Free Summer Burns by Candice Gilmer

well.
    At first, he ' d been very quiet and reserved.
    But as the evening progressed, he relaxed.
    And maybe because he did, so did I. I mean, I was making this out to be so many things in my head that I didn ' t know what I was doing. I ' d waffle between the whole " dating " thing and " just friends having fun " thing and I was making myself nutty.
    Being here, right now with him, it ' s more about the having fun than anything else, which is what I needed.
    Two grown-ups just having fun. I wasn ' t going to make it into more than that.
    We went to the next hole--the last one--and it was a wind mill.
    " Okay, this will not be fun, " I muttered as I walked up to the tee box.
    " Whatcha doin ' there, Summer? " Matthew asked.
    " Getting ready to make my shot. "
    He raised his eyebrow. " And who, exactly, won the last hole? " We ' d been playing that winner got the first shot on the next hole. That loosely translated into Matthew getting to shoot first every single time, because I am no golfer.
    I rolled my eyes. " You did. "
    " So I get to go first, " he said, and playfully hip-checked me out of the way.
    I stepped back and watched him line up his shot. " Be careful, that windmill looks pretty darn mean. "
    He glanced back at me. " I have timing. "
    " Uh huh, " I said.
    He said nothing and hit his ball.
    And naturally, it went right between the windmill ' s arms and through the hole, popping out on the green below us, lined up perfectly to roll right into ...
    " You have got to be kidding me, " I said as his ball fell into the hole, giving him his tenth hole-in-one for the night.
    He grinned at me, that super smug look he ' d had all night. " You going to take your shot? "
    " Don ' t know why I bother, " I said.
    " It ' s just about lining up the shot. " He stepped out of the way as I took my place. He happened to be fairly close to me, and for a moment, I didn ' t mind the intimacy.
    Not that it meant anything.
    Because it didn ' t.
    Right?
    " Uh huh, " I said as I lined up my shot. It wasn ' t that I couldn ' t hit a mostly-straight shot, it was more the timing of the windmill arms swinging in front of the hole that would block my shot.
    I watched, and waited for what I thought was the perfect amount of time, but sure enough, when I thought I ' d timed it just right, the swinging arm came down and blocked my ball from going into the windmill.
    " Ugh, " I moaned.
    Matthew picked up my ball and brought it back to me. " It ' s all about timing, hon. That ' s it. "
    I raised my eyebrow, not saying a word about him calling me ' hon. ' Because lots of guys said stuff like that.
    It didn ' t make my heart patter at all.
    Nope.
    No way.
    I studied the texture of the fake grass as he handed me my ball, because I didn ' t want him to see that very likely, my cheeks were the same pink as the golf ball.
    " Let me help you. " His voice was deeper. Or maybe I just thought it sounded more intense in the moment.
    I was probably just overthinking it.
    " Uh, " I muttered as he stepped behind me.
    His arms wrapped around me, and I could smell all those nice manly smells, and wait. Was he wearing cologne? Some nice woodsy, musky stuff.
    Guy smell.
    A smell I hadn ' t really smelled in a long time--when one doesn ' t count the guys who come in with way too much cologne on at the beauty shop. This was nice.
    Warm and inviting.
    " It ' s about the timing, " he said, his cheek right next to my ear, and his breath was warm. " Watch the windmill. "
    I turned to look, mesmerized by his voice and the close contact. It had been a very long time since I ' d felt a man ' s arms around me like this.
    Even if it was for mini golf.
    And I felt kind of stupid for the warring emotions inside over it.
    " One, two, three, four. " He counted, what, I wasn ' t sure. But he kept doing it in my ear, and I think he was counting the time of the windmill arms.
    I don ' t know.
    I didn ' t really care.
    He guided my arms back, still whispering the count in my ear, and