“It’s true, you do,” she says. “But I was frosty to Ryan for most of our childhood and look at us now. Besides, Pete seems pretty into this fake dating thing. When I saw him at Drip yesterday and told him about the double date with Rosco and me, he didn’t even blink. He just asked when and where.”
“You’re mistaking obligation for enthusiasm,” I say,unsure if I’m trying to convince her or myself. “He’s fake dating me because Ollie set it in motion, and he’s worried about me.
“Right, right. The goodness of his heart and all that,” Holland says, and without even looking, I can tell she’s rolling her eyes. “Claire, this is the same guy who banged your brains out a couple weeks ago. He gave you orgasms, something no other man on this campus has done, and now you need to convince the world you’re a couple. Indulge a little.”
I glance at my phone to check the time. We’re almost there. “It’s not a good idea. I don’t need a dick.” Again, I’m not sure whom I’m trying to convince.
Holland’s unbothered. “I don’t need ice cream, but when the frosty freeze is open, there’s nothing wrong with going in to have a lick.”
I laugh. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It’s a metaphor,” she tells me. “You’re a writer. You should know this.”
“A metaphor for what? A blowjob parlor?”
She ignores me as she parallel parks like a champ. My bestie is the shit. “We are getting off track,” she says, turning off the car and reaching for her crossbody. “I’m just saying that if you decide to ditch the fake part of dating, I’ll support you.”
I pull up the parking app and start our session before exiting the car. “That’s crazy. It’s a distraction I don’t need.” I repeat the words I’ve been telling myself since breakfast yesterday. “We’re only in school a few more…” My words trail off because my mouth dries up. That’ll happen when you walk down the street and stumble across the hottest man to ever exist.
Pete Santos is hot in his requisite hoodie and shorts.
He’s on fucking fire when he’s shirtless.
But in dark jeans and a button down? Holy. Fuck. I love him messy, but the man cleans up good.
“You’re drooling. You know that, right?” Holland asks as we cross the street.
I swipe at my lip and then shoot her a glare when I get nothing but my lip gloss.
“The fact that you had to check,” she says with a laugh.
I use my middle finger to smear my gloss back into place, but that only makes her laugh harder. And when she looks up to see the name emblazoned on the side of the building we’re going into, she bursts out into uncontrollable giggles.
The guys can’t hide their laughter either.
“How did you hear about this place?” I ask, staring openly at the sign that says
Putt Stuffin giant letters. Sure, there are mini golf clubs adorning the sign, but there are also two golfers who both have considerable junk in their respective trunks.
“Ollie suggested it,” Rosco says, folding Holland into a hug before debauching her with an indecent kiss. I live with her, and Rosco stays over enough that I’m confident this kiss is the first of many pornographic delights of the night.
Pete and I stare at each other for a minute before realizing we should probably be doing the same thing, though sadly without the X-rating. I step forward, sure our embrace will be awkward and clumsy, but it’s not. It’s so damn natural that I have to remind myself this connection between us isn’t real. He’s doing me a favor. It’s a favor I’m not entirely convinced I need, but I’m too smart to pass it up.
A car horn honks on the street below, jolting the four of us back to reality. We pay at the entrance and pick upour clubs and balls. Okay, the name tracks. If I were to open a minigolf-themed bar, I’d probably go for the low-hanging fruit, too.
We don’t get a golf cart, but we do get a drink cart that’s all decked out. There are custom cut cup holders for the guys’ drinks, even though they’re both sticking with water tonight, and specialized ones for our martinis. They might be in season, but we’re not.
The first few holes are fun. Holland played actual golf in high school, and her skills definitely transfer. There’s no doubt Rosco and Pete play a sport where the point is getting a small object into a specific spot, but hockey nets are a lot wider than the holes on minigolf courses, so there’s a bit of a learning curve.
As for me, the only special skill I bring to the party is my competitive nature. If I’m not here to win, what’s the point of playing? It’s a character trait that sends a lot of guys running. It took me about ten minutes to figure out my date had ditched me mid-game at a pool hall last spring. At least he settled the tab before he split.
Strangely enough, Pete seems to like it. When I knock Rosco’s ball wide, he gives me a high-five. And when I do the same to his ball at the next hole, he lets out a tamed-down version of his signature howl.
There’s a bit of a bottleneck at hole number four, so we chill with our cart and drink up. Admittedly, the concept is clever. Holland’s helping Rosco with his swing, but really, she’s just touching her man’s ass. He seems pretty happy with the lesson, though, so I take a sip of my drink and brainstorm conversations to start with Pete. I could ask him about the season, but I know they’re doing well. I should ask about his mom, but if tonight is a distraction for him, I don’t want to bring him down. I finally settle on Van’srecovery as a safe topic, but when I turn toward Pete, he’s no longer standing beside me.
I’m not sure when he slid into position behind me, but when I hear his whispered, “This okay?” in my ear, I nod. We are in public, after all. He wraps his arms around me and though it’s only the second time he’s wrapped me up in one of his reverse bear hugs, and I’m already addicted to it.
“Are you having fun kicking our asses?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
