Kiss My Putt (Summersweet Island 1)

I definitely noticed he still wore the same rich boy cologne, but it smelled even better than I remembered. Spicier, cleaner, hotter. One tiny whiff when I walked by him and I clenched with need.

“I just want to know if he brought that hot caddie with him,” Tess muses as she wipes down a bottle of whiskey before putting it on the glass shelf behind the bar.

“Bodhi?” I choke on a laugh, thankful for something to think about other than how much hotter Palmer is now, when I could barely stand to look at him before without immediately getting pregnant. “You think Bodhi is hot? He looks like a homeless surfer.”

Probably because he is a homeless surfer.

Tess pulls another bottle of whiskey out of the box by her feet, looking off into space while she wipes it down with her towel.

“I’ve had a homeless surfer or two. Very giving. They fuck you like they’re looking for a home deep in your vagina. You know, because they are. They always smell like weed and patchouli, which is oddly comforting. Mama likey.”

I shake my head at Tess with a laugh.

“I haven’t heard any Bodhi rumors, but I’ll be sure to keep my ears open,” I reassure her. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this morning break, I still have a lot of work to catch up on, and I’m trying to set up a schedule for the new golf pro.”

Tess sets the top shelf bottle of whiskey on the bar and throws the towel over her shoulder when I start sorting through my paperwork, looking for the list of private members who want lessons.

“So you’re just going to pretend like you’re fine? Go about your life and do your job like the shit didn’t just hit the fan yesterday evening and you’re not jumping out of your skin every time you hear a door open, thinking it’s him?” Tess asks.

“Sounds about right.”

“You don’t think maybe seeking him out so you can ask him what the fuck he’s doing here so you can get it over with is a good idea?”

“That’s sounds entirely too mature and not at all something I’d do,” I scoff. “I’ll wait for the rumors to finish circulating and make my decisions accordingly.”

Finding the list of private members in need of lessons, I quickly circle a few people I know won’t give the new guy a hard time while he settles in.

“Since maturity is off the table, want to light some of his shit on fire now that we know where he’s staying?”

Tess knows this is killing me, but as my best friend and someone who knows me better than most, she understands I just need support right now, no matter how twisted that support is, instead of a lecture. Something I’ll probably get from my mom and sister at some point. Tess is my ride-or-die. She’ll call me on my shit, but she will support me no matter what.

“We’re still on probation and not allowed any more beach fires for another month after the last break-up burning we had,” I remind her, still annoyed we actually got a citation, since it’s not our fault the wind changed direction and caught a few trees on fire. “Although why we needed to torch a tourist’s sweatshirt after only knowing him for four hours is beyond me.”

“He had a tiny dick that did not match the promises he made all night at the bar. He’s lucky I didn’t light his sweatshirt on fire while it was still on his body,” Tess mutters, grabbing the bottle of whiskey back off the top of the bar and putting it on the glass shelf with the rest. “We both know Palmer Campbell is probably packing a lot of heat, so you’re right, no point in a fire.”

“Can we please stop bringing up Putz’s cock and balls?”

“Hey, Birdie.”

Tess and I both gasp at the same time when I hear those same two words from yesterday from that same voice. Except this time, he doesn’t whisper them. This time, I get to hear the full timbre of his smooth, deep voice from just a few feet away. Of course the one minute I let my guard down and stopped worrying he’d walk in the door at any time, he actually walks in the damn door. Right when I’m talking about his junk.

“Oh, sweet mother of God. I think your cookies are here,” Tess whispers.

I look at her face, and I watch her getting her own first good look at Palmer again after almost three years, and I hope to God I didn’t look like that last night. Her mouth is wide open, and I watch her pluck the material of her black button-down away from her chest with her fingers and fan herself. With a deep breath of courage and a reminder to myself that I see plenty of hot golfers on this course every day, I slide off my bar stool and turn around.