22. Locke

Conrad looks up from his little book as we walk down the fairway. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I scowl, even though I feel Maren and Landon behind me like an earthquake. Their conversation drifts toward me, and Maren's little giggles feel like knives into my chest.

My hand is balled into a fist in my pocket.

He shoots me a leveled look when we stop and find my ball, then swivels his head to Maren, who's behind us looking at me curiously, and Landon, who's checking out Maren's ass.

"I told you not to sleep with her," he sighs. "It's been what? Less than forty-eight hours? Let me guess, she's already professed her love."

"No, still just sex."

For her , I don't add, and there's certainly no way for me to come out and say, I'm fucking addicted to her.

She insisted on going back to her house last night, all in the spirit of being fuck-buddies, which left me alone in my bed staring at my ceiling fan and wishing she was beside me.

Not somewhere I want to be when I'm in my head, coming down from the high and already itching for another hit.

Now, I'm standing here like a shell of my former self, jealous of some kid talking to her, texting her while I'm in the middle of a professional round of golf, and worrying that she will get scared of the dark if the lights go out at her place—on top of watching her look like a confident little ray of sunshine that makes me so proud I want to push her up against a palm tree and fuck her back into submission.

"Well," Conrad starts, "try not to talk to her."

"She slept in her own bed last night," I say. "No talking."

Except for before, where I'm spilling my secrets to this woman in a pitch-black closet while she cries into the hollow of my neck.

I knew this would be a bad idea. I'm too close already—to everything and everyone involved, her especially.

"No more talking, anyway," I clarify.

Immediately, I regret it when Conrad cocks his head and holds up a hand to block the sun in his eyes. "What does that mean, ‘no more talking?'"

"It doesn't mean anything," I say.

He squints. "What'd she do?"

"She didn't do anything." The anger swells momentarily—she's done nothing to deserve hate from Conrad. "Get off her fucking back."

Conrad seems surprised for a split second before his eyes clear. "I'm guessing you shared something else about yourself then." He searches my face, reading it like only he can do. "Locke," he says slowly. Almost like a question. Like so much hangs on my name.

When he doesn't continue, I say gruffly, "What?"

"Nothing." More searching my face for god knows what. "Do you think maybe you should tell her?"

"Are you insane? She will think I'm insane."

"You think?" He shrugs his shoulders up and down in a wave motion. "She might not."

I inspect where my ball landed, survey from here to the green. "Can we focus on this little round of golf instead of my sex life?"

"Then quit looking at her," Conrad quips.

I can't , I think. It's almost impossible .

Like a moth drawn to a flame—to their death.

Maren's in yellow today—her favorite color. It's not even tight, just sort of flowy, but I already know she's got shorts attached underneath. Her white tennis shoes with a light blue stripe look brand new, one lace about to untie. Her hair is in a messy knot on top of her head, but she still has a light pink scrunchie on her right wrist. Her two huge cameras are slung over each shoulder, and she keeps switching back and forth, though I have no clue what makes her choose one over the other, and now I desperately want to know. I want another piece of her. All the pieces, I'd hoard them like a fucking lunatic.

But mostly, I'm pissed at myself for noticing every little damn thing.

"Just be my caddie," I mutter angrily, "and tell me golf things."

"Golf things? Okay," Conrad says slowly under his breath like I've lost my mind. "So, if we're two oh four, let's hold it with the wind."

I lean down and pinch a few blades of grass between my thumb and index finger before I let them go in the wind. They fly back toward my stomach.

"See the pin," Conrad tells me, consulting his book. "You've got twelve feet behind it."

"Seven-iron, you think?"

"Yeah, I like that," he says, sliding the club out of the bag and handing it to me. I take a few practice swings. "Feel it."

"I'm thinking I aim for the camera there," I say, holding my club out toward the cameraman I can see in the distance. "Try and cut back right just a bit."

"Love it." Conrad's face is buried in his little book before he looks up. "Yep. I'm good with it if you're good with it. Love it."

I set my feet, take two practice swings, and then step forward. The club vibrates perfectly in my hands when it hits the ball, and I know before I look up that it's an amazing shot.

The crowd claps, a man whoops, and I do my best to shut it out after I give a small wave. Transforming into the nice, genuine, grateful golfer for two seconds .

As Conrad gathers my golf bag and starts to walk down the fairway to the green, I hang back.

Maren watches me take off my glove while she approaches with Landon, and I don't miss how something so seemingly simple turns her on when she has a hard time tearing her eyes off the motion.

"Nice shot," she says brightly. "I got a good photo of it."

One hardened glance at Landon and he takes the hint. His head dips to acknowledge that he's bowing out.

She gapes as he walks away. "Did you just have an unspoken man conversation?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, cocking my head to the side.

Maren scoffs amusingly and walks beside me. "Yeah, okay."

Running a hand across her lower back, I graze the top of her ass just enough to feel the curve under my fingers as I say, "But yes, I'd prefer if he didn't stare at your ass."

Her eyes glint when she looks up at me, and she bites her tongue playfully. "Someone's a little jealous, but don't worry—my ass is yours at the present moment."

"Someone's a little confident," I tease. "I like it."

She laughs. "Do you think I won't be as attractive to you when I'm confident? Like a girl who's only hot because she doesn't realize it. And then when she does realize it, all the magic is gone. That's when you'll get tired of me."

"No," I say, dropping my voice. "It only makes me want you more. Because only I know how much you like to spread those pretty legs for me."

I step in front of her and continue walking backward. She sucks in the smallest breath, bites her bottom lip, as my eyes dip down from her waist to her calves.

"Locke, don't turn me on right now."

I hum disappointedly, letting my eyes linger between her legs and getting hard picturing her sitting on my face. "I like you in yellow." Then I change the subject. "So, I was thinking... even though you don't like it, you did say you wanted to learn. I'm going to teach you how to play golf."