Kiss My Putt (Summersweet Island 1)

She stopped yelling that when I put her where I wanted her.

Which was straddling my lap on the edge of our bed, riding my cock.

“Daddy, can I have some money? I want nachos.”

“Christ,” I mutter when Birdie laughs between my legs as I lean to the side to pull my wallet out of my back pocket, grabbing a twenty and handing it back to Bodhi.

“Nachos only! No candy!” Birdie shouts to him after he gives Tess a kiss and then races past us down the stairs in the aisle.

“I love that you’re still trying to make sure not a penny of my money is wasted.” I laugh, kissing the top of her head, both of us screaming and clapping with the rest of the stands when the pitcher for Owen’s team strikes out the third batter.

Thankfully, she doesn’t need to keep track of all the junk food Bodhi is inhaling at the game tonight and all the money I’ve been doling out to him. Thanks to her amazing work with my social media accounts, the close contact she continues to have with my endorsement deals, and that win in San Francisco, my incoming royalties have steadily gone up and they just keep climbing, along with a few new deals Birdie has been able to secure for me. Even though I’ve tried to tell her she doesn’t need to keep handling my marketing and public relations, she refuses to give it up or let me hire a new publicist. She says she likes taking care of me and my work, and it fits in seamlessly with her new job at SIG. And that even though we are solid, and committed, and so fucking in love I feel like I’m in one of Bodhi’s romance novels he loves to read, Birdie still said it would be over her dead body before I hired someone else like my old publicist Callie who just wanted to get in my pants. Her show of jealousy just made me love her even more, and she got three cookies that night after dinner.

I’m even happy to report the video of Birdie launching into my arms at the San Francisco Open now has more hits than the “Crazy Bitch” one, although Bodhi watches that stupid thing at least twice a day to make sure the numbers continue to go up.

“Bodhi already had a Snickers, a bag of Twizzlers, and four sodas. Not only am I concerned about your money, but I’m concerned about my best friend and her having to kiss a man who will eventually have meth teeth from all that sugar,” Birdie tells me.

“Much obliged,” Tess says, leaning down from her seat to give Birdie a fist bump. “I had a man with meth teeth once. I felt like the hookers in Pretty Woman. ‘No kissing on the mouth.’”

“I’m seriously concerned about your taste in men,” I look back over my shoulder and tell her.

“I’m dating your best friend,” she reminds me.

“Like I said. Veeery questionable taste.”

Tess just shakes her head at me and pats me on the shoulder as I turn back around when Murphy yells something else down to the field.

“This coach is garbage. Why in the hell does he have Owen playing short instead of out in center field?” Murphy complains.

“I heard this is his last game coaching,” Tess pipes up from behind me.

“No shit?” Birdie asks, craning her neck to look back at her. “Bob Simpson has been freshman baseball coach since my mom went to school here.”

Tess just shrugs.

“That’s what Melanie told me at The Barge. I guess at the last board meeting it was unanimous that everyone wants him out. They’re tired of all the complaints from parents about how shitty he is to the kids and how he’s lost touch with the game and new techniques he should be teaching them.”

“He was using the same shitty techniques when he coached me.”

Everyone’s heads whip to the right when we hear a deep voice, my woman letting out an ear-piercing scream as soon as she sees who spoke.

“Oh my god, Shep Oliver is back on Summersweet Island!” Birdie squeals, flying up from between my legs.

She shuffles across the bleachers to the man standing at the end of the other aisle who laughs as she races to him, and then he wraps his arms around her when she gets to him. He lifts her up in a tight, friendly hug before putting her right back down on her feet and letting her step back.

I only feel a little bit homicidal watching the love of my life hug that man, and not just because he is one good-looking son of a bitch. But because Shepherd Oliver is the other big thing that came out of Summersweet Island along with me. Except he lived here, and he belonged here a hell of a lot more than I did. And he’s been playing professional baseball for the Washington Hawks since he was drafted right out of college, going to the World Series three times in his career, and has been ranked as one of the top-five center fielders, while also being an insane offensive player who hits the ball like a beast and steals bases with ease.