Kiss My Putt (Summersweet Island 1)

I’m walking around, pretending like I’m not about ready to come out of my skin every time Palmer looks at me, pretending like I don’t want to scream every second we spend not talking about what we should be talking about. And it’s my own fault, because I kept running away from him, and now I’m stuck with him at work, where I absolutely cannot lose my shit like I want to. And he’s walking around doing the same damn thing, thinking a bag of donuts is going to magically make everything better and make me more agreeable.

“Ahhh, finally some words other than ordering me around through a mouthful of dough,” Palmer muses, his dimples on full display.

That last delicious bite I took suddenly gets lodged in my throat, and it takes me a few tries to swallow it down when Palmer steps closer until we’re just a foot apart. I’ve managed to keep my distance from him over the last hour. This is way too close, but my feet suddenly feel like they’re frozen in the grass, and I can’t move away.

“Look, just because you bring me a bag of pillowy goodness that are made from unicorn wings and angel kisses doesn’t mean I want to stand around and chitchat with you.”

Palmer chuckles, and the old familiar sound floats over me like a warm breeze, pissing me off instead of heating me up like usual. Pulling the strap of the cooler off my arm, I chuck the bag a few feet away before I’m tempted to just stick my head inside the thing and finish the rest of them off.

“This isn’t funny!” I shout, the smile immediately dropping from his face when I quickly look around and notice a few golfers standing not that far away stretching before they get started, and I lower my voice. “All of a sudden, you’re just… here, and I’m supposed to act like it’s okay and do my job and talk about bullshit just because you brought donuts? This is hard for me, okay?”

Don’t you dare cry, Birdie Bennett! Suck it up!

“You don’t think this is hard on me too?” he fires back quietly, tossing his putter to the side and still standing so close… so close I could just wrap my arms around him and feel his heat and smell his skin. Oh God.

I take a step back, but he just follows, not letting me put any distance between us, and it’s killing me, but so is walking around this damn course, working side by side with him and trying to keep it together and be professional, when I just want to scream at the top of my lungs and ask him why.

“It wasn’t so hard for you to walk away and stay away now was it?” I whisper angrily, feeling like I’m going to choke to death swallowing back the tears.

“It wasn’t easy, Birdie. It was far from fucking easy,” he growls, a muscle ticking in his smooth, muscular jaw, his face suddenly closer to mine until I can smell his minty fresh breath from the gum he obsessively chews when he golfs, and all I can think about is his tongue in my mouth.

Now is not the time to get turned on. You’re mad and hurt, remember?

His frustration disappears just as quickly as it came, his features softening and his tense shoulders dropping.

“I know it looks like I’m being all flippant and like I don’t care, but I’m trying to hold it together here too, okay? I already humiliated myself in front of the entire world; I don’t really want to do it here, in my safe place, with my safe person.”

Oh, that’s even dirtier than the damn donuts.

Jerking his hat off his head, he runs a hand through the thick chocolate locks he keeps long enough to brush to the side, keeping his hat off so his face isn’t partially shaded and I can see his eyes. They look so serious and sad, and he looks like he has a million things to say to me. I just want to smack my hands against his chest and tell him to say them already. But I can hear people talking and golf carts puttering around, and I know the course is filling up fast all around us. I’m an idiot for thinking I could stop avoiding him, come to work today, push everything to the side, and just do my job until I was ready to have a serious discussion with him.

“I know we have a lot to talk about, and we can’t do that here, and we don’t have the time before my first lesson is scheduled,” Palmer finally speaks again, taking a quick look around. “I can at least quickly clear up one thing so we can finish this day of work without me losing an appendage. So, you know that whole stalker thing? Funny story…”