Chapter Ten

When Georgia arrived at the mini-golf course, she couldn’t find Brandon anywhere. Was he standing her up? Could he stand her up if they didn’t even have a date?

At cocktails, they hadn’t been talking for more than two minutes when he rushed away from their conversation. He gave her another patented I’m sure I’ll see you later and left the bar.

They hadn’t even spoken long enough for the taste of Gideon to leave her lips.

Dammit, why had he kissed her? Why had she let him? Why had she kept letting him for seconds upon seconds like he’d had a right to—like she’d wanted it?

Her heart clunked against her ribs as Gideon entered her line of sight. He was over by the first hole with some of their other ex-classmates, laughing and talking like he couldn’t care less about what he’d just done in the bar at the hotel or in the shed earlier that day. As if he wasn’t thinking about it at all.

Clearly, she was the only one who couldn’t think about anything else.

Brandon, her mind flashed. She was supposed to be thinking about Brandon. Her stomach plummeted, her cheeks seared. So where the hell is he?

He wasn’t by the putters or any of the holes, or even in the bar adjacent to the course. Only Gideon was in perfect staring distance—lucky her. He was dressed in a light green button down and khakis with loafers. The kind of picture you might see on the pages of J.Crew where the model was petting a golden retriever. It worked on him, accentuating his broad shoulders and the long lines of his legs. His smile even seemed like what a camera might capture: easy, real. She wondered if he was stealing glances at her—if his chest was constricting, if his heart was sprinting, and if his lips hummed with the memory of her kiss.

Am I crazy? Of course Gideon wasn’t thinking of their kiss, and she shouldn’t be, either. She needed to concentrate on Brandon, but when his name hit her mind, there was a sharp twinge of uncertainty deep in the pit of her stomach.

She understood there was a difference between her internal responses to Brandon and Gideon. She was an actress for God’s sake. Human emotions were her canvas. Her feelings about Gideon all pointed to interest, while her feelings about Brandon all pointed to anxiety. Though anxiety colored every thought she had toward Gideon, too, especially now that she understood her body would continue to betray her.

Logically, Gideon was a perfectly fine catch, but Brandon had been the choice she was supposed to have made years ago. Brandon was the only way to turn her back into the strong, confident person she’d been before L.A. Of course, Gideon knew that person had been as much a character as any one she had played at her hundreds of auditions. Even more reason to keep her concentration on Brandon.

Where the hell is he?

Perhaps her edginess was magnified because she felt like such an idiot standing alone, again. Kim was still sick. Kim had something worse than whiskey flu; she had reunion flu, and it looked like it was lasting for the duration.

How long could Georgia stand here alone without looking completely pathetic? When Brandon did saunter up, she certainly didn’t want to look like she was waiting for him.

She headed over to Gideon’s group, swallowing her pride. At least Brandon wouldn’t think she had nothing better to do.

Gideon was in a circle with a few guys who had been on the soccer team and a few girls who had been on the volleyball team. She stood beside them for a moment, listening to their conversation, hoping someone would acknowledge her. But no one, including Gideon, even glanced her way.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’d much rather have stayed at cocktails than be here,” Jacob Riedel said, his soccer player body as tight and thin as it had been in high school.

“Totally agreed,” Jenny Gordon replied, her shirt so snug over her much-larger-than-in-high-school and clearly-thanks-to-implants chest it must have suffocated her. “Reece is acting like we’re ten years old or something. Aren’t reunions just about getting drunk?”

“Not when you were president of SADD in high school,” Jacob replied.

“Who said anything about driving? We’re all riding the short bus this weekend anyway.” Randy Tines’s blond hair was shiny with gel as he pointed at the white vans waiting to take them back to the hotel later. He was just as crass as ever. He clearly hadn’t learned the art of political correctness in the last ten years.

“Well, some of us drove those here,” Gideon said.

“After Reece begged for DDs.” Randy gnawed on his thumb. “My guess is no one is going to be sober enough to drive back to the hotel. We’re going to be sleeping in those Goddamn vans.”

Georgia cocked her head into their circle. They were still totally ignoring her, but at least if Brandon saw her from a distance he would assume she was in on the conversation.

In high school she wouldn’t have given these people the time of day, and now she was pretending to hang out with them. Her heart descended into her stomach. Even if Gideon had told her that taking care of Bailey wasn’t failure, her former classmates seemed to relish that she had zero power over them anymore.

There was no reason to fear someone who was ashamed of the person she’d become.

“I guess Reece wanted us to have some memories that didn’t involve Jack Daniels,” Gideon said.

“Not me,” Randy replied, pointing to the bar. “Let’s get a drink.”

Georgia had not been acknowledged and had not been invited. Gideon could walk away with everyone and leave her standing all alone. Her skin froze and her throat ached. Why wouldn’t he?

