Searching for Perfect (Searching For 2)

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Now you need a complete follow-through. Keep your eyes on the ball and swing." She did. "You didn't keep your eye on the ball."

"Yes, I did!"

"No, you thought you did. That gets beginners all the time. What's the best thing you've ever seen in your life?"

"What?"

He let out an impatient breath. "An image. A photo. What was the most intriguing image you set eyes on, where you felt like you couldn't look away?"

Her cheeks turned pink. "My cousin showed me a copy of Playgirl. I had never seen a naked man before."

Nate stabbed a finger toward the floor. "That ball is your first naked man. Got it?"

She giggled. "Don't you mean balls?"

"Concentrate."

"Sorry."

"Now, do it again." He made her practice a few times until he was satisfied she got her basic grip, stance, and gaze on the ball. "Good. Let's try it now with the simulator. Move up to the swing pad and get ready."

"That grassy thing there?"

"Yes. Relax, breathe, and concentrate on the ball."

She mumbled something under her breath but obeyed. She wriggled her hips, adjusted her grip, and gazed at the ball. He wondered what man she was fantasizing about naked. The idea annoyed the crap out of him, so he pushed the thought aside.

She swung.

The ball hit the screen with good trajectory. She peered at the screen while the ball launched toward the fairway, hooking a bit left, but sailing nicely to land for perfect setup to the green. She frowned. "Is that good? How come it's so far away from the hole?"

"That's excellent for a first swing. Okay, you hook left so we need to straighten that out. Speed is a bit low. Trajectory decent. Now you're going to set up the shot to get onto the green." He took her through the steps, readjusting her stance and swing, then stepped back.

Gaze glued to the imaginary naked man, she nibbled at her lower lip, then drew back. And swung.

The ball landed on the green a few inches from the hole. "Oh, yay! That's good, right? Now I just have to push it in the hole."

"Putt. Huh, you corrected the hook, even though there was a dog leg on this course."

"Dog what?"

"Dog leg is a hole that's not straight. I haven't seen a beginner able to accomplish that. Can you putt?"

She stuck out her chin. "Of course. I like miniature golf. It's fun to try and get through the windmills and water fountains."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a putter from the shelf. "Here, try this one."

She set herself up and sunk it in one perfect putt. "Yay, did I win?"

"There's no winning here. It's a game of how many strokes it takes to get your ball in the hole. Your statistics are impressive. Let's do the next one."

They completed the nine-hole course. Nate computed her numbers and watched them increase in quality with every hole. He went to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, then remembered he was wearing contacts. Odd. It was almost as if she had a natural swing. Which was impossible, of course. Maybe a bit of beginner's luck? But the computer didn't lie.

"Nate? Can we go now?"

"In a minute." The club face dimensions were a gift most golfers prayed for and never got. Her grip was still awful. But what would she be like when she increased her strength and practiced more? Would she get even better, or worse? He reached for his pencil to do some quick calculations, but the pocket protector was gone.

"Nate, I'm done with golf. I want to go."

He came out of his fog. "Sure. Listen, any chance you can take off Wednesday morning? Meet me at the golf course? I really want to get you on a real green."

She narrowed her gaze with suspicion. "How many more sessions do I have to complete before our favor is officially over?"

"Three times on the course. I can drag you out on a weekend morning if that works better."

"Wednesday's fine. I can rearrange my schedule."

"Excellent."

"Do you have decent golf clothes?" she asked. "We forgot to pick anything up today."

"Actually, my golf wardrobe is highly rated and all designer."

She perked up. "Cool. I always wanted to wear this tennis dress that's been hanging in my closet."

He followed her out and tried not to groan. Great. Watching her short skirt flip up when she bent over and took a swing would likely kill him. Kennedy was with him to find his soul-mate. Crushing on her wouldn't help either of them. They shared a similar past and understood one another on a different level. And he wanted to sleep with her.

Bad.

That didn't mean they'd make a good couple or that she was interested in something more. Yes, he swore a few times she had also sensed the connection and wanted to kiss him back. But it quickly disappeared, and Kennedy wasn't the type to follow impulse if it affected business. He needed to concentrate on the original plan to find himself a suitable woman. One who wanted to settle down, share his life, and love him as he was--geekiness and all. One who would stay and not be tempted by the next hot guy who came along.

