Kiss My Putt

by Tara Sivec

  Fuck, she’s so goddamn beautiful it’s literally killing me.

  I could see the hesitation on her face when we walked over here a little bit ago and I patted the bench seat next to me for her to sit down instead of pointing across the table. When I lied and told her it was only so we wouldn’t have to shout over the noise while we worked, she quickly slid in next to me, and I’ve been regretting that decision ever since. I should have made her sit out on the curb, and we could have talked through the window where I didn’t have to smell her tropical skin, watch her tits push against the tight material of her cotton shirt every time she takes a breath, and feel her arm brush up against mine every time she moves.

  “I have enough for the purple hedgehog, and I’m only ten away from the lava lamp,” she says, squealing a little as she looks at the pile of orange tickets in the middle of the table, making me laugh. “This is very exciting. But we need to work first.”

  Pulling a piece of paper out of her planner that she takes everywhere, Birdie slides it over the table to right in front of me, and I look down at it.

  “I know you saw I’ve replied to all those emails requesting interviews from you, telling them you’re not talking to anyone at this time. I also contacted that guy at USA Today you spoke with on the phone, and he’s agreed not to publish anything you said that day as long as we give him the first interview when you’re ready. But we really do need to put out some kind of a public statement right now,” she explains. “I drafted up a press release and blamed your… episode on exhaustion. ‘Please give me some privacy, blah, blah,’ the usual. I hope that’s okay. Read it over and let me know what you think.”

  “Episode, huh?” I smile at her, actually finding humor in what I did for the first time since it happened.

  “It sounded nicer than ‘that time you went batshit crazy and taught your pitching wedge how to swim.’” She smiles back, brushing another piece of hair off her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.

  She put those damn braids in her hair again today, but a few long pieces have come loose throughout the day, the wispy blonde strands constantly annoying her as she tucks them away or blows them off her cheek. I’ve spent the last two days doing math problems in my head to try to stop picturing myself bending her over the desk in her office, yanking down those tiny cotton shorts she keeps torturing me with, and clutching those two long braids together in one of my hands while I fuck her so hard from behind the desk moves across the room.

  4 x 4 = 16 x 7 = 112…

  Shifting in my seat and trying not to wince at how painfully hard my cock is right now at a fucking children’s arcade, I breathe through my nose and out through my mouth as I quickly scan the press release Birdie drafted up, grabbing my cold bottle of beer from the table and draining half of it to cool the hell down as I read. This statement sounds more professional, intelligent, clear, and concise than any other press releases my publicists have sent out for me in the past, and I’m not at all surprised.

  “It’s perfect,” I tell her, sliding the paper back, pretending like I still remember how to swallow the next sip of beer I’m in the process of drinking when her hand brushes mine as she takes the paper back.

  “Okay, so I’ll make sure that goes out tonight to the AP wire before I go to bed,” Birdie says, putting the press release in her planner then slowly closing it before looking up at me.

  The sun has added a few freckles across the bridge of her nose, and I wonder what she would do if I leaned down and kissed each one of them. Probably reach under the table and punch my still swollen and aching balls.

  “Did you see the email from your dad?” she asks, her voice going as low as it can over the noise of the arcade all around us.

  “Oh, the one he forwarded from one of my endorsements that just said ‘Fix it’?” I ask with a sardonic laugh. “Nice to see dear old dad still cares.”

  It’s not like I expected the first communication from the guy after I embarrassed him on national television to be a two-hundred-page novel, but maybe asking if I’m okay or even where I am would have been nice. Although, I’m sure he knows. He didn’t know much about me or what I wanted, but he knew Summersweet was the only place I ever wanted to be.

  “I’m sorry,” she says softly, looking up at me on the bench. “Are you okay? It’s fine if you’re not ready to talk about it. I’m sure your head’s been spinning and you’re freaked out about your future, but I promise I’m going to do everything I can to get your image in tip-top shape and have everyone begging to have you back on the circuit.”

