Page 102 of Make Me Trust Again
“You never played mini golf?”
I cross my arms over my chest defensively. “Nope.”
“Not even when you were a kid?”
“No, that wasn’t my parents’ idea of an appropriate activity.” The moment the words are out, I realize how snobby they sound, so I expand, “It just wasn’t something we did. If you don’t count watching Sunday football, we’re not really a sportsy family.”
Chase just shakes his head, as if he can’t believe it. “C’mon.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me after him. “What?—”
The boys are just finishing at the hole and are turning to leave for the next one. Kyle looks up and smiles.“Are you coming?”
I open my mouth, but Chase answers quicker. “We’ll come soon. I’m going to teach your mom how to play mini golf.”
He’s going to…My head snaps in his direction. “What?”
He can’t be serious.
But he is.
Kyle’s whole face lights up.“Chase’s a really good teacher, Mom. And then we can come and play together.”
He seems so excited by the idea; I don’t have it in me to protest.“Fine.”
“You three go on ahead, and we’ll catch up with you,” Chase instructs, grabbing one of theputtersfrom the bag we got as the boys go ahead. “Here you go.”
I take the putter from Chase, wrapping my fingers around it as he crouches down and puts the ball in place.
“Okay, now what?” I move in front of the ball, like I’ve seen the boys do, and take a slightly bent position. “I just swing theputterand?—”
I suck in a sharp breath as Chase comes behind me, his hands landing on my hips. “You need to relax.”
Relax? How does he think I should do that when he’s standing just behind me, his chest pressed against my back, his body’s warmth seeping into mine, and the scent of the ocean and citrus surrounding me?
“Spread your legs just so and lean a tad bit forward,” he murmurs into my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin as I let his hands move my body as he sees fit. Chase’s hand shifts to my arms, his fingers covering my palms as he places them in the right spot. “Just like that. Now you need to swing, nice and easy. You don’t want to move too fast or hit too hard, so you don’t miss the ball or send it flying.”
He swings our joined hands a few times to give me an idea of what he wants me to do.
“Now you try it, nice and easy.”
He takes a step back, and I miss his touch almost immediately.
My mouth feels dry as I swallow and nod.
Focus, Rose. Golf. You’re playing golf.
Tightening my fingers around the handle, I try to follow Chase’s instructions as I swing the putter—only to miss.
Dang it.
Pressing my lips together, I do it again. This time, the putter connects to the ball and sends it flying across the course.
“I did it!” I turn around, putter in hand, and almost slam it into Chase, but his reflexes are impeccable. His hand shoots up, fingers curling around the bar and stopping it from connecting with his chest.
“I should have known your son got his good hand from somewhere.”
“Shit, sorry.” I let out a nervous chuckle and slowly lowered the putter. “Did I hit you? I just got excited…”
