The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(72)

Not nearly fast enough, however.

“Claudia, can we talk to you?”

I turn when I hear my name and freeze when I see a reporter there with a photographer behind her, his camera zoomed in on me. Then I take off running because, yeah, the sobs have started.

What did we do?





“Ow! Damn it, Mom, that shit stinks worse than the skunk.”

“It definitely does not, trust me on that one, son. You smell like old Mr. Simpson’s outhouse. If you’re going to pick wildflowers with your woman, you should at least wait until you’re home. There, at least I have my own tomato juice. This store crap is hardly making a dent in it.”

“I didn’t exactly plan on getting sprayed by a skunk, Mom.”

“Apparently not. Why on Earth you felt the need to do something this asinine is beyond me. I mean, you have a king size bed and a kitchen table here. Not to mention that big shower, or heck, even that chair in the sitting room!” she mutters, pouring another can of tomato juice into the tub.

It’s a good thing I’m not a modest person because having my mom pour juice over my naked ass would definitely be on my list of things that would kill me. I hang my head down as she pours another can over it. Shit. I feel like the biggest * on the face of the Earth.

“How’s CC?” I ask, afraid to know the answer, but scared not to. I haven’t gotten to speak one word to her since we went running back to the hotel.

There was chaos downstairs when the doorman grabbed CC. My fist found its way to his face, and then a reporter showed up trying to get a picture of me and CC. It was all bad. It probably didn’t help that I ripped the camera way from the photographer and threw it on the ground so it busted into a million pieces, inadvertently dropping the damn tablecloth I had covering me.

I followed CC up to our room, but she didn’t talk; she was too busy crying. I wanted to console her, but when got to our room, it finally hit me that without my clothes, my wallet, or anything else—we were stuck… which required me knocking on the door of my mom’s room. Which brings me to getting drowned in store-bought tomato juice and vinegar by Mom in my hotel room after she already did the same to CC in hers… and not getting two minutes alone to check on my woman. I’m mad, worried, and stressed the f*ck out. I’ve already put a call in to Seth about the press, but as much as I don’t want to admit it, there’s a very real possibility that pictures of me and CC in our birthday suits will be all over the papers in the morning. CC has to be so pissed off at me, and I can’t blame her.

“How do you expect the girl to be after running across a busy golf course butt-ass naked, getting groped by a doorman, and then having her future mother-in-law washing her from head to toe and seeing every nook and crevice the good Lord saw fit to give her?”

“Can I see her?”

“After you smell better, maybe. Now hold still or this scrub brush will take off your hide along with the smell.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I grumble unhappily, and for my tone, I get the brush slapped upside my head. Fuck. Will this day ever end? Better yet, will CC be back in my arms when it does? This is all my fault and I’m feeling like shit for getting her into it.





“You okay, sweetheart?” Gray asks again.

I’ve lost count, but we’re surely in double digits by now.

It’s the day after the entire mess. The tournament has been postponed because of a rainstorm, so we’re just trying to recover. We’re snuggled on the couch watching TV and wearing the hotel robes. Finally clean… and finally Ida-Sue-and-crazy-Lucas-family free. If it wasn’t for smelling like tomato juice and vinegar, I would pretend it was all a bad memory.

I’m trying to act normal, but there’s this fear that keeps swamping me. There were a lot of people around when we made it back to the hotel. A lot. Gray said he had it handled, but f*ck, I don’t know how many people saw me naked. I don’t know what kind of chaos played after I ran away crying. It took Ida Sue an hour to calm me down, but we both know that if this gets out, Riverton will use that against me, which means there’s no way I’ll be able to get the loan from the bank unless Ida Sue performs a miracle. Every time the phone rings, I jump, worried it’s Riverton and praying it’s Ida Sue instead with word from the bank. I don’t care what the terms are; right now, I’d sign away my life if it means keeping the garage from that *. I feel so bad. There’s just no words. Jackson has been trying to get a loan, but his credit pretty much sucks after his divorce.

“I wish you would quit asking me that,” I tell Gray, trying not to be frustrated with him. It’s not fair that I’m blaming him, though I am. It’s not his fault I’m in the mess that I’m in, but it is his fault we literally got caught with our pants down.

“I’m worried about you, Cooper.”

“I’m about as good as someone can be when they’ve mooned half of Georgia and then got groped by some perverted doorman.”

“Fucking bastard. I should have hit him harder.”

“Let’s try to just not talk about it, please?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. He sounds so sad, I feel like a bitch for being upset.

“I know,” I tell him, then wince. I made the decision to make love with him. It’s not his fault completely and yet I realize I am holding a grudge. I’m blaming him.