Like he knew.
He just knew I’d be terrible at this.
With a deep breath, I put down my ball and tapped it. Lightly. So lightly, in fact, that it barely even moved at all.
I didn’t know it was possible, but Cameron’s grin got even wider.
Yep. This was a terrible idea.
I tapped it again, and it went further, but still not close enough to the hole. All in all, it took me four more shots to get the ball in, and I was damn glad we were the only ones here.
“Well, this should be interesting,” Cameron remarked, moving to the second hole.
“Shut up,” I muttered, trailing along behind him.
And so it continued. He’d only need three shots maximum to pot his ball, but I needed at least three to get even close to the hole. Once, I even hit it so hard it went right out of the lane and I had to start again.
Honestly, at one point, I think he was contemplating getting up and going to get another hot dog while I potted the ball. In my defense, there was a damn hump and the ball did not want to go over it.
It was nothing to do with me. It was all the ball’s fault.
“Wow. You really aren’t good at mini golf, are you?” He picked up his ball and smirked.
“Shut up. I’m not a sporty person.”
“You’re not a rides person, you’re not a sporty person. What kind of person are you?”
“A lie in bed and watch Netflix until the judgey screen comes up person.”
“I think we’re all that kind of person.” He laughed and positioned his ball to get his next shot. It’d probably only take him one freaking shot anyway,
I huffed and took a seat on one of the benches they provided which was, as I’d assumed, totally pointless. Two shots and his ball was firmly in the hole.
I stood and went to take my go. “Oh, crap. I don’t have my ball.”
“You didn’t pick it up,” Cameron said, grabbing his. “Although you should just give up now. There’s no way you can beat me.” He waved the scorecard in the air with a smug smile.
I glared at him as I turned toward the last hole. “Yeah, well—”
Those were my last words before my toes stubbed the lip that kept the balls inside the putting area. The rubber of my sneakers caught on the horrible astroturf-like stuff they used, and as I fell down, my ankle twisted.
I landed firmly on my ass. Pain shot through my ankle. “Shit!”
“Hell.” Cameron dumped his things and dropped to my side. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “My shoe got stuck on the rubber. My ankle hurts.”
He ran his hands down my leg in a move that was way sexier than it should have been given the amount of pain I was in. His touch was oh-so-light as he curled his fingers under the bottom of my yoga pants and gently touched my ankle.
Still, I winced.
“Come on. I’ll take you to the emergency room to get checked out.” He undid the laces on my shoe.
“Whoa, what are you doing?”
“If it’s sprained or broken, it’s going to swell. You need to take off your sock and your shoe.” He gently pulled off my shoe, and then my sock.
“You’re being awfully nice about my bare foot.”
He chuckled. “What can I say? I have a hero complex that outweighs my dislike of bare feet. Hold these. I’ll carry you to the car.” He handed me the shoe where he’d stuffed my sock—white, this time—and picked me up like a Disney princess.
I giggled, then winced again. “What about the balls and clubs?”
“I’ll explain at the booth. Let’s go, Hurricane Mallory.”
CHAPTER TWENTY – CAMERON
“You know, if you wanted to get out of the date, you really didn’t have to sprain your ankle.” I grinned at her in the front seat of my car.
She glared at me. “I was about to apologize for ruining our date, but now you can stuff it.”
“I don’t know. It was pretty exciting.”
“Says the one who can walk.”
Three hours at the ER had made for an extremely grumpy Mallory. As it was, it was now late, dark, and definitely getting cold enough for a coat.
I bent down and helped her out of the car. She’d already told me that under no circumstances was I to carry her again since apparently, that’d been a little dramatic.
Her telling me she thought she’d die from the pain was dramatic.
She pushed the door shut and, with my help, hopped up the path to her front door. The house was completely dark, and when I took her key and unlocked the door, it was just as still as it was dark.
Nobody was here.
“Where is everyone?” I asked Mallory.
She slapped her hand to her forehead.
“Whoa there, Hurricane. I don’t wanna be taking you back there with a concussion.”