The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers Book 1)

by Jordan Marie

  “She means my car broke down and she fixed it.”

  “She does?” Cammie asks, confused.

  “Yes. A part of the engine is referred to as heads. Sometimes they blow a gasket,” he explains, but he’s looking right at me. I do my best to give him an innocent look. I know I fail. I don’t give a damn. I just want out of here.

  Why is Gray doing business with Cammie’s father? A better question might be: why do I even care?

  13

  Gray

  “Goodness, I should have known that’s what it was. Really, Claude was always so coarse, it shouldn’t surprise me that she hasn’t changed,” Cammie answers, as if CC isn’t even in the room. I see CC’s face tighten and her eyes narrow. I am tempted to see just how this exchange will go down because I think I might get an honest look at CC—and that is very enticing indeed—but Seth would probably kill me. I wasn’t sure I liked Cammie before this, and now I’m positive. The little minx currently trying to figure out how to leave, however, is someone I definitely like. After this, I believe she does in fact owe me a head job.

  “I like the way CC is upfront. Kind of like, what you see is what you get. It’s much better than trying to figure out who a person is when they pretend to be someone else entirely,” I tell Cammie.

  I see CC sit up at my barb just as it flies over the top of Cammie’s head. Cammie might be pretty in a clean, polished, Ivy League kind of way, but she’s obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe her parents kept her too sheltered. If that’s the case, they didn’t do her any favors.

  “I suppose,” Cammie agrees reluctantly. “But really, Claude, you should be more aware of your surroundings. I mean, you are sitting at my father’s table. Your behavior reflects on him.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” CC asks loudly, and I’m thinking this could get ugly real fast. “Tell me, Cammie, how is dear old Dad? Still feeding your trust fund monthly?”

  “I think you should leave now. Gray, you’re new to the area, but I think you can clearly see that CC and her kind of people don’t exactly mix well here.”

  “I was just telling him that very thing before you got here,” CC says, standing up. “And if there’s one thing that I’m thankful for Cammie, it’s that I don’t mix well here. Gray, it’s been real. Don’t bother getting up, I’m sure Cammie here would be more than willing to take my place.”

  Before she can finish her sentence, I’m up with her. I wrap my hand around her wrist and pull her towards me. “Cammie, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be seeing CC home.”

  “Of course you will. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. It’s a shame I couldn’t have warned you sooner. We’re still on for lunch tomorrow right?”

  I feel CC jerk away from me, and it’s annoying. I barely know the woman and I can feel myself getting embarrassed all because I have a business luncheon with Cammie and her father. What the ever-loving fuck? My brothers would be laughing their asses off at me right now.

  “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you then.”

  “Definitely,” she chimes. “CC, I do hope you find a way to get your anger under control,” she calls out. Either Cammie’s smarter than I gave her credit for, or she’s just a bitch.

  “Cunt,” CC growls under her breath.

  I feel myself grin a little. I always did like my women with a little bite. The little tigress in my hands right now definitely bites—and boy, does she have claws. I manage to get her back to my vehicle and I forcibly, over her objections, buckle her into the seat. Truthfully, I’m afraid if I don’t buckle her in, she’ll take off running.

  “Well, that was interesting,” I tell her, leaning against the opened passenger door and taking a breath as soon as the seatbelt buckles. Damn, why do I feel like I just wrestled a mountain lion? Why am I wondering what my mother would think of CC? “Care to tell me what that was all about?”

  “Not especially,” CC all but grunts, looking very put-out with me.

  “I think I’m owed an explanation, don’t you?”

  “Cammie Riverton is a cunt-a-saurus,” she says with a smile.

  “And you don’t think you need to explain that further?”

  “Nope.” She shrugs, picking at imaginary lint on her dress.

  “You could have ruined my chances of sealing the deal with Riverton Metals.”

  “He’s a slime ball. You’re better off,” she grumbles. “So… see? I did you a favor.”

  “He might be, for all I know. I don’t really give a fuck. I need his backing for my tournament. His name and wallet are instrumental in achieving my dream.”

  “Tournament? I thought you were a salesman?”

  “No. You assumed I was a salesman. I just never bothered to correct you.”

  “What do you do then?” she asks.

  Shit! This wasn’t exactly the conversation I wanted to have tonight. I sigh, seeing no way around it. I rub my forehead in aggravation. Will she know who I am? Will it change how she is with me? I don’t know why, but I don’t want that to happen… which is weird. I usually play the whole I’m-A-Golf-Pro-Fuck-Me card right away. CC is different. I’ve said it before and I have a feeling I’ll be saying it again for as long as I’m around her.

  “I play golf,” I tell her, nervously waiting to see what her reaction will be.

  “Golf?”

  “Yeah,” I say, wincing at her disbelief.

  “Like… weird-hats-crazy-pants-ugly-shirts, golf?”

  “I don’t wear clothes like that, but yeah.”

  “But you don’t look like you’re eighty!”

  “What? I’m not. What are you—?”

  “Oh my God! I had sex with a grandpa! How old are you? I mean, I knew you were older, but Jesus!”

