“I was given professional lessons, of course,” he said. “So was Summer, but she was so bored that she began deliberately to hit the ball in the opposite direction. Okay, so here’s how I was taught to putt. You have to practice hitting the ball straight at the hole so you can focus on your stroke and not on what they call the break. If you get the stroke down but miss the break, it’s just a matter of speed.”

He got behind me, put his hands on my arms, and began to show me the putting stroke. His lips were grazing my cheeks.

“We’ve got to make sure this putter is straight back and straight to your line,” he said, his voice softening. Gently, he moved me into the proper stance, his body against mine. I did try to concentrate, but his breathing and the feel of his thighs and his waist against me began to quicken my own breath.

“You smell so good,” he whispered.

I tried a few strokes, and he tried to correct me, but we both sensed that this was going to be futile. His excitement was building. I didn’t acknowledge it or move away. I wanted to turn in his arms and bring my lips to his. I might have done just that if we hadn’t heard, “That’s disgusting!”

Ryder’s arms dropped instantly to his sides, and we both looked back at the patio. Summer was standing there with her hands on her hips.

“I saw what you were doin

g to her,” she said, whining and wagging her head. “What a way to pretend you’re not doing it. So don’t be complaining about me.”

“Shut your dirty mouth!” he shouted.

“That’s what you should be doing!” she screamed, and went back into the house.

He glared after her and then took a deep breath and turned back to me. “Sorry about that.”

“Maybe she’s just feeling miserable, Ryder. I could try to talk to her.”

“Talk to her? I ask only people I don’t like to do that,” he said, and shook his head the way a dog might to throw off water. “Forget about her. Take some more putts. The object is to sink fifty in a row.”

This time, he stood back to watch. I saw him glaring back at the house periodically. I tried to swing the way he had shown me, but I couldn’t concentrate. It was like navigating through a minefield around here. Where was the softness? Where was the kindness and love that made them into a family?

I kept hitting the balls, but I made only one in ten attempts.

“I’m terrible at it,” I said.

“I guess this is stupid,” he said, taking the club from me. He practically ripped it from my hands. “It’s the blind leading the blind, anyway. I don’t play enough to justify teaching someone else.”

“I thought you were telling me to do the right things.”

“How would you know?”

He marched back to the shed to put everything away.

“You’ve got to have more confidence in yourself,” I said when he slammed the shed door shut.

“Exactly. Do you know where I can get that? Is there a bank or something where I can withdraw some self-confidence? Or maybe someplace on the Internet. With one click, I can download the self-confidence I need, huh?”

“I simply meant that you should give yourself a chance, Ryder.”

“For what?” he said, starting for the house.

“Maybe just for me right now,” I told him, and he stopped and considered.

I held my breath. Was he going to come up with something so nasty that I would want to charge right out of there, get into my car, and drive off? I felt as if I was tottering on a cliff of emotion.

He smiled. “So, what am I, a challenge for you?”

“Seems to me it’s the other way around,” I replied.

His smile widened. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry again for being a nasty bastard. In fact, if it continues, I might have that tattooed on my forehead soon.”

“That’s better than what I had tattooed once on me.”

Tags: V.C. Andrews Storms
Source: readsnovelonline.net