“I think you owe me lunch. Since you’ve bruised my ego a bit.”

“Can one bruise the ego of a stalker?” I twist my lips and scratch my chin.

“Come on.” He nods toward the exit. “Lunch is on me. We’ll discuss my low-level stalking skills later.”

I shake my head, despite my smile, as I follow him to the exit. “I said I was going home for lunch.”

As soon as we step outside, he turns. I nearly walk straight into him.

“You’ve been on my mind. It’s distracting.” He eyes my mouth, and I take a step back for safety and sanity reasons.

“So calling me to meet you here and eating lunch with me will get me off your mind?”

He grins. “Yes. I’m just waiting for you to do something annoying. Golfing better than me is annoying, but not in the right way. Let’s eat. Maybe you’ll get some lettuce between your teeth, and it will distract me from the rest of you.”

“What makes you think I’m getting a salad?”

“Sushi?”

I know the right answer is no. I know the right thing to do is go home. But when I’m in Shep World, Jimmy doesn’t exist. I don’t think about the baby and how disappointed, and probably angry, Chloe will be if she finds out I lied about Jimmy. Shep doesn’t know I have the worst luck in men. And he never has to know that because we will never be more than friends.

I don’t have to say a word. Shep knows my answer is yes.

“Hiro?”

I nod again. Wait … should I have sushi if I’m pregnant? “On second thought … let’s do True Foods Kitchen. It’s in—”

“I know where it’s at. Meet you there.”

“Okay.”

He gestures. “After you.”

I eye him for a few seconds before heading toward my car. After about ten steps, I turn around. His gaze is still stuck to me, and that grin … it’s a little obnoxious.

“I’m in trouble, Sophie. So much trouble.” He shakes his head slowly.

No.

No one is in trouble.

It’s not a date.

It’s food.

I’m pregnant. My ex is at my house. Shep can admire my golfing skills or even gawk at my legs as I walk away, but that’s where it ends.

“Happy hour. Good call,” Shep says as I approach the entrance.

“Hi. Do you have reservations?” the hostess asks.

I cringe. “No.”

“I can seat you at the bar?”

“Perfect,” Shep says, resting his hand on my lower back as the hostess offers us two open stools and hands us the happy hour menu.

“Cozy.” I opt for a nervous laugh, tamping down my nerves as we climb onto the stools at the crowded bar.

He angles his body ever so slightly, and his bare knee touches mine.

“Can I start you off with something to drink?” the bartender asks.

Shep nods for me to order.

“Uh … I’ll have the strawberry lemonade.”

Shep orders a beer and returns his attention to me. I wait for him to question my drink order. Do I not drink? If not, then why?

He doesn’t.

“So when are we going golfing?”

I smile. “I’m not dating you, Shep.”

“Who said anything about dating? Just friends golfing.”

“I have friends who golf with me.” My dad. He’s the only one who golfs with me.

“Maybe …” He narrows his eyes.

The bartender serves our drinks.

Shep takes a sip of beer. “But do you have friends who look at you the way I look at you?”

My lips wrap around the straw, and they don’t let go until I figure out how to reply to his comment. “How do you look at me?”

“Like my dogs look at me.”

I laugh. “You think I have treats in my pocket for you?”

“No. Well, do you have treats in your pocket? Now that I think about it, I can’t imagine a better trait in a woman than carrying treats in her pocket.”

I giggle, shaking my head.

He winks at me. “No. What I meant was … when I see you, I get really excited. And I can’t stop staring at you and waiting to see what you’ll say to me. Hoping it’s something that lets me know you’re excited to see me too.”