  The lights and whistles and clinking and sirens disappear as I look down at her, wishing I could just blurt out everything and let her know she has no reason to be sorry, because nothing else matters in my life but her and what she thinks of me and that I’m so goddamn in love with her I can’t think straight. But I don’t say anything. I just look into her blue eyes staring back at me with care and concern, and I think about how she hesitated to sit down next to me when in the past she used to slide onto this bench so fast she would slam right into me and almost push me off the other side. And I remind myself she just needs more time before I do my own pushing.

  “Nothing to be sorry about, sweet cheeks,” I tell her, bumping my shoulder against hers, watching her eyes narrow in annoyance with the new nickname.

  If she only knew I gave her that nickname after spending all night on the beach playing cornhole with her, getting glimpses of the sweet curves of her bare ass cheeks, fighting the urge to sink my teeth into them….

  “Honestly… I don’t have any idea what I want for my future, so it’s hard to freak out about something I can’t even picture right now,” I tell her, referring to golf and not about the fact that whatever future is in store for me, I’m going to make damn sure she’s a part of it this time.

  “Well, you have plenty of time to make up your mind.”

  Unlike you, I don’t need time. My mind was made up the day I met you, sweet cheeks.

  “If you promise to be a good girl, maybe Daddy will try to win you that lava lamp,” I tell her with a wag of my eyebrows.

  Birdie suddenly starts coughing, swatting my hand away when I try to pat her on the back.

  “Just… swallowed wrong,” she finally manages to wheeze out, scooting a little farther away from me on the bench before swinging one of her legs over it and getting up.

  I watch her grab her planner and tuck it under her arm, motioning me toward the games as she starts quickly walking away.

  With a sigh, I push up from the table, wondering how long it’s going to take for her to trust me again. Watching her hips sway from side to side and feeling the chubby I get again from staring at her ass as I follow behind her, I hope to God it happens soon before my dick explodes.

  “Just get in, Birdie.” I sigh, patting the top of my thighs for the third time.

  My golf cart is idling against the curb in front of Hang Five, the street almost empty now that people have started turning in for the night. Once again, Birdie glances around up and down the street before biting her lip as she looks inside the packed golf cart, hugging the box that holds the lava lamp I won her against her chest along with the purple stuffed hedgehog.

  Since Wren and Owen left a few hours ago, taking Birdie’s ride home with them, I promised to give her a lift. And then I spent the rest of the night weighing the pros and cons of sneaking away for a few minutes to jerk off in the men’s room after watching Birdie bend over to toss Skee-Balls, bend over to play pool, and bend over to tie her fucking shoe, which led to me having more than one beer. Bodhi has been too busy getting high on all the sugar he consumed all night to drink, so I handed him the keys, and then he decided to offer rides home to half the arcade.

  Fine. So not half the arcade, but enough people that everyone is doubled up on laps, including Tess, who has one of her co-bartenders from SIG that she ran into tonight sitting on her thighs. The only spot left in here for Birdie, who was the last to come outside, is
in the backseat with me next to Erin and Steve, a young married couple who own one of the small hotels, and she’ll have to sit on my lap.

  “It’s fine. I’ll just walk,” she says with a shrug, taking a step back from the golf cart.

  Let me tell you how much joy it’s bringing me that she’d rather walk home than sit on my fucking lap for a few minutes.

  “It’s a thirty-minute walk. Will you stop being stubborn and just get in?” I pat my thighs again and grind my teeth when she doesn’t move closer.

  “For fuck’s sake, get in!” Tess finally shouts at her from the front seat. “Melissa has a bony ass that’s killing my thighs, and I’m sure Putz will promise not to kill you with his bone.”

  Melissa and Tess giggle in the front seat, and I pretend like it’s the funniest thing in the world too and not an actual possibility, when Birdie finally moves. She hands Melissa her lava lamp box and stuffed animal to hold in the front seat, punches Tess in the arm, then moves around to the rear-facing back seat, grabs onto the roll bar by my shoulder and climbs inside the cart.

