21. Maren

Locke is currently smiling at me with dimples, which turns into a smoldering smirk, as he pulls his driver out of his golf bag— that driver.

The sky today is cloudless, the perfect day for golf but sadly, not photography.

I don't know who I am anymore, but I like this girl.

I feel sure of myself. Confident .

Conrad seems to be keeping an extra eye on me, but more out of curiosity, I think. I'm standing far enough back that I know Locke can't hear my camera, and I've gotten good shots of him along with the young new golfer Landon, his partner on the course today.

Who knew this would be this hot? Us being the only two in the world who know what happened last night—how I willingly give myself over to him to please him, and in return I'm really the powerful one. It's on my terms. I never realized sex could make me feel like this—or maybe it's the not caring that's rubbed off on me. I can't be entirely sure.

It surprises me how deeply I trust Locke. But I guess that is what kinks are about—trust. He has looked out for me repeatedly, every step of the way, and always seems to have my best interest at heart. He would never do anything that he thought would harm me. And even when I think he doesn't notice me, I'm starting to think he actually does.

His body is always angled in my direction, even when his head isn't. He fiddles with a tee in his pocket while he looks for me after we walk to each hole, and when he finds me, he settles.

I'd even go as far as saying that Locke's a little jealous based on his double take when Landon sidles up next to me.

But Locke can't be for long as he steps up to tee off and transforms into his serious golf-above-all-else attitude. The crowd whoops and claps behind us before falling quiet to give Locke the silence he expects.

Landon is all smiles as usual, exuding that fake confidence young people sometimes project. He gets as close as he can to me, whispering under his breath. "Make sure you get my good side, Maren."

"I did," I laugh-whisper back. "Besides, I can make any side your good side with angles and light."

Locke takes a few practice swings. I wait behind my viewfinder.

"What do you like to take pictures of when you're not working?" he asks, still barely audibly.

"People," I joke, "not playing golf."

I decide against this lens and choose my longer range camera draped over my right shoulder and take one quiet picture of Locke in his backswing. With that golf club that I'll forever think about.

After he finally tees off, the crowd noise rises and someone yells, "Get in the hole!"

Locke sidles over to the rope the crowd is contained behind. He pulls a golf ball out of his pocket and signs it with a permanent marker a little boy is holding out before handing it back to him. Locke says something I can't make out, and the boy jumps up and down ecstatically.

Landon smirks and lets out a long, "Borrrring," before he looks up at the sky. "It's weird how perfect it is today when there is supposedly a hurricane on the way."

"There's a hurricane on the way?" I ask back at a normal decibel .

It certainly doesn't look like it. The blue that stretches across the sky is deep and bright and steady, all one uniform color like nothing could disturb it.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "You're from here, right?"

"I am," I say slowly.

My phone buzzes against my leg. As I slide it out of my little shorts, I find Locke staring at me with a tight grip around his driver, and his thumb running over the top of it.

Hottie Icicle

Who should tell him how hard you came on my golf club last night?

Me

I don't even think he's old enough to drink.

"Are you prepared?" Landon asks, pulling my attention away even though a scathing fire has been lit inside me. "Or are you evacuating?"

"No idea," I laugh, "considering I just learned this information."

Anxiety spikes. I wouldn't want to be caught by myself on Locke's huge piece of property with no electricity. It would be dark for metaphorical miles. Locke would be states away in a matter of hours thanks to a private jet, and I'd be fumbling around for a birthday candle if I could manage to break into his house. He probably doesn't even own a birthday candle.

Me

Are we prepared for this hurricane I didn't know was coming?

Hottie Icicle

Yes.

Me

Are you evacuating?

Hottie Icicle

No, the house is hurricane resistant. I've got a whole-home generator. You'll be safe.

When I look up, Locke shoves his phone back in his pocket in a display of finality twinged with anger that makes me itch with discomfort.

He huddles close to Conrad so they can discuss whatever the hell golfers talk about… I assume golf strategy.

I shouldn't be texting him while he's playing in a tournament. He needs to focus, and I need to chill out before he thinks I've developed deep-rooted, never-quite-erased feelings for him.

Then I realize he was the one who texted me first.

I slip my phone back into the pocket under my dress, willing my body to stop overreacting. It's not fair of him to be mad at me, so I'm not going to worry about it. I'm minding my own business, and not being clingy, so he needs to realize I'm the one keeping boundaries since this doesn't come easy to me.

I take a few photos of Landon teeing off and then focus my attention back on him when he's done and sidles up next to me again. We turn together to make our way down the fairway.

"Where do you live most of the year?" I ask.

"Scottsdale," he replies. "I trade the hurricanes for heatstroke."

I light up. "I love it over there! I went to the Grand Canyon last year, did the whole helicopter tour."

"Amazing, isn't it?"

"God. The whole thing made me feel so incredibly small and inconsequential." The almost unexplainable colors and vastness splitting the world like an enormous crack run through my head, along with the wild horses I saw running through the woods hundreds of feet below us out the huge helicopter windows. "Don't even get me started on how much I loved Sedona. I've never seen anything like that growing up here my entire life."

"Man, I would've loved to take you there earlier this month. Maybe next year," Landon says, then at my face of surprise (I'm assuming), he laughs at himself. "Sorry, you and Russell are still seeing each other?"

"Oh," I say. "No. No, nothing like that. We're not together anymore."

Suddenly, I remember that Russ was sitting next to me in that helicopter last year, and not one image that ran through my brain a second ago involved him. He was there though, holding my hand with his unfaithful one, kissing me with his wandering lips, experiencing it all beside me, and yet it was almost like I forgot he is… alive, existed, my ex. For just a split second.

Landon smiles. "So, you're single? We could grab drinks tonight if you're interested." My eyes involuntarily cut to Locke who's about ten yards in front of us, and Landon's good-natured laugh returns. "Now I thought that was a rumor."

"It is." I laugh right back, wondering how you defend yourself against what is being said about you, when you don't know exactly what is. The truth, I surmise. "I'm very single, and honestly, I think I'm going to stay that way for a little while. I'm very flattered though."

Internally, I'm amazed that this twenty-year-old would even be interested in me. He could get anyone.

"No worries," he says. "I totally understand. If you ever want to hang out just as friends, I'd be down, though. This traveling thing gets lonely."

I have no idea if he's telling me he's down to hook up occasionally, but I brush it off. "I'd like that."

He flashes a smile at me, all boyish features and charm, and I try to imagine myself sleeping with him. Maybe I'm into the age gap. Maybe I'd get a thrill from this young guy thinking I'm hot. I picture him calling me a good girl, and while I bristle slightly at the thought, it doesn't resonate as much. I almost hear it like he says everything—as a joke.

There's something much more captivating about Locke. The way he looks at me like he's searing through my clothes. That manly thirty-year-old something that I can't put my finger on.

The way his broad shoulders sit like he's completely comfortable in his own skin. The way he struts down the fairway with one hand in his pocket. That white baseball hat that casts a dark shadow over his face. The gruff manliness combined with the glimpses he shows of just a little something extra underneath.

I can't remember the last time I wanted to burrow beneath a man's attitude so badly and find out what lies beneath the surface, find the real layer.

But I think peeling back to the real layer is even more dangerous.