Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
The longer I was around her, the more obsessed I became.
But I was honestly confused on why she was so hellbent on hooking up with me. Sure, I was good-looking, but I wasn’t the only hot guy on the planet. Why bother with me when she could have someone less complicated?
At the very least, she could have someone who wasn’t best friends with Colin.
When we’d stepped onto the golf course, it hadn’t been busy, but there was a couple behind us now who was finishing the previous hole. I felt their impatient stares at the same time she must have because Sydney abruptly moved.
She stalked to the next hole, dropped her ball to the astroturf, and swung without even setting her feet. So, it wasn’t all that surprising when her ball plinked off the rock in the center of the green and rolled to a stop in a corner that didn’t have a clear path to the hole. It was a terrible, rushed shot. She didn’t seem to care, though. She marched to the side, moving out of the way for me to tee off.
Unease made my shoulders tight, but I tried to ignore it. I drew in a breath, lined up, and took my shot.
I didn’t get another hole-in-one, but I came really close. I tapped my ball in, retrieved it, and waited with my mouth shut as I watched her finish the round—
Which was a disaster.
My plan had been to fluster her, and it had worked a little too well.
Sydney no longer cared about the game, and when she missed her next two shots, I began to feel bad. I liked winning, but this felt . . . wrong. Empty.
She finally knocked the ball in, and we shuffled on to the next hole. I struggled to find a way to make it right and get rid of the weird vibe between us. I needed her to focus on something else so I could bring back the sunny girl she’d been earlier.
“You’ve always wanted to be a chef?” I asked.
For a moment, it looked like she was going to ignore my question, but then she sighed, and her attention turned my way. “Yeah.”
I made sure it sounded light. Conversational. “Why?”
She dropped her ball and swung her putter, making the ball careen carelessly across the fairway. “I don’t know. I guess it’s a little like this can be. How you get better every time you do it, and so I’m always trying to improve and one-up myself. To make the dish better each time I make it.”
She was competing with herself, and that? I totally related. “I do that, too. Every event I host, I want it to be better than the last.”
“How’d you get into event planning?”
“My mom has her own company in North Carolina, and I used to help out when I lived with her. I kind of hated it back then, but now . . .” I shrugged. “It sounds weird, but I like managing all the moving parts and bringing them together to make something great. Even if it’s stressful or chaotic leading up to it. If the result makes my clients happy, then I’m happy.”
She looked pleasantly surprised. “I get it. That’s how I feel when I finish a dish. When I have all these elements with different timing, and I execute it just right and get them on the plate together—it’s like a rush.”
I understood completely. I got that same swell of pride she was talking about whenever I pulled off an event that I knew was going to exceed expectations. Plus, it was awesome seeing all my work fall into place to create the finished product.
It shouldn’t have been surprising we had shit in common. We were both into creative, customer-driven fields, and yet it caught me off guard anyway. It made me wonder where else we might be similar.
Wait, no.
I was already more interested in her than I wanted to be. It’d be easier to give her a few lessons, get this lingering desire out of my system, and move on if I didn’t get too invested.
So, I swung my gaze to the hole and focused on that. I had the option of taking the long way around the mushroom obstacle, or I could aim for the tunnel running through it and get a straight shot to the hole.
Sydney whistled appreciatively when I threaded the needle and my ball dropped into the cup.
I grinned as I retrieved it, and because I was so excited about getting another hole-in-one, I forgot not to be a cocky asshole. “Maybe take your time on your next shot,” I half-joked, “unless you want to fall farther behind me.”
There was no change in her expression, but she gave me one long, slow blink. And then her gaze shifted away like she was considering something.