Kiss My Putt (Summersweet Island 1)
CHAPTER 13Palmer
“Talk birdie to me.”“My God, man, you suck at this game.” Birdie laughs, the musical sound easing the pain of her heckling as my bean bag flies right past the wooden cornhole board and lands on the other side in the sand with a plop.
“I can get a 1.6-inch in diameter ball into a 4.25-inch in diameter hole from over 150 yards away in one shot by hitting it with a tiny piece of titanium. You and your stupid cornhole can eat shit,” I mutter, trying not to laugh right along with Birdie as the two of us walk side by side through the sand to retrieve our bags.
My yellow ones are strewn all over the place in the sand, and all four of Birdie’s red ones are inside the damn hole in the middle of the rectangular wooden board with a 10-degree slope with Dockside Eddy’s yellow-and-red logo painted on it, sitting in the sand.
“You’ve only gotten a hole-in-one once in like ten years. I do believe I’ve gotten many things in my hole just in the last ten minutes.”
Birdie’s feet come to a stop in the sand as soon as the words are out of her mouth, and I bark out a laugh. Even though the sun went down hours ago, Eddy’s has a few lights strapped to the deck railings along with the old-fashioned, big bulb Edison lights hung all under the deck ceiling that let me see plenty down here in the sand not too far from the crashing waves, including an adorable blush covering Birdie’s cheeks.
“Don’t you dare,” she warns me, holding her finger up between us to point it at me.
I wrap my hand around her finger and tug it down until I’m swinging our hands between us, holding onto just that finger. If I touch any other part of her right now, I’m afraid I might throw her down on the sand and crawl between her smooth thighs that I’ve been tortured with all night as we’ve walked back and forth between one cornhole board and the other, spaced about twenty-seven feet apart in the sand.
“I wouldn’t dare think of making a joke about how big your hole is with all those things stuffed in it.” I smirk, Birdie groaning and yanking her finger out of my hold.
And then it’s my turn to groan as I adjust my painfully hard cock in my shorts for the hundredth time in the last few hours when Birdie stomps away in her bare feet through the sand and bends over to retrieve her bean bags from inside the cornhole board. The already too-short romper rides up even higher until I can see a tiny sliver and curve of bare ass cheek.
Fuuuck. Stop staring at her like a piece of juicy steak you want to take a bite out of and remember what you’re supposed to be doing here tonight—hanging out and getting her to be comfortable with you again, you horny dipshit.
While Birdie and the girls ate dinner, Bodhi regaled everyone with ridiculous story after ridiculous story of his adventures, all of us laughing and interjecting every so often with stories of our own and just having a fun, laid-back time. Wren excused herself right after dinner to pick up Owen from baseball practice, and Tess and Bodhi challenged Birdie and me to a cornhole game. After we lost the first two games epically because I couldn’t get my bag in the hole to save my life and kept knocking Tess and Bodhi’s bags in to give them more points, Birdie refused to be my partner anymore, throwing her bags down in the sand and crossing her arms in a huff, because she is the worst sore loser in the world.
Tess and Bodhi disappeared somewhere to continue their date after that, and shockingly, Birdie stayed behind, alone with me. I’m not a hundred percent sure if she did it because she wanted to spend more time with me, or because she just wanted a chance to kick my ass over and over again in the last ten games we’ve played. At least she’s not avoiding me or jumping every time I talk, so I’ll let her humiliate me all night long if that’s what it takes.
“Here’s your loser bags.” Birdie snorts.
My fingers graze against hers when I take my four yellow bags out of her hands, paying close attention to that “lady shiver” Bodhi stupidly mentioned earlier in the evening. Turns out it wasn’t so stupid after all. Every time we’ve handed bags back and forth, every time I’ve nudged her hip out of the way so I can toss my bag, every time our shoulders have brushed together as we’ve walked between the boards, I’ve watched her body shudder just the tiniest bit. It’s been fascinating and confusing all at the same time, and it’s just annoyed me even more that I’ve been here this long and I still haven’t earned a Birdie-launch hug, gotten to wrap my arms completely around her body, and feel her against me.