Page 19 of Earned Husband

An unfamiliar sense of satisfaction and pride swept through me, so foreign after so long that I barely recognized it at first, but it also made me feel a little more at ease about the impending merger discussions. Part of me had been questioning Khaled’s motives for agreeing with Alex about this, but perhaps there wasnothing more to it than Thayer simply having the infrastructure they needed.

When we reached the country club, the staff knew me so well that checking in took less than a minute, but then we reached the cart rental desk and the attendant grinned at me. He was a young guy, chatty and friendly. I usually loved talking to him for a bit before I headed out onto the course, but as soon as I saw that grin, I knew I was going to regret bringing her to the desk with me.

“Mr. Thayer, you finally brought someone to your tee time,” he said excitedly. “I love that for you.”

I exhaled a heavy breath through my nose, but Deja blinked rapidly, understanding dawning on her face. She spun to look up at me. “I crashed your solo time, didn’t I?”

The attendant’s eyes widened and he quickly busied himself with his work, obviously realizing just a few seconds too late that he might’ve embarrassed me, but the damage was done and I wasn’t the type to hold it against him.

Instead, I simply thanked him for the keys and led her toward the waiting cart. “It’s really okay. Don’t worry about it.”

She nodded, but the revelation was obviously bothering her. “I’m so sorry. I honestly didn’t realize.”

“Don’t be sorry.” When she opened her mouth again, I stopped her from apologizing a second time by saying the first thing that popped into my head—which just so happened to be the truth. “Your phone call was the best part of my week.”

It was only when she stopped walking to stare up at me that I realized I’d actually said that out loud, but then she smiled, and the sight of it left me feeling unexpectedly light and warm as we headed toward the practice range.

Fortunately, it provided an immediate distraction, both of us forgetting about my admission when it became apparent that Deja was unbelievably bad at golf. She had no hand-eyecoordination to speak of and the wholebeginner’s luckthing didn’t seem to apply to her at all.

Her first swing missed the ball entirely. The second made contact but only sent the ball rolling a few feet across the grass. When the third launched a chunk of turf farther than the ball itself, I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

She finally lowered the club and sighed as she glanced at me. “It’s okay. You can laugh. This is harder than it looks.”

“No, trust me. You’re making it look extremely difficult.”

She arched a steep eyebrow at me, even pulling off her sunglasses so I could see the disbelief shimmering in her eyes. “Okay, you might not be laughing, but it’s only because you’re trying very hard not to.”

Being called out on it shattered my composure and a laugh escaped, but to her credit, as soon as I started laughing, so did she. “God, this is terrible. I look ridiculous.”

“You look great.” I shrugged. “Your swing? Not so great. But it’s your first time. Just relax and try again.”

She sighed but slid her sunglasses back on and tightened her grip on the club. Her level of determination over the next few minutes was admirable, but her actual ability did not improve.

Eventually, I set down my own club and took a step closer to her. “Can I show you something?”

“You can certainly try, but don’t take it personally if it doesn’t work,” she said. “I’m starting to think Khaled might’ve inherited all the golfing genes our family pool had to offer.”

I chuckled and moved in behind her to adjust her stance, realizing the moment I did that I’d unwittingly put myself in incredibly close proximity to her. The scent of her tickled my nose, and through sheer force of will, I kept myself from sneezing.

Physically guiding her through a swing meant that her ass was only a fraction of an inch away from my body. Her shouldersbrushed against my chest when I leaned forward to correct her grip.

A strand of her dark hair lifted in the breeze, sending a whiff of her shampoo—but thankfully no perfume—into my lungs on my next inhale. Acutely aware of every move she made, I guided her club through the swing. My concentration suffered because of the warmth of her radiating into me as I helped her through the rotation.

My entire body was suddenly filled with electricity. Even breathing didn’t come naturally anymore with the soft curve of her hips under my palms when I showed her how to move. Seconds away from embarrassing myself even more than I already had, I finally took a couple steps away and swept a hand out toward the range.

“Okay. Try that.”

Deja paused a beat before she inhaled a deep breath, turned, and swung. This time, the ball lifted cleanly into the air, traveling forward instead of sideways this time. While no professional golfer would’ve thought it was a great shot, that didn’t matter.

Genuine, surprised laughter tumbled out of her as she watched the ball soar across the range. She set down her club and lifted her fists into the air. “I did it!”

“You really did.”

“Did you see that?” she asked excitedly. “I hit it.”

She broke into a celebratory dance that lasted longer than the shot deserved, but I didn’t care. Watching her move and actually have fun was way better than anything else happening on the range. Although the way those hips could roll wasn’t something I could allow myself to think about too much right now.

Eventually, we headed out onto the course and I realized then that she truly had almost no interest in golf itself. She lovedthe golf cart, though, far more interested in testing its limits than playing the game.