“I regularly put a biscuit in the basket—that’s close enough, right?”
Beck laughs. “Let’s make this interesting.”
“Oh yeah, what did you have in mind?”
“I bet I kick your ass at this.”
I narrow my eyes at his cocky tone. “Have you played mini golf before?”
“Never.” He rests a hand over his heart. “Promise.”
“Okay, you’re on. But this time we’re deciding on a prize.”
“Fine. If I win, I fuck you. If you win …” He turns and bends over in front of me, setting up his tee and giving me a clear view of his round ass. I have to hold back from reaching for it. “You finally get what you’ve been after.”
“Deal.” The word drops from my mouth before I’ve even considered what he’s said. I’m too distracted by his ass. And then … oh hell. I agreed to let him fuck me. I shake off the weird love-hate I have going on with that thought and resign myself to win this.
Beck straightens and meets my eyes over his shoulder. “So I might not have played mini golf, but Dad used to take me golfing every weekend.”
“What?”
His smile widens. “Yeah, I know how to handle … a club.”
“You hustled me.”
“Can you blame me? I’m a red-blooded guy, and you’re hot as hell.”
I step closer to him. “I’m still confident. I have more incentive to win, and if I don’t, it gives me a head start on being a better bottom than you.” I’m glad my words come out more confident than I feel.
“How about I give you some pointers to level the playing field. Balls in holes requires a lot more patience than what you’re used to. These holes are much smaller. You have to be gentler … You can’t just go barreling into the crease.” He lines up his shot. “Firm grip on the shaf—club, then give it a nudge.”
He hits the ball, and it’s a perfect shot. Hole in one on the first go. I’m in trouble.
“You know what, I think I’ve got a handle on things.” I try for a cocky smirk of my own. “I always do my research before I … play mini golf.”
I mimic his previous stance. Strong grip, feet apart. I line up the shot …
At first I’m worried I hit the ball too hard, but it does a quick loop of the hole and drops in. Yes.
I shrug. “Beginner’s luck.”
We retrieve our balls and move on to the next course.
“So …” Something hitches in Beck’s voice. “What kind of research are we talking about?”
“Very thorough research. Involving Wi-Fi, lube, and certain body parts.”
Beck groans as he lines up his shot. I step in close again.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good later.”
“Pretty confident for a first-timer.”
“Win or lose …” I lean in close to his ear. “I’m gonna make you blow harder than you ever have in your life.”
He messes up his shot, and I burst out laughing.
“Not fair,” he complains.
“Step aside and I’ll show you how to fill a hole.”
Hole in one. Again. This time I don’t hold back my smug expression.
We keep taunting each other as we make our way around the course. I manage to completely throw Beck off enough that the score is tied by the time we make the final hole.
“You go first,” Beck says. “And no talking while we take these shots. Fair game. Fair winner.”
“So you can’t weasel out of the loss this time.”
“We’ll see.”
This course is trickier than the others, and it takes me three shots to get the ball in. It’s not bad, but it’s not enough to make me feel confident.
Beck steps up to take his turn. I’m tempted to throw him off, anything to win, but I figure he’ll demand a redo.
So instead, I stand there and wait for the end result, shamelessly checking him out as he swings.
The first hit misses, but the ball ends up a foot or two from the hole. All he needs is a quick tap and it’s over.
I guess I’m bending over tonight. My gut clenches at that, but then I look at Beck and decide it doesn’t matter. I know Beck won’t hurt me—no more than I want him to—and if I need to back out, he won’t make me justify myself.
That thought brings me comfort as he swings again.
And somehow completely overshoots.
“Oops,” Beck says as he follows the ball.
It takes him another two hits before he sinks the ball, and I realize I’ve won.
That …
“You threw the game.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Beck says as he leads the way back to the exit.
“There’s no way you should have missed that shot.”
“Well, I did. And now you win.”
I grab his arm and pull him to a stop. “Beck …”
“Topher.”
“Teddy Bear. You wanted to lose.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hate losing.”
“No, you like to win. And in this case, I don’t think mini golf was the game you were playing.”