The Toughest Play

16. Rogan

CHAPTER 16

ROGAN

A s we move to the first hole, I’m distracted by my surroundings. The atmosphere is chaotic yet captivating with oversized, glowing coral reefs and a miniature pirate ship complete with shimmering sails. The big kid in me never wants to leave. I chuckle. “This is going to be fun.”

“Because you’re confident you’ll beat me?” she asks.

I nudge my arm into hers. “No, because I like mini golf… and you’re all right too.” The corners of her mouth quirk up, and I take it as a win. “You can go first.”

“No, thanks,” she says.

“You want to see how it’s done, eh?”

“No, I want to learn from your mistakes.”

I laugh. “Fair enough.” The putting surface looks like a miniature landscape of the ocean floor.

I set up for the first hole, which is a fairly straight forward shot. Swinging the club in a gentle arc, I hit the golf ball and watch it roll under the bridge and into the hole.

“Nice,” Autumn says.

“Thanks.” I move to the side, giving her plenty of room to do her thing. She takes more time than I did when setting up her shot, so I take advantage of the chance to stare at her ass. She even gives a slight wiggle as she adjusts her stance. When she finally hits the ball, I’m disappointed, but it’s only temporary—I’ve got seventeen more opportunities left.

We continue on to each hole with Autumn holding her own, only one stroke behind me. I enjoy watching her eyes light up with each new challenge we face and conquer. If we were further along in our “friendship,” I’d be kissing her after we complete each hole.

She lines up to take her next shot, her brow furrowed with determined effort. The ball rolls toward the glowing hole situated in the center of the black surface and travels around the rim before dropping in with a satisfying plop.

“Look at you, Fall. You’re a natural.”

She spins around and lowers into a quick curtsy, then rises with a playful smirk. “I think you’re calling me that nickname to trip me up.”

I laugh. “I can assure you my motives are far from devious. I just like using it because I gave it to you.”

“Now you’re trying to throw me off by being sweet,” she says.

“I can’t win.” Pretending I’m exasperated, I throw my hands in the air and walk to the next hole. I get in my stance and take my shot, driving the ball up a neon-lit ramp. Unfortunately, I underestimated the angle of the incline and my ball rolls back down and comes to a stop about a foot in front of where I’m standing. “Dammit.”

Autumn strolls closer and leans on her putter. “Seems like you could use some pointers. Step one: Hit the ball hard enough.” She does an exaggerated air swing, as if she’s a pro golfer, but all I notice is the way her shorts conform to her curves. I want to stand behind her, grip her hips, and rub my semi against her ass.

“Got that?” she asks, stepping aside.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” It takes me a second to get my hypnotized—no, make that ass-notized—brain to work. “So like this?” I mimic her motions as I walk through the swing.

She nods. “Yep, just like that.” When her eyes meet mine, I see the mischief in them.

I carefully aim and take the shot, making sure to add more power this time. The ball makes it up the ramp and lands in the hole. I punch my fist in the air. “Who’s the best coach ever?” I ask, sweeping her from her feet. I spin us around a few times, and when I stop turning, my arms loosen, letting her slide down the front of me. The neon lights seem to fade away as we stare at one another. Swooping in, my lips capture hers, and she’s even sweeter than I remembered. There’s a thunk as her golf club falls to the floor and her hands creep their way to my shoulders. I pull her closer and deepen the kiss. Our tongues swirl together, undulating like the 3D waves on the walls around us. Lost in the moment, neither of us hear anyone approaching until a throat clears beside us. We jump apart and look toward the teenager standing there. He looks embarrassed.

“We don’t allow that kind of behavior here.”

“Sorry, dude. I couldn’t help myself. I mean, look at her. Can you blame me?” I say.

The boy stares at me and then his eyes open as wide as they possibly can. “You’re Rogan O’Rourke.”

“I am?” I joke.

“Oh, dude. I can’t believe this. Can I get your autograph?”

“Sure. Do you have something for me to sign?”

The kid pats his pockets, looking distressed. “Shit. No.”

“Do you have your phone?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He pulls it from his back pocket.

“Autumn, would you please take a picture of us?”

“You want a picture of us?” he asks. “I mean, I can get a pic with you?”

I laugh. “You sure can. What’s your name?”

“Cole.”

“Well, Cole, get over here.”

He slides in next to me, and I drape an arm over his shoulders while Autumn takes the picture.

“Here you go.” Autumn passes the phone back to Cole. “I took a few so you’ll have options.”

“Oh my God. Thank you so much. Thank you. Both of you. I can’t believe this,” he rambles, running off. Autumn and I look at each other, and she laughs, a sound that’s becoming one of my favorite things.

“Does that happen often?” she asks.

“Once in a while.”

“I have a feeling that’s about to change. People are starting to notice how well you’re playing. If you get the starting job, you’ll be bombarded wherever you go.”

“That goes with the territory.” And I’ll gladly deal with signing autographs to live out my dream.

We continue on through the rest of the course, taunting each other at every opportunity. Autumn is quite the trash talker when she wants to be. With each playful and bantering exchange we share, I’m growing more encouraged. Seeing her loosen up and be at ease in my company gives me a warm feeling in my chest.

We reach the final hole, which is set in an illuminated replica of King Neptune’s throne room. The towering throne itself is bathed in blues and greens from the black light, making it appear as though it’s floating in a magical underwater realm.

“The score is close, so this will decide who the winner is. Good luck.”

She looks up at me, smiling softly under the black lights. “You too.”

Without thinking, I reach out and gently touch her cheek. Her skin is warm and soft under my fingertips. I see the breath catch in her throat before she leans into my touch. I also notice a slight tensing of her body right before she pulls back. She raises her putter to rest against her shoulder.

“After you,” she says.

Neon sea creatures encircle the throne, creating an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colors. I take a deep breath as I line up my shot. The hole is nestled beneath the throne and is guarded by a glowing drawbridge that raises and lowers. It takes me three strokes to get the ball under the damn bridge and into the hole.

“Fucking finally,” I say, moving off to the side.

Autumn laughs and sets her ball down, then takes a deep breath.

“Are you ready?” I ask.

She nods, her eyes reflecting the neon lights with a mix of anticipation and playfulness. She takes one practice swing, and on the next one, her putter glows softly as it connects with the ball. Unlike me, it only takes her one shot to get under the bridge, but she needs one more stroke to get the ball in the hole.

“Way to go,” I cheer, clapping. She grins, clearly pleased with her performance. “I think I got you by one stroke.” I pull out the scorecard and grin as I tally up all the strokes. “I won.”

“Give me that,” she says, snatching the paper from my hand. I see her lips move as she adds up all the tally marks on the card. “Dammit. You did.” She hands the scorecard back to me, and I grin.

“Guess who’s coming to my sleepover tonight?”