The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(55)

“I can’t believe this is what we’ve been reduced to,” Jackson growls, but he plops down on the half-broken sofa in the break room, pops open a beer, and stares at the TV screen, despite his complaining.

“No one is twisting your arm to make you watch golf.” I shrug, taking a bite out of the pizza. The gooey cheese and garlic spiced crust burst on my mouth and I can’t stop from moaning. I’m starved. We’ve worked straight through all day so we could close early for one reason and one reason only: to watch Gray on television. This is his second-to-last match before the big one, the one all the money is riding on. He doesn’t need to win to have a good standing, but he wants to, and I can understand it. He wants to beat everyone that crosses his path. When they say he’s the best in the sport, he wants there to be no question.

“Hey, if watching this shit makes you quit moping around here with that hound dog look on your face, I’m willing. You’re starting to scare off some of the regulars,” Jackson mumbles.

I push a bag of chips and a can of bean dip into his hand. I’m not the dishes-and-fancy-crab-dip kind of girl. Besides, it’s a f*cking garage. Then, I plop down beside him with a can of my own French onion dip.

“Have they shown Gray yet?” I ask.

“Nah. For some weird reason, there seems to be other players out there. Strange, right?”

“Sarcasm can be an ugly thing, Jackson.”

“So can anxious, love-sick girls.”

I ignore the flutter in my chest as he mentions love and, instead, choose to stick my tongue out. Jackson just ignores me and takes a drink of his beer. My attention returns to the television. I’ve never been one to watch golf. It all seemed rather boring and all too quiet. Sports are supposed to be full of screaming fans, marching bands, fly balls, touchdowns, or even a dunk. Somehow, hitting a little white ball into a hole seemed stupid, or like something I do on vacation from time to time, but the hole is usually the mouth of a clown, or a windmill—anything to make it interesting, because otherwise I’d be bored as hell and, hence, not watching. But here, the attraction is not a clown, an elephant, windmill, or anything else. It’s all Gray. I think my breath lodges in my chest when the camera zooms in on him. He looks so good, though different. He’s wearing relaxed slacks, not his usual jeans. His t-shirt has been replaced with a polo shirt. He’s got a hat covering his beautiful hair. It’s not that he looks bad, but he doesn’t look like my Gray. Even when I was on the road with him, he didn’t seem this different. I shrug it off. It’s just been awhile since I’ve seen him. That’s all it is.

I’m sadly glued to the television as Gray moves from hole to hole, zooming to the top of the leader’s board. At one point, I think I even cheered out loud. The same can’t be said for Jackson, who is snoring. I threw chips at him once to get him to stop, but he shoved it off his face with his hand and went back to snoring.

At the last hole, Gray struck once and got so close to the hole, I’m sure he could almost taste it. He’s standing at it now, ready to baby it in the hole. I watch as he chooses his club and I’m literally sitting on pins and needles. The camera zooms in on him, the wind ripples through his hair, and I’m holding my breath as I watch him swing and connect with the little white ball. It rolls towards the hole… and sinks. Cheers erupt, and I’m not any different as I screech out in celebration, waking Jackson up. I immediately want to call him and congratulate him.

I reach for my phone just when I see Cammie running out and hugging him. I want to bust the television screen. Gray returns her hug, though I can’t say he was overly friendly. He’s shaking hands with some of the other men and players. I’m still frowning at the television, wondering how I can kill Cammie Riverton from afar.

The reporter pulls Gray to the side and I breathe a little easier because it cuts Cammie out of the picture enough that she doesn’t show up on my screen.

“That was outstanding, Gray. Can you walk our viewers through that last hole and how you rebounded after getting that bogey early in the match?”

“It’s all a blur, honestly, Pauline,” he says, laughing easily. “I just went into competition mode. I want to hurry and get this match done because I’m heading to Kentucky to spend the week with my woman.”

“Does this mean that golf’s most notorious bachelor is off the market?” she asks.

“Completely. My heart belongs in Kentucky. Now if you’ll excuse me, Pauline, I have a plane to catch,” he says, and then, adding with a wink, “See you soon, sweet lips.”

My stomach flutters. What did Gray just do? Oh my God! Then I fall back on the couch giggling like a school girl. Jackson’s glares from my waking him up again can’t even stop the happiness surging through me.

Holy crap! I think Gray really likes me!





I’m more than half asleep when I hear it: a noise coming from the living room. At first I think I dreamed it because I don’t hear anything else right away. I sit up in bed and do my best to focus my eyes in the dark. There’s a faint light in the hall coming from the bathroom, and it helps keep me from being completely blind. I reach over beside the head of my bed and wrap my fingers around the baseball bat I keep there. My fingers tighten against the wrapped handle as I wait. I hear the noise again. This time, it’s definitely real and definitely coming from the living room. I can no longer write it off to just sleeping.