  Birdie turns and sits sideways, perching her butt right on the very edge of my knees before Bodhi hits the gas and takes off. He soars down the street, and Birdie stays right where she is, holding tightly onto the armrest with one hand, gripping the top of her bare thigh with the other hand, and probably squeezing the life out of all the muscles in her body so she doesn’t move one centimeter back on my thighs. She’s barely putting any of her weight on me, her spine stiff as she sits straight up, and her stoic profile stares out the side of the golf cart at the passing landscape.

  “You can scoot back,” I tell her, shouting over the music as Bodhi flips on the sound system and Eminem blares from the speakers, the LED lights under the roof of the cart shining a multicolored glow all around us.

  “Oh, I’m fine!” Birdie chirps back brightly, turning her head to smile at me before looking back out the quickly moving cart.

  Bodhi takes a turn without slowing down, and my hands dart out and grab Birdie’s hips when she almost flies right off the end of my knees and out the back the golf cart.

  “This is ridiculous,” I mutter with a shake of my head as everyone in the cart aside from the two of us starts singing “Lose Yourself” at the top of their lungs.

  Sitting forward, I snake one arm around her waist and haul her back on my thighs until she’s pressed against me, with her shoulder resting on my chest.

  “Better?” I ask, my chin right above her shoulder and my mouth right against her ear.

  Birdie’s only answer is a quick nod as she keeps looking forward.

  It sure as shit isn’t better for me. It’s the worst punishment and the sweetest torture I’ve ever put myself through. She’s so snug and warm pressed up against me, and she smells like heaven. When I pulled her back on my legs, it pushed my shorts up as she moved, and now the backs of her bare thighs are pressed against the top of mine, and visions of them hot, sweaty, and smacking together as I drill her from behind fill my head until I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  Everyone else in the cart is screaming about how you only get one shot and you better not miss your chance, and I feel like they’re yelling it right at me, but what the hell am I supposed to do in a packed golf cart, when everything I want to do with this woman right now involves burying myself inside her, and she can barely stand sitting on my lap and won’t even look at me?

  She shifts a little in my arms, her ass snuggling more firmly into my lap, her hip way too close to my cock already pulsing and thrumming to life, straining against the material of my boxer briefs, until I switch from multiplication to long division in head. My face is still right against the side of hers, my hands clenching with the need to nuzzle my nose into her skin while my arm encircling her waist tightens, wanting to make her turn her head so I can suck that bottom lip she’s biting into my mouth….

  “Birdie…” Her name is a whisper and a plea, although I don’t know what the hell I’m asking for right now.

  Kiss me?

  Look at me and see me?

  Slide those tiny shorts to the side and let me fuck your sweet pussy until we both forget what the hell we’ve been mad about for the last two years?

  I feel her shiver in my arms when my breath floats against the shell of her ear, but we’re moving fast, it’s chilly outside, she’s had goose bumps since she got inside this golf cart, and I need to shut my damn mouth before I say something stupid like, “Let me come home with you so I can fuck you into next week.”

  Time almost comes to a stop in this cart when I watch Birdie’s head slowly start turning toward me until her eyes are on mine and our noses are almost touching.

  My arm is still anchored around her waist, and I can feel her breathing faster, but she doesn’t turn away, and she doesn’t take her eyes off mine. I run a few miles every morning to stay in shape, but right now, it feels like I just ran a marathon I was in no way prepared for. My chest is tight, and I’m having a hard time bringing more air into my lungs when I see Birdie’s eyes flicker down to my mouth. Bodhi goes over a pothole in the street, and Birdie’s ass bounces on top of my lap, making me hold onto her tighter while she grips to my arm around her waist, planting her more firmly into me, math facts flying through my head at a rapid rate. I’m about ready to lose my goddamn mind, wanting to kiss this woman with her breath floating over my lips, her eyes staring at my mouth, and her ass nestled right next to my cock, wondering if a man can die from trying not to come in his pants in the back of a packed golf cart going entirely too fast down a small island street.

