Kiss My Putt (Summersweet Island 1)

My hands are shaking, and I’m suddenly second-guessing this decision as I stand in front of her. She looks like she’s two seconds away from shanking me with the pen she’s clicking and unclicking in her hand. Everyone on this island knows Birdie would kill her family for what’s in this cooler that you can only get over on the mainland. She has a… boyfriend who lives on the mainland. She’s going to laugh in my face and think this is ridiculous, because of course fucking Backpack Brad has probably been feeding her addiction in my place.

Before I can quickly rezip the bag and make up some sort of lie about what’s in it, like maybe I’m carrying around a cooler of my urine for the employee drug test—because that wouldn’t be weird at all—I see the exact second the smell that is not my piss, thank you very much, reaches Birdie’s nose. It twitches like a bunny, her eyes light up, and her planner and pen slip from her hands and smack to the concrete by her feet.

My cock stiffens in my shorts, and I have to swallow back a groan when Birdie licks her shiny lips and leans closer to the bag as I slowly lift the lid. When she sees that her nose has not deceived her and that I’ve carefully packed the cooler with a dozen maple bacon donuts with a caramel drizzle from Dolphin Donuts, she moans low and soft, and I almost come in my pants.

The only Dolphin’s location is a little over an hour inland, and considering you still have at least a twenty-minute ferry ride over to the mainland first, on top of crazy Virginia traffic, Birdie rarely made it out that far, and it was always up to me to get her fix. When Dolphin Donuts opened two blocks from my private high school the summer before our sophomore year and students started selling the maple bacon donuts to their friends more than coke and weed, I knew I had to bring Birdie one on my next trip to the island. I swear she sobbed the entire time she ate it and then yelled at me for the next two hours about why I would do something so stupid as to only bring her one. From that point on, every time I came to the island, even if it had only been two days since my last visit, I brought her no less than a dozen, and she would eat every single one.

“Oh, now you’re just playing dirty, Campbell,” Birdie whispers.

My heart starts pounding in my chest when she calls me by my last name. She’s only ever called me Campbell from the day we met and she had to caddie for me, busting my balls through eighteen holes and making a day of training fun for the first time ever, while also making it… hard. The day I met Birdie Bennett was the first time I ever had to lock myself in a bathroom stall at a golf course and jerk off halfway through the day so I could finish playing without wincing every time I took a step. Calling me Campbell was like Birdie’s way of immediately letting me know I was friend-zoned for eternity, so that’s been great. Regardless of how many times I’ve dreamed about hearing her whisper, moan, or scream Palmer, at least she’s not calling me Putz for the moment, so the donuts seem to be working.

“I do like it dirty,” I quip, forcing Birdie to stop undressing the donuts with her eyes to look up at me and roll them.

Our faces are only a few inches apart, and I can smell her tropical scent on top of the delicious smell of maple and bacon, and I swear to God my knees get weak. Her blues eyes are looking up at me, and I notice her mouth start moving and hear her mutter what sounds like a date again before she grabs the cooler from my hands, hugs it to her chest, and backs up a step.

“I haven’t had these in years,” Birdie says, still licking her lips and driving me crazy as she stares down into the open bag in her arms.

Well, this is a brand new development!

“Oooh, Backpack Brad must be falling down on the job. Tough break. Good thing I’m here.” I smirk, knowing how much she hated it when I called him that.

It’s not my fault the fucking tool didn’t know how to take a selfie without wearing one of those ridiculous hiking backpacks with the fucking water tube coming out of it and up to his mouth. Like, how hard is it to grab a bottle of water and bring it up to your dumbfuck mouth, Brad!

I only met the guy once the last time I was home and a bunch of us went to the mainland for dinner and drinks. Lucky me, I got to be there when the two of them met. I spent the next six months discouraging her from dating the loser until I realized I was being selfish.