The Guy Who Became My Grumpy Boss (Curvy Girl Crew #7)

Chapter 11

-Jessica-

A ball flying off the course and hitting a random stranger was almost inevitable during a mini golf game.

However, I hadn’t figured that Danger Zone would be the one to launch his ball three holes over. I snorted and then covered my mouth.

I could tell Danger Zone was out of his element and didn’t want to embarrass him further.

“Oops,” he muttered.

Grumpy, always stoic, never rushed, Danger Zone had just said oops.

I snorted again. “Sorry,” I said when I found him glaring at me.

Laughter broke out from the direction his ball had gone.

“We should go,” he said as he straightened.

My heart went out to the guy. He’d started to freak out, but he’d managed to calm himself down.

And then there had been that…moment…between us.

I’d like to say I hadn’t even thought about how close we had been, but that would be a lie. I’d noticed the warmth of his arms and the light scent of his cologne, not to mention the fact that he’d refused to look at me.

However, when I’d glanced up and found him watching me with the intensity of a tiger about to pounce, I’d panicked.

“Is this yours?” a young man asked, waving Danger Zone’s blue ball at us.

“Over here!” I waved back.

The kid threw it, and I caught it. “Thanks!”

Danger Zone grunted. “We should go.”

He sounded upset. He looked upset. His whole reaction resembled a trauma response, something I’d dealt with when Ashley had been my roommate. I could handle this.

I didn’t want this to be his only mini golf experience. I also didn’t want this to be his only experience with me outside of work. So I reached out and grabbed his elbow as he tried to walk away.

“Hold on there,” I said. “We’re not finished.”

Danger Zone’s light brown eyes bore into mine. The muscles in his cheeks writhed as he ground his teeth, and my fingers tightened around his tricep.

Basically, this guy was one lean muscle after another, and it might be a good thing that he didn’t dig curvy girls.

“That was your first shot. It’s fine that it went awry.” I pointed at the group of kids who had retrieved his ball. “They’re not bothered. This happens all the time. Someone usually ends up in a water hazard.” My finger then turned to indicate a nearby mini lake. “So relax.” I smiled. It was an involuntary reaction to his discomfort. Then I offered him his blue ball. “Try again.”

Danger Zone studied me. His category four grumpy face didn’t loosen up, and his nostrils flared. He wanted to go, but he knew he should stay.

I continued to hold his ball out. “You need to experience this before the retreat.”

“Making bookshelves is still an option,” he grumbled under his breath.

“This is more fun.” Now I grabbed his hand—ignoring the icy fire that ran up my forearm at the contact—and slapped the ball into his palm. “Three holes and then we can go.”

“Three?” he asked, a sliver of hope in his voice.

“Just three. Then, if you want, we can leave.”

Danger Zone’s chest rose and fell as if he’d just finished sprinting down the street.

“This can be fun.”

After another couple of seconds, Danger Zone’s fingers curled around the ball.

It almost seemed like he was going to hold my hand, but I let go before that happened. There was no way I was going to fall any further for the guy. This was business, not pleasure.

At least, not that kind of pleasure.

Watching my grumpy boss fight with a little ball might be the most fun I’d had in ages.

Danger Zone huffed, and his scowl downgraded to a category two. “Acceptable.”

“Atta boy.” I refrained from patting him on the back as he returned to the tee mat. “I’ll even give you a couple of test shots, so you can experiment.”

“How kind of you,” he said in a flat voice.

“I know.”

He huffed again, lined up for a shot, and hit the ball, this time with much less force. But it wasn’t enough to get it up the hill, and it rolled back down.

I thought I heard him mutter, “Stupid ball,” but wasn’t sure and had to stop a laugh before it escaped.

Danger Zone’s second shot was a little too hard, but it did get over the hill and down to the statue, where it promptly bounced out of bounds.

Category two advanced to category three.

I wanted to touch his arm to steer him in the right direction or grab his hand and drag him behind me, but I didn’t do either of those things. Instead, I waved and walked away. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you what to do. Come on.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, as if someone was watching me. I could only assume it was Danger Zone, but that could be because he was following me.

Was it wrong that I was wondering if he was admiring me from behind? Even with Marissa’s declaration, I’d put on my favorite jeans—the ones Victoria had picked out and that made my butt look fantastic, even it if was plus-sized.

We moved past the rusted-out ship, which actually looked pretty cool, and down the hill to the Statue of Liberty.

I pointed at my ball. “The rule is that whoever is the closest to the hole goes next. That’s so no one can hit your ball out of the way.” I grinned. “That’s what you do in croquet.” I gestured to the flag. “Will you grab that?”

“Croquet?” Danger Zone asked as he yanked the pole out of the hole.

“An outdoor lawn game kind of like this.” I lined up my shot and took it. The ball moved toward where the flag had been, then slowed as it hit the tiny hill guarding the hole. I glared at the ball, willing it to go in.

It stopped an inch from the target and rolled back a good foot.

“Dang it,” I muttered as I stomped toward the ball and hit it in. “Notice the rise all the way around the hole. It will throw you off.” I squatted down and grabbed my ball. “Your turn.”

Danger Zone’s gaze moved to his ball, which was outside of the green.

“Right. Sorry.” I walked over to him. “This is what I do. I draw an imaginary line from where the ball is to the hole, then I set the ball on the green six inches away from the wall.” I demonstrated, then straightened and found Danger Zone studying me.

Those eyes and that intense gaze were going to be the death of me. I cleared my throat. “Going out of bounds automatically gives you an extra stroke.”

“But we’re only playing three holes,” he said.

I pulled my phone out. “We’re still keeping track. My score is three.”

Danger Zone slid past me and lined up his shot. He took more time and seemed to be calculating. Then, he swiveled back, just like I’d taught him, and swung the club.

Instead of speeding off, or only moving a few feet, which is what often happened, his ball rolled toward the cup, up the hill, and teetered on the edge for a second before tumbling in. Danger Zone straightened up and gave me a smug smile. “Even with the penalty, I believe that was three.”

Did this guy want to challenge me? He had no idea who he was dealing with, and boss or no boss, I wasn’t about to let him beat me. I put his score on my phone and met his gaze. “Lucky shot.”

“We’ll see.”