He tosses his phone down onto a pillow and draws me into his arms, tucking my head against his shoulder.
“Is this another level in your plan to woo me?”
He shoots me a grin. “Is it working?”
I step even closer to him. “What do you think?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Yes. It’s working. Everything about you is working for me right now, Holland Bradley.”
He sighs as the music crescendos and tightens his arms around my back. “I never, in a million years, thought I’d hear you say something like that to me.”
“Get used to it.”
He leans away as the song ends, looking into my eyes.
I smile up at him, and then I arch my eyebrows. “That being said, you think you can handle your girlfriend critiquing your golf game as your coach.”
“Girlfriend, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “A little presumptuous of you. We haven’t even kissed—for real,” he adds.
“Tell me about it,” I grumble, even as my mind flies to when I kissed him on the golf course. Even though I didn’t have any feelings for him then…or at least any feelings I was ready to admit…it was a good kiss. I want to do that again, like, now.
He shoots me a wicked grin. “Someone’s impatient.”
“And you’re not?” I fire back, feeling the familiar tingle of our banter tickle all my senses. Sweet Holland is delicious. Playful Holland is delectable.
“Hearing you beg is kind of making me want to draw this out, to be honest.”
“Don’t you dare.” I reach up and grab him behind the neck, drawing his head closer to me.
His eyes dance, but he pulls back against my hands, and instead of kissing me, he brushes is nose against mine. It’s tender and sweet and driving me all sorts of crazy.
He moves his mouth up and starts kissing me along my hairline. His lips are soft and warm, and I’m a puddle as he traces the shape of my face with his lips, making it down to my jaw, and then lower to the column of my neck. When he kisses the corner of my mouth on one side and then the other, I can’t help but whimper.
“Holland.” My voice comes out in a gasp. “Kiss me. Please.”
He pulls his head back, and the smile that slashes across his face is so pure and delighted it robs me of my breath.
He lets go of me, and I bite my cheek to keep from telling him to get back over here and kiss me properly. But he fishes something out of his pocket. It’s a sheet of paper.
He holds it out for me to read.
Can I kiss you now?
There are yes and no checkboxes beneath the question.
He takes a golf pencil from the same pocket and holds it out for me.
“You’ve already answered this, but I want a receipt of your request,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice. “Proof to hold over you forever and ever.”
“You are infuriating.” I snatch the pencil from him. “You’re lucky I haven’t changed my mind.”
He stuffs the pencil and the notebook paper back into his pocket and draws me to him again. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Pretty confident in yourself, huh?”
“With you by my side? Yep. Now…”—he cups my face again—“if you’re done yapping—”
