Since Mitch had his own clubs, he waited outside the pro shop while the attendant got the others outfitted.
To his surprise, Jenny joined him there. She’d avoided him as much as possible all week. And when they did end up together, both of them danced around each other, keeping the conversation strictly business. Mitch knew he should step up and make good on his offer to matchmake. It would be better for both of them if she was taken by some nice guy who’d give her that dream life. But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it.
She came closer now, lowering her voice, suspicion written all over her face. “Please tell me this isn’t a setup.”
He kept his own tone low. “You think I’ve set you up to look bad at golf?”
Her expression shifted to a look that clearly questioned his intellect. “Not golf.”
It took him a moment to realize she was talking about the matchmaking. And in that instant, he realized he could never do it. He especially couldn’t set her up with his friends or teammates. Because, if Jeffrey or one of the other guys actually did date her, fall in love with her and marry her, there was a good chance Mitch would end up lusting after a friend’s wife.
If that happened, he’d have to move to Mongolia. He didn’t think they played a lot of ball in Mongolia.
“It’s not a setup,” he assured her.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“I’m not even the one who invited you along.”
“You didn’t uninvite me, either.”
“And you didn’t come up with an excuse not to come. Even though I gave you every opportunity.”
“I’m a bad liar. Sue me.”
She was right about that. Jenny was smart, efficient and dedicated. But she couldn’t tell a lie to save her life.
“I think Jeffrey likes you,” Mitch found himself taunting.
He didn’t know why he did it. Frustration, maybe. Or maybe he simply wanted to elicit an emotional reaction. Jenny was back in her uptight clothes, white blouse, pressed slacks, her glasses perched on her nose, her features carefully controlled.
He wanted more. And it worked.
Behind the glasses, her green eyes blazed defiance. “Well, I like Jeffrey.”
Mitch fought his instincts. “Good.”
“Darn right, it’s good.”
“Then he can golf with us. Hey, Jeffrey. You, me and Jenny. The rest of you can make a foursome.”
Cole, who had met up with them when Mitch picked up his clubs, beamed at the groupings. There was no denying he had a thing for Emily. The woman didn’t seem inclined to give him the time of day, but Cole was nothing if not tenacious. And as a baseball player in football-crazy Royal, he’d dealt with adversity his entire life.
“You’re golfing with
“How else am I going to throw you at Jeffrey?”
“But you said-”
“I guess I lied.”
After a moment’s silence, she stuck her prim, little nose in the air and gave a toss of her sleek hair. “Fine. Go for it. Throw us together. Let’s see what happens.” She sashayed back to the clubhouse.
Watching her leave, Mitch’s hand tightened on his golf bag. Despite his threat, he was not going to throw Jenny and Jeffrey together, not today, not ever.
Every instinct he had told him to go after her and claim her for himself. But he had no right to do that. So instead, he hoisted his clubs and stalked toward the cart parking area.
He stuffed his clubs in the back of a cart and sat down to cool off.
When he saw the other six approach, Emilio and Jeffrey each with two golf bags on their broad shoulders, he realized he’d left Jenny to manage her own clubs. What the hell was the matter with him? Jenny was going to think he was a cad.
He sighed.
Just as well.
She might as well know the truth.
He turned on the cart ignition, while Jeffrey climbed in beside him, and Jenny sat stiffly down in the backseat.
“We’re going to tee off first,” said Jeffrey.
That made sense, since the three of them would complete the game faster than the other four.
They drove to the first tee.
Mitch’s first swing sent his ball to the far end of the fairway, while Jeffrey’s hit the green. Jenny’s shot came up short, off in the rough, only a third of the way down the fairway.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, shoving her 3-wood back in the bag.
“You need a few pointers?” asked Jeffrey, swinging himself into the backseat of the cart to sit next to her, leaving Mitch to be the chauffeur.
“Sure,” she responded with what sounded to Mitch like enthusiasm.
“She’s doing fine,” Mitch intervened. “The poor woman’s up against two pro football players.”
“Doesn’t mean she can’t improve her stance and her follow-through,” Jeffrey argued.
Mitch spent the next six holes watching Jeffrey play the attentive instructor to Jenny the naive golf student. He had her listening with rapt attention, concentrating, improving her swing, laughing at her own mistakes, while Mitch’s mood darkened along with the clouds rolling in from the Gulf.
On the seventh fairway, the first raindrops splattered down.
“Let’s finish this one and head back,” Mitch called down the fairway to Jeffrey, relieved that the torturous afternoon was about to end.
He waited while Jenny lined up a shot on the far side of the fairway.
Suddenly, thunder split the sky above them, lightning tracing its way across the arc of the black clouds.
“Don’t swing!” he yelled to Jenny, abandoning his ball to sprint toward her.
She twisted her head to stare at him in confusion.
He pointed to the sky. “There’s lightning up there. Your club’s a conductor.”
As he reached her and snagged the club from her hands, the skies opened up above them.
Mitch quickly glanced around for shelter. “The gazebo,” he called, grabbing her hand to make a run for it. The golf cart was farther away, where Jeffrey had left it on the path.
Jeffrey saw their move, and dashed in the same direction.
By the time the three of them made it to the small open-sided cedar gazebo, it was pouring rain, and they were soaked to the skin.
“Crap,” Jeffrey sputtered, running his hand over his wet hair and shaking out the droplets.
Jenny was in a short-sleeved white blouse, topping a pair of pale gray slacks. The blouse clung to her torso, outlining a lacy bra.
Jeffrey’s brows went up as he took in an eyeful, but Mitch stepped between them, warning Jeffrey off with a glare.
Mitch quickly stripped off his navy golf shirt and handed it to Jenny.
She looked perplexed. “What are you-”
“You’re translucent,” he explained.
She glanced down. “Oh.”
“Put it on, Jenny.”
She snagged the shirt from his hand and tugged it over her head, settling the hem around her thighs, then finger combing her damp hair.
“I didn’t expect to go swimming,” she huffed.
Jeffrey grinned, peeping over Mitch’s shoulder. “No complaints from me.”
“Back off,” Mitch warned.
“It’s a forty-dollar bra.” Jenny brushed off the incident. “Models wear them on the runway all the time, in
