Page 119 of Unexpected Shot
Damn her for seeing the loophole. "Fine. I’ll cook for you for a week when we’re both not playing."
“Then you have yourself a bet,” she says, looking at her putt line again.
“Don’t you want to know what’s going to happen when you miss?”
That gets me a look like I’m crazy. “I’m not going to miss.”
"But what if you do?"
"I'm not going to."
"Can we pretend?"
“Fine.”
Her exasperated groan makes me want to laugh, and I know this is going to be gold when it goes live. Hell, I can already tell that my viewers are going to like her more than me. “If you miss it, you have to walk over here and give me a big ol' kiss for the audience.”
Am I overplaying my hand right now? Possibly. Do I know that, either way, this ending will help seal the deal of the bestBack Nineepisode ever? Yes.
Do I really want her to miss it because I want to kiss my wife? Abso-fucking-lutely.
I just… Today has been perfect. Fun. Easy. We’re playing golf again. Just us. Like it used to be, only more. And I want the perfect ending of feeling Shelby’s lips on mine.
“Fine,” she grumbles, though I can't tell if her frustration is real or embellished for the camera. “Now get out of my line. I'm thinking tomorrow night I want chicken parmesan. And I swear to God, if you cough again, I’m going to kick you in the dick.”
I laugh and step aside, dramatically holding my breath as Shelby lines up her shot. She already did it, but now, with something on the line, I know she's going to examine it from every angle. She’s a competitor. Like me, she always wants to win. The selfish part of me, though? He hopes she wants to lose because she wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her.
I slowly start to let the breath out as I watch her putt roll to the hole. It's on a good line. It's going to be damn close. But then it starts slowing down. And comes…up…short.
“Woohoo!” I yell, celebrating by doing a ridiculous dance where I'm pretending to ride my putter like a show pony, complete with lasso above my head. “Come here, wife!”
“I want a divorce,” she grumbles as she drops her putter.
“Nope!” I yell as I stop in front of her. “No divorce. But you do have to kiss me.”
“Fine,” she groans. “Let’s get this over with.”
“She’s always this excited, folks,” I say to the camera before turning to her, cupping her cheeks in my hands. “This okay?”
She nods as she gives me the slightest of smiles. “Just kiss me, damnit.”
And I do.
And it was better than I remembered.
CHAPTER 28
SHELBY
The groan I let out as I fall into my hotel bed in Phoenix could probably be heard back in Nashville. What in the absolute hell did I do today on the course?
The answer? Nothing good.
The most frustrating thing about golf is that you can feel like you’re doing everything the same. You can think there’s literally nothing different from one shot to the next. But yet, one shot does everything you want it to do, and the next does the exact opposite.
Welcome to my first round today in my first official tournament on the women’s tour in two years.
I don't know what was wrong with me today, but I just felt off. It wasn't my shoulder. I've been swinging pretty consistently over the last week, trying to use more of my legs and not as much of my arms and shoulders. The course is beautiful, I’ve played here many times, and it's one of my favorite stops on the tour.
