Under the Table(48)
Whether Erica’s subsequent laugh was in response to embarrassment or appreciation of her joke, Zoey didn’t care. Then her sight alit upon something.
Oh yeah. This should hit him right in the meatballs.
She pulled it off the rack and held it up for Erica to see.
“I want to start with this,” Zoey stated firmly. “I don’t suppose you have it in plaid?”
After Erica’s initial surprise, given away by the raising of her brows, she broke out into a smile. “Afraid not. But I think I know where you’re heading with this. I’ve got just the things to complete the look.”
Sometimes all a person needs to get on board is the knowledge that you don’t hate your own body. Erica gathered some other things, and the two of them went to the dressing room giggling.
When Tristan returned, almost an hour later, it was his turn to hide his astonishment, but his reaction was more of a carnal nature.
Zoey was dressed in a white pleated golf skirt that settled midthigh. She had waved off the skort version with a conspiratorial wink to Erica, who supplied her with white spandex boy short panties. It was paired with a pink polo shirt, tucked in at the waist, and a black belt. She topped it all off with knee-high socks. It was Catholic schoolgirl, golfing edition.
The sight of Tristan’s jaw unhinging was priceless.
“I’m glad they had the right shoes for you” was his poor attempt at hiding it.
“I know,” Zoey replied casually, forcing his attention back up her curvaceous, muscular legs. You don’t hoof around New York City for almost a year without reaping some sort of reward. “I’d hate to slip and get grass stains on this white skirt.”
Golf was now the last thing on her mind. By the look on Tristan’s face, it had fallen down the ranks of his priorities as well.
He signed the sales slip and took Zoey by the elbow to lead her out the door.
“You should’ve bought ten of this outfit.” He breathed seductively in her ear.
Mission accomplished.
“Can I drive the golf cart?” she asked, using her best sexy voice. “Please?”
“Of course.” He smiled, picking up on it. Then he shook a stern finger at her. “But don’t you dare drive it on the green. They will kick me out of the club so fast, my head will spin.”
His next order of business was to cancel the use of a caddy.
“I don’t normally use one,” he explained. “But I thought we could use a chaperone.”
“You thought wrong, mister.”
“I think I can forget about trying to show off my skill. I have the funny feeling I’m about to have my worst round on record.”
They loaded her rented clubs beside his in the golf cart, and they set off for the first tee.
It was slow for a Thursday afternoon at the club, with most of the dedicated members having chosen the earliest tee times. Some of them could be seen as small dots on the horizon smattered on the course. It was quiet, with the exception of the cart’s low motor-running hum and intermittent birdcalls. And lush. So much rolling green, with the strategic placing of sand traps, trees, and ponds of water off in the distance. The air smelled clean and fresh. Wildlife peeked out and dashed from behind trees and out of bushes. It was easy to see why Tristan was so dedicated to the sport and the serenity it provided.
She had also forgotten how much she loved to drive. She looked over at Tristan to tell him so. He looked deep in thought.
“Don’t worry. I have a license to drive a real car. This thing is a piece of cake.”
“It’s not that. I was just thinking that I’m supposed to have come up with some sort of nickname for you. You know, a term of endearment that only I use. Like honey or baby or darling.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“All of them sound stupid and disrespectful. Belittling. Shouldn’t these sorts of things come naturally?”
She stopped the cart and grabbed his hand, looking into his eyes.
“Tristan, there is nothing more endearing to me than to hear you say my name. I get butterflies inside every time you do it. If something suddenly comes to you, fine. If not, you’re still giving me all the feels.”
He instructed her where to stop near the first-hole tee and hopped out of the cart to grab a club, eager to get started.
“Do you mind if I just watch you for a hole or two?” Zoey asked. Not only did she want to take some time to adjust to wearing the skimpy outfit, but she also wanted to watch him in action. If he looked anything like he did in his living room the day they met, she would need a while to adjust to that too. She wasn’t disappointed. First it was the precious look he got as he concentrated on the ball. Then it was the delicious way his hips and tush wiggled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before he swung. As he teed off and his upper body responded with the motion, she officially abandoned the notion that golf was boring. Maybe it was because he was in his element. Maybe it was the way his body twisted that reminded her of the night before. She lost sight of the ball as it rocketed through the air, mainly because she hadn’t watched it. She was preoccupied with looking at him. Her excitement over driving the golf cart was all but forgotten, replaced with an entirely different desire.
At first, they sporadically encountered other golfers. Some were making their way back to the clubhouse, others moving farther away as their games progressed. Most of them were dressed in solid colors that were both neutral and matched.