Kiss My Putt (Summersweet Island 1)

I rapidly snap a few shots when Palmer turns and laughs at The Lamp, a gray cat with white paws, when she swats at his face.

“Obviously The is part of their names, or it wouldn’t make sense. If I told you to go outside and feed Lamp, that’s just not proper English,” I explain, snapping a few more pictures and willing my heart to stop melting as I watch Palmer cuddle a bunch of stray cats in his lap.

The Meth starts to make her way onto his lap, clawing her way up the front of Palmer’s tight, clingy, SIG shirt. It’s a soft gray cotton that I want to claw my way up just like the damn cat, and knowing he got shirtless and changed into it in my office just makes me want to go back into the bar and beat my head on top of it again.

“I think I’m starting to bleed. Did you get enough?” Palmer asks.

I wave to him that I’m finished and try to stop drooling while I stare at him as he removes all the cats from his person, where they’ve all tried to climb up onto his shoulders. Deciding it’s best to keep my head down while Palmer gets up from the grass and the cats go racing off in search of something to hunt, I add some filters to the picture I like best where one of the cats is covering up the SIG logo on his shirt.

Since Palmer emailed me all his social media log-ins, I quickly post a black-and-white shot of him with his head turned to the side, smiling at The Lamp with his dimple popping, a clear shot of the flag coming up out of the 18th cup behind him, with the caption Thanks for the support. Enjoying some much-needed downtime with a few new friends in my favorite place. That will show the world he’s still kind, sweet, and not a raging lunatic who curses and throws things in water hazards and that golf is still part of his life.

“Why did you date him for so long?”

I jolt a little when I hear Palmer’s soft voice and look up to realize he’s standing right in front of me, my cell phone I’m still holding between us the only distance separating us.

“Who?” I ask stupidly, because what the hell?

He can’t stand so close after I’ve been girding my loins all this time, and after I had to use my vibrator twice last night just from sitting on his damn lap, and ask me a question like that.

Palmer’s reply to my dumb question is just a slight tilt of his head.

God, he smells so good. All I’d have to do is stop holding my phone between us, take a step forward, and press my lips to the underside of his smooth, freshly shaved jaw to see if he tastes as good as he smells. But he’s not closing the distance either, and I’m so tired of being confused by this man.

“I don’t know,” I finally say, not admitting the truth. “I wasted two years with that idiot when I could’ve…”

Could’ve what? Wasted those two years continuing to pine for this guy? Because that was so much fun the first time around. Also, you’re pining again. Stop it!

“Did you know he and I only saw each other twelve times in two years?” I keep going, because why not word vomit, since it’s always worked out so well for me in the past, and I’m feeling nervous and all out of sorts, because he’s standing so close and not touching me. “He called Summersweet quaint like it was an insult, and I let him get away with it, and he said ‘LOL’ all the time instead of actually fucking laughing out loud, and he fell asleep watching The National Tour. Who falls asleep watching golf?”

“Literally everyone,” Palmer deadpans.

There’s a few beats of silence, where I know he wants me to keep going and actually tell him something significant about why I wasted two years with Bradley, but that significant thing is standing twelve inches away from me. He’s rubbing the back of his neck and making his bicep pop, and I just want to slide my arms around his waist, press myself against him, and ease some of the ache he’s been building in me for years.

But I don’t. Because I’m a coward.

“Okay, well, I need to see if Greg’s going to want to cut the four-man-scramble short and have people start taking down the tents,” I finally speak again, taking a much-needed step back from Palmer as I point to the dark sky out over the water. “Did you notice as soon as everyone cleared out for lunch those storms you mentioned started coming in a little faster?”

Palmer doesn’t look away from me to glance up at the sky as I take a few more steps away from him, his fierce stare making my already heated skin from the sun shining overhead feel like it’s on fire.