  “I am not old! What are you going on about? I’m thirty-five, for God’s sake. You know, not only old men play golf.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, there you go.”

  “I’ve been miniature-golfing before. Little kids eat that up, but seriously, dude. We’re talking regular golf here, right? Where you hit those little balls with sticks and try to knock them in a hole?”

  “It’s a little more complicated than that. And there was once a twelve-year-old who played in a tournament, I’ll have you know.”

  “Golf,” she says again, reproachfully.

  “What is your problem now?”

  “Well, I mean, if I was gonna have a one-night stand with an athlete, I’d much rather it was football or basketball… something. I mean, at least then I could brag a little. I can’t here.”

  “Why the fuck can’t you?” I ask her, getting annoyed and forgetting the fact that I don’t really want a woman to fuck me just so she can brag.

  “The first thing they would ask me is if you smelled like muscle rub!”

  “What? Jesus!”

  “I mean, I never noticed you smelling like that stuff, but now that I think about it, you did have to—”

  Before she can finish her rant, I lean down and pull her towards me. The seatbelt holds her in place, but I bend to get to her. My lips crash against hers, stopping her tirade and ending it with a muffled umph of a noise that vibrates against my lips. My tongue pushes in and I groan at the familiar taste of her mouth—sweet, hot, sugar and spice. It’s a flavor I’ve never had before. CC, and instinctively I know I will never find it anywhere else. It’s all her and I have a feeling it could be more addicting than any drug. Her tongue boldly wraps around mine. That’s another thing that’s all CC. She is not shy. She knows what she wants and she goes after it completely—body and soul. As her tongue tangles with mine and fights for dominance, my dick hardens, pushing against my slacks. God, she’s something else. I thought I had somehow imagined just how great her kisses were. I now instantly know I was wrong. They are that great. Her fingers bite into my shoulders as my hands push under her dress. Her hot skin greets my touch—hot enough to brand a man. I pull away for a breath and she whimpers, her mouth follo
wing me. I groan, giving in, and dive back into her mouth to drink again, before slowly breaking away.

  When the kiss is over, our foreheads remain connected. Her hands remain on my shoulders and I sure as hell will not take my hands off of her unless she makes me. She takes a very shaky breath, swallows, and then slowly pulls away from me. She looks at me, her green eyes almost glowing.

  “You kiss pretty good for an old man,” she says, and I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I laugh before I can stop myself. Shit, this woman constantly surprises me.

  I might be in over my head.

  14

  CC

  “You okay, C?” Jackson asks, when I drop my damn wrench again.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter, lying out of my ass. I’m not fine. I’m very far from fine. My mind is where it has been for the last three days ever since Gray dropped me off at my house after our date—a date which started off horrible, got worse, never did result in food, and ended with a kiss that has haunted me ever since. It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter, and for several reasons. The biggest of those being that Grayson Lucas is some kind of golf god. I googled him after our date and what I learned was enough to blow my mind… and turn my stomach. He’s famous, he’s rich, and worse…he’s a big time player. His exploits with women have been plastered on every tabloid coming and going. Just last month, his biggest sponsor booted him because there was a video uploaded of Gray online. A sex video. A video of him and two other women—one of those being the daughter of a very well-known golf sponsor. Gossip on the net was that he was shuffling to find a new sponsor, one that would get him back in the good graces of the upcoming tour promoters and committee. That would be why he is here and why he’s dealing with David Riverton. All that together spells disaster with a capital D, and reveals a million reasons why I have to stay away from Gray.

  Which is why when my cellphone (a number I gave him after he kissed me again on our horrible date) rings for the fifth time today, I ignore it.

  “That lover boy again?” Jackson asks, and I ignore him, finally getting the last bolt on the radiator assembly we’re installing tightened. “He seemed like a nice guy, C. He made you smile. Cut him some slack.”

  “You know anything about golf, Jackson?”

  “Golf?”

  “Yeah. You know, little white balls being whacked with a club…”

  “I try not to watch anything that involves balls being whacked, C.”

  “Well, it seems Gray is, like, a mega golf star.”

  “Mega?”

  “Sponsors, tours, trophies, lots of money.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Damn. What’s he doing in Kentucky? We’re not exactly the golf capital of the world.”

  “Courting David Riverton as a new sponsor.”

  “Fuck.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “Still, woman, just because he’s working with that fucker doesn’t mean you have to write him off.”

  “He’s got money…”

  “So?”

  “By ‘money’ I mean he’s loaded. Hell, if he didn’t need Riverton to smooth over his black marks with the tour people, he probably could be his own sponsor.”

  “Black marks?”

  “Sex tape of him with two other women, one being the daughter of one of the major tour sponsors.”

  “Jesus.”

  “He’s bad news, Jackson. So, can we just forget it? In a few days he’ll go back to wherever they have golf games and it will be over.”

  “I’m sorry, C. Seems you’ve inherited your old man’s ability at picking partners.”

  “Yeah, it appears that way,” I tell him with a sigh.

