Page 68 of Biggest Player
Dex may be bigger and stronger and morearrogant, but that’s where it ends when it comes to skill level.
He’s biting the green weenie, and he’s making no secret that he’s getting frustrated.
When it’s his turn—after I score yet another whopping thousand points—he struts to the little square piece of grass designated for swinging, stretching and making a show. I lean on the table where we have our drinks and snacks, trying my best not to laugh out loud.
He’s taking this way more seriously, and perhaps that’s his problem?
“You’re trying too hard,” I tell him with authority, as the lead scorer. “Do you want me to show you how to swing the putter?”
He gawks at me. “This is a 9 iron.”
Potato, po-tah-to.
“Whatever.” I can’t flip my hair because I’m wearing a ball cap, but I would if I could,just to be a brat. “You’re holding the club all wrong.”
I don’t believe half of what I’m saying, inwardly giggling at my own audacity.
“You’re an expert on golf now?”
“Trust me.” I grin, taking the club from his giant hands. “First, you need to loosen up a bit. You’re as stiff as a board. Go like this.”
I shake my body like I have the wiggles, feeling slightly ridiculous, arms and legs jiggling. It pays off when he tips his head back and laughs, copying my movements.
“I feel so stupid.” He laughs again.
“Don’t. It’ll make you a better player.”
Then.
I position myself behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, but because he’s so much taller than I am, guiding his hands is a fail in the most hilarious way. Our heights are so mismatched, I can’t see what I’m directing him to do.
The proximity sends a shiver down my spine.
“Like this,” I speak to his back.
“This?” he asks, amusement in his voice. “Are you sure?”
“Exactly like that,” I murmur, even though I can’t actually see around his body to know what he’s doing with his hands. “Now, relax your shoulders.”
The tension in his muscles eases slightly, my arms still around him. I feel for his hands, making a show of adjusting his grip, fingers brushing his.
His hands are warm. Large. And electric.
Thetouchis electric, sending tiny jolts of excitement coursing through my sleepy veins, and instead of adjusting his grip, I want to wrap my arms around him in a hug and squeeze, relishing the weight and feel of him.
He’s like a burly mountain man, andugh, it feels so good.
“Now swing,” I tell him, giving his neck a little push with my fingers so he bends his head. “But keep your head down.”
He swings, and the club slices through the air with surprising grace.
The ball? Soars up and over.
Over some more, to the right ...
Too far to the right.
Like, waywaytoo far.
