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She drops her head back against my collarbone, a satisfied smile on her face. “Can’t wait.”

Palm Beach is hot. Hotter than hell, actually. I don’t know how Rowan and Maggie can live here. I groan and hand my assigned caddie my clubs. Hazel does the same and nervously runs her hands over her dress, smoothing it over.

I want to reach over and hold her hand, whisper into her hair that she has nothing to be nervous or self-conscious about, but I can’t. There are cameras and people everywhere. And it fucking sucks.

So, I walk over to her and keep a respectable distance between us, as much as it pains me to do so. “Hey,” I say, getting her attention. “We got this.”

She gives me a shaky smile and nods as we walk to the first tee box. “Not nerve-racking at all. I don’t know how you do this.”

“You get used to it.” I shrug. “After the first hundred or so times,” I add with a grin.

“Ugh, you’re terrible.” She rolls her eyes, not meaning a single word.

“Consider this as practice for your first tour stop,” I whisper, leaning in a little too close. I catch myself at the last second and look around us. The caddies are giving us plenty of space to feel like we have just enough privacy.

Hazel stops and gives me such a charged look that for a second, I want to drop all pretenses of keeping distance and wrap her in my arms.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, noticing her eyes tearing up.

“Not once has your faith in me wavered,” she says, blinking back the tears. “Thank you, for that.”

Considering that asshole ex of hers once said to my face that golf isn’t a real sport, I can see where her insecurities come from. That douchebag didn’t know what he had.

“That’s because I see your potential, baby,” I say, lowering my voice. “Now, are you ready to win this?” I ask, nodding at the tee box.

She nods and I extend my hand toward my caddie. He places my driver in my palm, and I walk up to the tee box, adjusting my tee and taking a few practice swings.

I look over at Hazel and she mouths, “It’s all in the hips.” It takes everything in me not to burst into laughter at the Happy Gilmore reference. Grinning, I take the swing and drive the shit out of that ball. It might even be my best one ever. Huh.

Hazel tees up next, since the women’s box is further up the path. I give her a simple nod and watch her get into her zone. She’s completely focused on the ball, her posture in perfect form. Her skirt swishes with the power of her swing and I bring my fist to my mouth, biting my finger. It would be a shame if I got hard on national television, so with great reluctance, I look away from her thighs.

By the time we get to the ninth hole, which is the last one of the day, Hazel is completely at ease and in her element. She takes every opportunity to tease me, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep my hands to myself.

The ball is a tap-in for me and as I get situated behind it, she leans in and whispers, “Tap, tap, tap-aroo.”

My laugh comes out more like a cackle and I shake my head at her. “Are you trying to make us lose?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You know we’re a team, right?”

“Please, we’re clearly in the lead,” she says, waving a hand. “Just look at our crowd.”

I lift my head to look over at the large crowd that’s formed around the viewing area. I spot two heads of blond hair—one dark, one light, same height—and smile down at the ball.

Then I tap it in.

There are a few rounds of clapping from the crowd. Then Hazel and I high-five our caddies, who take our bags and head to the lockers inside the club. Hazel goes for a high-five when she faces me, but I scowl at her and wrap my arms around her back, bringing her into a hug.

“But, the cameras,” she whispers against my neck as she stands on her tiptoes.

“I don’t give a fuck about the cameras right now, we played a hell of a good match,” I say, taking a deep inhale of her scent. I can’t get enough of her and she all but lives in my bed.

“Congratulations, you two,” Rowan says with an easy smile after we give a couple of interviews.

I pull him in for a hug, which seems to startle him at first. We do an awkward pat on the back and pull away. “Thanks, Rowan,” I say, turning to his wife. “Good to see you again, Maggie.”

Maggie smiles and I give her a hug that’s just as awkward as the one I gave her husband. Clearly, I haven’t gotten out of the basement much.

“This is Hazel Thomas,” I say, reaching for Hazel’s hand, but remembering at the last second that we’re in public. “Hazel, these are my friends, Rowan and Maggie.”

“You have friends?” she asks with a look of mock surprise before turning to them with a genuine smile. “I’m kidding. Levi told me about you. I hope you don’t mind me joining your camping trip.”