  We work for a couple more hours getting caught up, for the most part. The phone has finally stopped ringing and I’m doing my best not to feel sad about that. I can’t be. There’s no room for Gray in my life, even if he wasn’t a player.

  “Want some lunch from the diner?” Jackson asks, and I’m not really in the mood, but I say yes anyway.

  “Sure. Chicken salad.”

  “Ugh, rabbit food. I expect better of you, Claude,” Jackson says, using my name because he knows it irritates me. In response, I flip him off. He’s laughing as he slams the door behind him. I busy myself picking up tools and trying to clear my head when the object of my thoughts makes an appearance.

  “Your phone not working, sweet lips?”

  My head jerks up at Gray’s voice. He’s wearing a worn Metallica t-shirt and jeans and he looks like anything but a golfer, which pisses me off. His hair is ruffled with these soft curls on top of his head that are starting to hang loosely because his close cut is growing out. Somehow, it looks even better on him now—another thing to piss me off.

  “I hated that nickname back at the bar. It made me write you off immediately. I should have listened to my gut,” I tell him.

  “Sweet lips? But it fits you, because woman, your lips are the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I guess I should be flattered because from what I’ve read, that covers a lot of territory.”

  “Aww. You’ve googled me. I guess I’m the one who should be flattered.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter, going back to picking up tools and ignoring him. It works pretty good until he comes up behind me and wraps his arm around me, pulling me back into him and not letting me move. I try to jerk away, but he still doesn’t let me go.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Asking you if your phone is working,” he whispers against my shoulder. I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck and it radiates, even against my coveralls, but it’s not enough. I suddenly wish I didn’t have them on. I wish I didn’t have anything on. I wish it was just the two of us, skin against skin…

  “You need to let me go. You’ll get filthy,” I tell him, stressing the word he used when I worked on his vehicle.

  “But CC, I love getting filthy with you.”

  The words piss me off because it sounds like a line. Then I realize who I’m dealing with and admit that everything out of his mouth is probably a line. We had a one-night stand and that was all it was and that’s over. Just because we had a good lunch date… an awesome lunch date…just because he made me smile, and just because he makes me laugh and his kisses melt the clothes off my body, none of that means anything. It’s just a game. It’s meaningless and I might be tempted to bite for however long it lasts until he leaves, but I will not become one of his play toys. I am not my mother.

  I bring my elbow back and deliver a blow to his gut. It’s weak and nowhere near what I’m capable of, but it’s enough so that he gets the point and lets me go.

  “My phone works just fine.”

  “Then why aren’t you answering it?”

  “Gee. Maybe because I don’t want to talk to you?”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You wanted to talk to me enough to give me your damn number.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before I…”

  “Before you saw shit on the internet about me.”

  “Maybe. Is it true?”

  “What if it is? What does it matter? It happened before I met you. Hell, we’ve only really had one date. Why is your nose out of joint about it?” he asks, sounding agitated.

  “Maybe I just don’t want to see my picture on the internet as another notch in Grayson Lucas’s bed post.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  “So, if you don’t mind—Wait. What did you say?”

  “I don’t particularly want you to be plastered in tabloids either. I don’t enjoy that shit.”

  “For a man who doesn’t enjoy it, there sure are plenty of them.”

  “And most of them are put up there by the women in question.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because believe it or not, some women live for being seen as
one of Gray Lucas’s exploits.”

  “Gross.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, you know what I mean.”

  “I do. Which is why I want to go out with you. Well, one of the reasons. I want to get to know you more, CC. Is that so bad? You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met and, more importantly, I actually like you.”

  “And it has nothing to do with sex.”

  “It has everything to do with it.”

  “Which is exactly why my answer is no.”

  He growls and moves back towards me, pushing me up against the concrete wall and holding my hands against it so I can’t push him away. My eyes are captured by his and I swallow at the look of intensity on his face.

  “Gray…”

  “Can you deny that you don’t remember the weekend we shared and want more of it? That the kiss we shared a few days ago doesn’t haunt you? That you don’t wake up in the middle of the night wishing I was there so you could wrap your legs around me and pull me deep inside of you…?”

  “Damn it, Gray, it was just—”

  “Because I do, CC. I do, and it’s driving me crazy. I’ve never done that before in my life and you, goddamn it, you are haunting me all the time. I want to be with you again. It has everything to do with sex and…”

  “I’m not going to be like those two women you did that video with. Go find sex with whoever—”

  He pushes his finger against my lips. My eyes go wide, but I hush because his face is intense and there’s something there that… I like.

  “It has everything to do with sex because I want that again… with you. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But it’s more than that. You might be the first woman I’ve liked outside of sex. You’re funny, you’re intelligent, you keep me on my toes, and you don’t try to flatter me just to get what you want.”

  “That’s because you’re an asshole.”

  He laughs, and somehow that’s an even better look than the intense one he wore a few minutes ago.

  “That’s exactly what I mean, CC. You don’t give a fuck about who I am. I want that. I want you, all of you, even your mouth which is delectable and annoying at the same time.”