Back in high school, when teams were chosen, when partners were assigned, when seats were taken, she had never been the last one standing. In that sick second she had a soul-crushing glimpse at what that rebuff felt like. The rejections of L.A. echoed. Her putdowns of Gilligan taunted.

“Nah, I’m good,” Gideon finally replied, “have one for me.”

As everyone but Gideon walked away, Georgia’s bones seemed to melt, relief flooded her limbs. What the hell was happening? She was thankful that Gideon was hanging out with her? That he hadn’t left her to wither alone like unpicked fruit.

While she could lie to herself, her body told the undeniable reality. She was relieved. The compassion she had shoved back in his face years ago was like a salve now. She supposed that meant she owed him something. Until she remembered she already did. They still had their stupid deal.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Gideon asked, straightening his glasses. “Did you guys have a fight already?”

Her gaze darted to the entrance of the course, but still no Brandon. Could she tell Gideon the truth? Admit that even with all their scheming, Brandon was as good as ignoring her.

Then what reason would she have for even talking to Gideon?

That I want to.

“I’m seeing him here. I’m s-supposed to see him here,” she stammered.

“Wow.” Gideon’s gaze was tense in the overhead lights. “He really is sweeping you off your feet, isn’t he?”

Gideon didn’t believe her. Why would he? That statement was officially her worst acting job ever.

“Anyway, since he’s not here yet, we could keep working on stories for the dinner,” she said, grasping at anything. It was either that or stand alone and continue to wait for Brandon. She was afraid she would be waiting all night.

Gideon’s lip curled. “I’m kind of tired of that.”

She wrenched her hands, wondering if that also meant he was tired of her. He could still walk away at any time. Why did that scare her so damn much?

Because she hated being alone. Her loneliness was another thing coming into focus this weekend. It started with the loss of her mother, only increased in L.A., and became her core during the last five years with Bailey. She missed adult conversations and companionship. She missed a man’s companionship.

“Okay, I understand.” Georgia stood taller as she started to walk away. She needed to leave before Gideon realized how truly pathetic she had become. She’d been afraid to show him vulnerability, and continuing to stand there would be like she’d ripped her skin off and allowed him to see every bloody muscle of her being. “I’ll wait for Brandon at the bar.”

Gideon pointed at the course. “We could play if you want to kill time until he gets here.”

“You want to do something athletic?” Her voice came out as a squeak.

“I play golf once a week,” Gideon explained, standing over her, his hands on his hips, framing his leather belt. “I don’t run obstacle courses on a regular basis.”

She sucked on her bottom lip, looked down at her dress and heels. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“Didn’t you know we’d be playing from the itinerary?”

“I guess I didn’t think I would be.”

“Thought you’d be occupied?”

She couldn’t even bear to look at him.

“Listen, it’s not like we’re running a marathon. You’ll be fine in your”—his eyes flowed over her slowly, deliberately—“dress.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “I don’t play golf once a week.”

“I guess that means I get to kick your ass for once.” He held his hand out, the cuff of his shirt revealing his huge platinum watch. Like everything else about him, it was flawless.

The overhead lights cast a glow on his face, a reflection in his glasses as he waited for her response. Two sides of her mind fought to respond. One was saying no, do not do this, do not want to do this, but the other, the small, quiet part that bloomed under Gideon’s attention, took his hand. Willingly took his hand. Her skin singed and her stomach was ice, her opposing sides fighting for dominance as their grip held.

They signed their team up on Reece’s tournament roster and grab putters and balls. The paper in Reece’s hand now held their names next to each other, more proof that she actually wanted to do this. That Gideon was turning into more than just a pawn.

They took their place at the first hole. It seemed simple enough. The cup was right down the center of it. No bumpers or water features to avoid.

“Show me your stance,” Gideon said.

“What?”

“Your stance,” he repeated, getting more animated. “How do you hold your golf club? How do you swing?”

Georgia swayed the putter around in the air in front of her. “That’s what you call this, a golf club?” she joked.

“Crap.” Gideon flattened his hand to his face. “We’re going to lose the tournament, aren’t we?”

“I thought you didn’t care about winning athletic things? Why would an important tech big shot like you care about a stupid reunion mini-golf tournament?”

“That’s not entirely true. When I can win”—his eyes hit hers so completely, so utterly she almost fell over—“it’s all I want.”

His gaze wasn’t the only thing making her weak. His strength was, too. He was a winner, and he still treated her like they were equals. If the roles were reversed, she would not have been as kind to him.

Even when he had the chance to get back at her for years of torment, he was playing mini-golf with her; he was trying to make sure they won.