"You okay?" she asked.

He forced a smile. "Yes. Actually, I'm amazing."

Her laughter soothed his soul as they walked out.

"YOU'RE MOVING OUT?"

Nate winced and kept his head down, taping down the box and clearly marking it in black marker. "I told you yesterday. I managed to get a small rental in Verily, near Kinnections. I think we both need some private space."

"I don't mind you bringing women home, man." Connor paced through the cluttered room. "What do you expect me to do? I can't afford this rent on my own."

"No worries, I'll take care of it. It's not fair I sprung this on you last minute."

"I can pay my way."

The resentment in his brother's tone made Nate look up. "I know you can. This isn't about you. I just don't want my future wife to think I'm a partyer who likes hanging with his brother and getting drunk."

"Yeah, I did teach you well. Where are your glasses? You're blind without them."

"I'm wearing contacts."

His brother gasped. "You put something in your eye? Holy shit, you're going hard core on this makeover thing. Does it bother your eyeball?"

Nate tried not to squirm at the thought. Damn older siblings. "No. And don't talk about it, or I'll get weirded out. I don't feel a thing."

"Fine. Listen, Ned--"

"Nate."

"Sorry. I'm worried about you. I think you're focusing too hard on this one-woman thing and it's gonna blow up in your face. Why don't you play it cool for a while? Sleep around a bit. I bet you can get some serious play with this new look you got going for you."

He studied his brother. Usually Connor reflected an easygoing, uncomplicated guy who wanted nothing more than to get laid. But today, underneath the words, something darker loomed. He simply looked unhappy. Nate gentled his voice. "Aren't you tired of just getting laid? Don't you want more from your life? More of . . . anything?"

His brother jerked back. "Who'd want more than a good piece of ass?"

"Not all women are like Mom."

Connor stopped pacing. His cheeks grew ruddy. "Don't ever talk about Mom. You don't know what happened."

"She left us. Doesn't mean they all will."

The anger deflated but left behind only a shadow of the brother he knew. What was going on? Flat hazel eyes gazed back at him without expression. "Yeah. They will."

"Forget it." Nate grabbed the last box and unrolled the tape. He knew from experience that Connor was well versed on the family-and-kids speech. He cited their own parents' failings, the divorce statistics, and the innate biological drive of the male species to stray. Depressing. His brother was right on most counts. Love and marriage made no logical sense if approached analytically; the failure rate way outran the successes. Yet, here he was, a scientist who devoted his life to analytics, aching to take the leap, while Connor refused to get hurt again. "The truck's coming this week. I left you e

nough groceries. You should have plenty of time to get paid from the new job."

"Don't need your charity, bro."

"Not giving you any." He laid the last box on top of the pile and wiped his brow. "You put me through school and gave me everything I needed. Let me handle the rent on this place for a while. Hell, when you get supervisor, I'm making you take me out for a steak dinner."

Connor's lips turned up. "Prime rib?"

"New York strip at Delmonico's. Nothing less."

His brother grunted. "Whatever. Wanna hang out tonight? We can go to the bar and meet Jerry, knock back a few, then catch True Blood."

"Can't. I'm meeting Kennedy for a session at the gym."

"Again? What's up with all the working out? You sure you're not screwing her?"

He tamped down his anger at Connor's crude words. "I'm sure. She's just helping me find my best self. I'll be meeting a bunch of women at a mixer next week, and she wants to be sure I'm prepared."

"Prepared? I did that for you, man. My advice is stellar."

"Maybe for you," he muttered. The memory of getting shocked at the bar over and over still made him squirm. Talk about hard-core therapy. "I'm looking for more than a one-night stand. I want something real. Is that too much to ask?"

Connor turned his back. "Do whatever you want. It's your funeral."

The door slammed behind him.

Nate groaned. Ah, hell. He didn't want to hurt Connor's feelings or insult him. He just needed to be his own person and stop being his brother's clone. Guilt ate at his gut, but soon he heard the outer door close and knew he'd left. Probably out to the local bar to drown his sorrows and talk smack about his ungrateful little brother.

Nate checked his watch. He needed to meet Kennedy for Zumba in a bit. He'd make it up to Connor later. Maybe take him out for dinner and spend some quality time with him. He tossed on sweat pants and a T-shirt and shoved his feet into sneakers. Then looked in the mirror.