**Chapter 1: Fairway Friction**
The sun blazed over the rolling hills of Fairview Golf Course, casting long shadows across the manicured greens. I wiped the sweat from my brow, the scent of freshly cut grass clinging to my skin as I maneuvered the mower with precision. Working the grounds crew wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills—and gave me a front-row seat to the fiery storm that was Thera.
Thera, with her sharp tongue and sharper curves, was the kind of woman who could stop a man dead in his tracks. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, bouncing with every determined stride she took across the fairway. She wore a fitted tank top and cargo shorts that hugged her athletic frame, her tanned skin glistening under the midday heat. She was married to our manager, Hank, a gruff bastard who didn’t deserve the spit she’d waste on him, let alone her fierce loyalty. But Thera wasn’t the type to stray—oh no, she’d made that crystal clear.
“Keep your eyes on the turf, not my ass, rookie,” she snapped as she caught me staring while she hauled a bag of fertilizer past me. Her hazel eyes glinted with a mix of annoyance and amusement.
I grinned, leaning on the mower handle. “Can’t help it, Thera. The view’s better than the 18th hole.”
She rolled her eyes, dropping the bag with a thud. “Flirt all you want, but I’m not some club bunny looking for a quick swing. Hank’s got my scorecard, and I don’t play off-course.”
“Fair enough,” I shot back, wiping my hands on my jeans. “But if Hank’s not keeping up with your handicap, I’ve got a cousin who’d love to caddy for you.”
Thera raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Oh, really? And who’s this mystery man who thinks he can handle my game?”
“Rory,” I said, a smirk tugging at my lips. “He’s visiting this weekend. Hotter than a July bunker and twice as dangerous. You’d eat him alive, though—I’m just warning you now.”
She laughed, a sharp, throaty sound that sent a jolt straight through me. “I don’t need your family tree to get my kicks, kid. Stick to trimming the rough.”
But I saw it—a flicker of curiosity in her gaze before she turned away, her hips swaying with every step. Thera might’ve been off-limits, but damn if she didn’t make every inch of this job a torturous tease.
That afternoon, Rory rolled up in his beat-up Chevy, all tousled blond hair and cocky swagger. He was the kind of guy who could charm the spikes off a golf shoe, and I knew he’d be the perfect wildcard to shake things up. We were finishing up near the clubhouse when he sauntered over, his blue eyes scanning the crew before locking on Thera as she hosed down some equipment.
“Damn, cousin,” Rory whistled low, nudging me. “You didn’t tell me you worked with a goddess. Who’s the babe with the hose?”
“Thera,” I muttered, keeping my voice down. “And she’s married to the boss, so don’t get any ideas.”
Rory grinned, all teeth and trouble. “Married ain’t dead, man. Watch and learn.”
He strolled over, casual as hell, while I hung back, my pulse kicking up for reasons I didn’t want to admit. Thera glanced up, her expression shifting from bored to intrigued as Rory tipped an imaginary hat.
“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m Rory, the better half of this clown’s family,” he said, jerking a thumb at me. “Just had to come see what kind of beauty keeps a golf course this pristine.”
Thera smirked, shutting off the hose with a flick of her wrist. “Flattery won’t get you a free round, pretty boy. I’m not on the menu.”
“Oh, I’m not hungry for just a taste,” Rory countered, stepping closer, his voice dropping low. “I’m looking for the whole damn feast.”
Her eyes narrowed, but there was heat there—undeniable, electric. She crossed her arms, water dripping down her forearms, and I felt my throat go dry. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” she said. “But I don’t play with amateurs.”
Rory leaned in, just enough to make the air crackle. “Good thing I’m a pro, then. Care to test my swing?”
I watched, my heart pounding, as Thera’s resolve wavered for a split second. She stepped back, but not before I saw the flush creeping up her neck. “Keep dreaming, hotshot,” she tossed over her shoulder, walking off toward the shed. But her stride had a new edge to it, a challenge.
Rory turned to me, grinning like the devil himself. “She’s gonna be trouble, man. The best kind.”
And as the sun dipped low, casting golden streaks across the course, I knew he was right. Thera might’ve been off-limits, but the game was just getting started—and I had a front-row seat to the hottest match I’d ever seen.
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