  It’s only about a ten-minute ride, but it’s the longest ten minutes of my life before we’re pulling up to the front of Birdie’s cottage, and she’s flying off my lap and out of the cart before Bodhi even pulls it to a complete stop. She mumbles goodbye to everyone, not meeting my eyes when she says she’ll see me at work tomorrow before grabbing her lava lamp and hedgehog from Melissa and disappearing inside her place.

  It takes five hundred and thirty-five seconds before Bodhi has dropped everyone else off and is pulling into my driveway, and I counted each and every one of them. Five hundred and thirty-five seconds from the time Birdie got off my lap, where I had to grind my teeth, clench my fists in my lap, and bounce my knee up and down so I wasn’t tempted to stick my hand down my pants and relieve some of the pressure she left behind. Five hundred and thirty-five seconds of torture until I’m alone in my cottage, stalking down the hall, throwing open the door to the bathroom, and slamming it closed behind me, turning on the cold water in the shower while Bodhi and Tess disappear for a walk down the beach before they head back to Tess’s house.

  My clothes are off and tossed to the floor, and I let out a howl when I step in the shower and yank the glass door closed, the cold water hitting my skin and stabbing into it like knives. Resting both my palms against the tiles in front of me, I drop my head forward into the spray and close my eyes, letting the freezing water rain down over my head to try to wash away thoughts of Birdie…

  The smell of her skin, the way her tongue darts out to soothe her bottom lip after biting it, her sexy ass rubbing against the tops of my legs, the number of times I’ve pictured her sitting just like that on my lap, but she was straddling me, looking down between us as my cock disappeared inside her, all shiny and slick with her wetness every time I pulled it out….

  Fuck.

  Christ.

  My dick is in my hand before I can even take in my next rasping breath, a moan slipping past my wet lips as soon I tighten my fist around myself and make the first rough, sliding tug up to the swollen, sensitive tip. Every fantasy I’ve ever had about Birdie flashes through my mind as I start jerking myself harder, stroking my cock faster, the images in my head more vivid, sharper, hotter now that I’m back on the island and I’ve had her body pressed against mine, the smell of her skin fresh in my nose and seeping into my pores.

  Birdie sprawled out on my bed naked, her blonde hair
fanned out around her, back arched, one of her hands skimming down the front of her body, legs spreading for me.

  My tight fist works quickly up and down the base of my wet cock, not even feeling the temperature of the cold water raining down on me anymore as I squeeze my eyes closed and let the fantasies play.

  Birdie bent over her desk at SIG after hours, her skirt pushed up around her waist, those thick braids wrapped around one of my fists with the fingers of my other hand digging into the skin of her hip as I slam my cock in and out of her tight, wet heat while she moans my name and begs for more.

  A groan flies out of my mouth, and my balls tighten with painful pleasure. Blood pounds in my ears, my heart pounds inside my chest, and I squeeze my fist harder around my shaft, my hand shuttling up and down my wet cock faster, my breath coming out in pants as the water drips down my face and flies off my quickly jerking hand while I stand under the spray.

  Birdie on her knees in front of me, eyes on mine while I slide the swollen head of my dick past her full, pink lips until I reach the back of her throat, her mouth wrapping around me, hollowing out her cheeks and sucking hard, letting me pull my hips back and fuck her mouth.

  Stroke after stroke, my body quakes as I roughly jerk my hand up and down my dick, sliding my thumb over the tip with each pass, thrusting my hips and fucking my own goddamn hand, wishing it was Birdie’s hand, Birdie’s mouth, Birdie’s tight pussy wrapped around me.

  “Oh fuck,” I moan loudly, smacking one hand against the wet tile as I come in the tight fist of my other hand, letting the shower wash away my guilt and shame that I just jerked off to thoughts of a woman I’m trying to build a friendship with again.

  My whole body lets out a shiver when the last of my shame goes down the drain, and I suddenly hear a fist pounding against the bathroom door, followed by Bodhi’s muffled shout from the other side.

  “You finished yanking your wank in there yet? I gotta take a dump!”