She put it all out of her mind. None of it mattered. They were just passing time until Brandon showed up, nothing more. She positioned herself at the front of the hole, spread her legs slightly, and took an unbalanced swing.

“Wow.” He jerked his head. “That was terrible.”

She sighed. “This isn’t the Masters, Gideon. It’s mini golf.”

“Do what you just did with a ball if you don’t believe me.”

She grabbed a bright green ball and balanced it on the ground. It made her think of Gideon’s eyes. That dignified green, the gut-quivering look when he rammed into her with so much blind lust she could do nothing but obey. She had to smack the memory away. She knocked the ball so hard she almost stumbled. It flew over the side of the hole, aiming right at the couple playing next to them.

“Fore,” Gideon yelled with a laugh. “Sorry, Georgia doesn’t understand the concept of miniature.” He leaned in closer to her. “I told you,” he whispered.

Her cheeks boiled, but she headed over to retrieve the ball.

“No,” he said, grabbing her arm. “You need a lot more help than I thought.”

“Oh please.” She waved his comment away.

His face was serious. “We need a private lesson before we subject anyone else to your insane slice. You’re going to put someone in the hospital.”

Private? When they were isolated, only one thing happened.

“I’m not that bad,” she attempted. “I mean, I might not play weekly, but at least I made contact with the ball.”

“I can see the headlines now.” Gideon held his hands out in front of him. “Golf Mishap Turns Fun Reunion into Disaster for an Unlucky Patron.”

She laughed, not in spite or in anger—her first bubble of fun this weekend—the kind of deep laugh she only had with Bailey now.

The word fun lingered in Georgia’s mind. She was having fun with Gideon. She tried not to think about it too much. She couldn’t really think about it at all.

“So what you’re saying is your fake girlfriend should know how to play real golf.”

Gideon paused, his eyes shifting away from her.

First the word fun and now girlfriend—she needed to get a grip.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you to know a few tidbits for the dinner,” he finally replied. “Let’s find somewhere to practice.”

“I don’t think there’s anywhere private here,” Georgia replied, as the hot flesh of her privates sputtered to life.

“I’m sure there’s a little faraway place,” Gideon bantered back, one side of his lip up, his putter balanced in his grip like a cane.

Georgia’s thighs trembled—like a shed. A closed-off room where Gideon could lift her dress to her waist and take her hard and fast and wrong and right.

“We should probably stay around here. When we’re alone…” she started, her eyes on his like fire to gasoline. Even as she protested, she couldn’t help but picture it—him taking her, and everything but the two of them melting away. His cock becoming the only thing she felt in the world while it pounded and possessed her.

His lips brushed her ear. “I didn’t mean it like that, Peach. I’m talking about something far more important than what happened today.”

She managed a breath. “Who said anything about sex?”

He pulled back and stared at her, his expression snapping through her like a tree broken during a storm. Crap, she just had. She thought he might grab her, urge his cock closer, and tell her exactly what his eyes seemed to scream he wanted to do.

Instead he adjusted his collar, showing off the inviting skin of his neck. “If we keep playing without a lesson and our scorecard gets out, I’ll never be able to show my face on the courses in Palo Alto again.”

“Well then.” The word sex was still lodged tightly in her mind. She also knew it was lodged tightly in Gideon’s pants no matter what he said. “Teach me.”

…

Gideon walked a little faster than he had to. If he walked behind Georgia and was forced to stare at her ass for one more moment, he was going to have to fuck her in front of all of these people. Then, he was going to have to bend her over and fuck her again.

Something had changed between them. Something had changed in her. In high school she would never have stood silently waiting next to the ex-classmates she used to rule, hoping for any one of them to notice her. She would have made them acknowledge her, made them worship and fear her. She wasn’t the same Georgia anymore.

Of course, she still wanted Meathead, so maybe she was only different when she was forced to be.

Meathead was proving harder to get than tickets to one of the Super Bowls where he rode the bench. Not that Gideon cared with the smell of Georgia wafting behind him, the anticipation of latching his hands around her waist, drawing her in so their bodies aligned as he…taught her to straighten her golf swing.

That was all they were going to do. He couldn’t fuck her again. There was no way she would let him, anyway. He was stupid for even fantasizing about it. But a little voice inside him couldn’t stop. No, it was the low, booming voice of his cock. The animal she had awakened in him might never been silenced.

Cock logic didn’t care that fucking her was wrong when it had felt so right.

He stopped at a secluded area by the parking lot. There wasn’t much light, but it would have to do.

“Are you going to kill me or teach me to play golf?” Georgia asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Don’t tempt me.” He indicated an open patch of grass in front of them.

She cocked her head and stepped closer to him, her gloss-shiny lips pursed and waiting.

He could smell vanilla, taste vanilla. Was she going to make him say it? Make him admit what they both knew? She was tempting him. He wished he didn’t want to take her around the waist just for an excuse to touch her. He wished he didn’t want to get her alone.

He popped his neck and stepped back. “Let’s get started. We have a lot of work to do. You’re a mess.”

She surprised him by laughing in response. “I am? Who’s ever heard of anyone needing to win a miniature golf game like his life depends on it?”

“You clearly know nothing about golf,” he volleyed back with a joking smile. He was glad they were off of them and back on something he could actually deal with.

“From the way you’re going on about it, I’m not sure I want to.”

He twirled the club in his hand. “Golf is the ultimate caste system. You might think it’s high school, but it’s golf. Your skill and how much money you earn can get you into courses and clubs you never dreamed of. It is the one sport where continuing to climb up the ladder is proof you are successful in life.”

“That sounds like an awful lot of work.”

He leaned back on his heels. “This coming from the girl who used to count freckles to decide who should be on the cheerleading squad.”

Georgia laughed again. “Where did you hear that?”

“Everywhere.”

“That’s a lie. I never counted freckles.” She put a finger to her chin. “I might have measured a waist or two, but you need to fit into the uniforms, right?”

“Your ego is perfect for golf,” he said. “I’m honestly surprised the LPGA didn’t come and recruit you senior year of high school.”

Georgia made a choking noise. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a visor.”

And with that, he saw her in a golf visor and nothing else, standing before him in the dark—her skin as white as the moon and just as far away.

He shook the thought free, forced his desire down. “Let’s get started.” He indicated with his chin that she stand in front of him.

She sighed and filled the space, holding her putter lazily and waiting for his direction, but he couldn’t touch her yet. Instead, he gaped at the way her torso curved and bowed at her hips, a perfect shelf for his hands. Her ass was like a cherry in that red and white dress, the sweetest part of the sundae that was her body. Her blond hair played against her shoulders.

“Any time now, Gideon,” she said, waking him from his trance. The smile in her voice left no doubt she understood her body had hypnotized him.

He took a deep breath and ringed his hands around her waist. The give of her flesh forced him to clear his throat. “Your problem is your pelvis.”

She turned to him with a wicked smile. “Really? I think I know how to handle my pelvis just fine.”

He fought against heat hammering the back of his neck. “Golf, Georgia, we’re talking about golf.”

He could say that all he wanted, but he wasn’t thinking about golf. He was desperate to pull her closer so his cock was on her ass. He wanted her to feel how crazy she made him. Because hell, regardless of them being a terrible idea, of being something he should never do again, she still made his body weep. He remembered his finger slicking deep into her panties; he made her weep, too.

“Right, how could I forget? Golf is the most important thing in the world,” she groaned. He could hear her eyes roll.

“Spread your legs,” he instructed, and squeezed tighter.

She turned to gaze at him again with a pinched expression.

“Golf, Georgia.”

Her body relaxed and obeyed. She slid her legs apart and created a teasing triangle in front of him, her cherry ass at the apex. A shock of adrenaline thundered in his cock.

“How’s this?” she asked, wiggling her ass.

Fuck, it was perfect. It was beyond perfect. He urged his body closer and put his nose to her scalp, unable to help himself. Vanilla wafted in, and his hunger grew.

She pulled back from him, her eyes incredulous. “Are you smelling me?”

“No,” he stumbled. “I’m breathing through my nose.”

“Is my hair your oxygen?”

In that moment, it was. He needed to escape, needed to actually breathe. Needed to no longer deny the heat between them, and there was only one way to do that.

“I think I know why this isn’t working,” he said.

“You’re a seriously terrible teacher?” Georgia’s skin was pink.

“No, you don’t appreciate the magnitude of golf.”

Her eyes went wide. “The magnitude of golf,” she mocked. “You’re serious.”

He nodded, though of course it wasn’t just that. He might not be able to admit it to her, but he wanted to be alone with Georgia. The kind of alone where he could ensure Brandon would not interrupt them. The kind of alone where he knew he would experience the Georgia she was now, not the Georgia she used to be.

He stepped back from her and looked around the lot until he found one of the big white vans that had driven them here. “I have an idea.” He walked to it without explanation. As he’d suspected, the keys were inside. Like Randy Tines had said, the most sober of the group had driven them here and they did not want to have to drive home. The keys stuck in the ignition as a protest.

He called her over. “Come on, I’m going to make you a golf lover.”

He thought she might laugh that terrible superior laugh. Remind him that someone like her didn’t just go off with someone like him. Be the girl she was under the bleachers that day.

But instead, she slowly walked the length of the parking lot and joined him beside the van. Her curves, vanilla smell, and mischievous smile waited to see what he had in mind. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or terrified.