“She’s my girlfriend,” Dean countered, throwing a wink in Maggie’s direction.
“Yea, I know, big love fest,” Cal said, “You can’t help her beat us.”
Goddamn Cal. He was going to single-handedly ruin everything. They’d been stuck together like atomic nuclei. He’d pulled her butt back against his thighs, cocooned her in his arms, warmed her up, and she’d gotten a kiss. Well, a peck. Now if Dean had just thought to bring an extra layer to offer her as her goosebumps multiplied, then everything would have been perfect.
“Her own team can help her out,” Cal said. “You did your duty as a boyfriend. Now do your duty as a teammate.”
Dean met Maggie’s eyes and shrugged. “You okay without me, Babs?”
“I can help her,” Mac said, and then turned to Maggie. “If you want me to.”
It was possible that all wasn’t totally lost. Dean had held her, just like in the romance novels, and now he could get jealous seeing someone else do the same. Playing games between men wasn’t something Maggie had thought about or planned for, mostly because she was having a hard enough time handling her feelings for one man, and she did not have the patience or mental fortitude to handle two. Then again, Cal had thrown this opportunity into her lap.
“Thanks Mac,” Maggie said, and she didn’t have to force a smile. It was already there. “I could use all the help I can get.”
Audrey and Cal took their turns, their pink and blue balls sailing easily over the bridge to the far side of the green. Maggie toed her ball into place and squared up to take a shot. Mac stepped up next to her. He ghosted his palm down her arm to help reposition her hands on her putter, and Maggie felt her goosebumps explode out of control. Her shivering was out of control as her body trembled next to his.
“You’re freezing,” Mac said.
“I’m fine.”
She wiggled her hips as she prepared for her shot. Mac slid into the spot behind her. He wasn’t as tall as Dean—few people were—but his lips were even with her ear as he curled around her. Mac helped her hands choke up on the putter so that she bent even further forward. Her hips pressed back against his. Mac used one foot to open her stance, gently kicking her feet apart until they were just wider than her shoulders. The ache started low in her belly and Maggie thought about slamming her thighs back together before realizing she’d trap Mac’s jean-clad leg between hers. Mac pointed to a spot on the far wall, the same one she’d been eyeing for her ball’s trajectory.
“Aim there,” he said.
Mac stepped back and let her send the ball all on her own.
The yellow sphere sailed along the green, bounced off the spot she and Mac had both chosen, bumped its way over the wooden bridge, and rolled right into the hole marked by the orange flag. A hole in one.
Audrey grinned as Maggie crossed the bridge herself and gave her a thumbs up, marking the score on their paper. Dean’s green ball sailed over the bridge next, and a few minutes later, Mac’s black ball joined it, knocking the green ball out of position as it came to rest right by the hole.
“She did even better without you,” Cal said, as Dean walked across the bridge and Audrey lined up her putt. “Maybe I should make you help her again.”
“Maybe I should,” Dean said, watching as Mac crossed the bridge too.
They still had two holes to go and miniature golf was already an unmitigated success. Maggie barely reined in the urge to jump up, fist held high in the air. She couldn’t stop her smile. The breeze ruffled the leaves overhead, and Maggie flattened her hands along her biceps. So the freezing limbs weren’t a success. She’d hoped Dean would offer her some of his clothes to wear and to warm her up. If that was the goal, Maggie probably should have clued him in to bring extra layers. Like Cal, Dean only wore a long-sleeved shirt and shorts.
Maggie watched as Cal lined up his shot, marveling at how he could go from complete buffoonery to complete concentration in under a minute. Next to her, Mac pulled his sweater over his head and held it in front of her, blocking her view of Cal and Dean as they argued about what Cal should have done differently to have a better shot. The sweater was a thick knit in navy blue with wide stripes of red, yellow, and hunter green. It was so colorful, and so unlike Mac’s normal, dark knits, that Maggie froze with it inches from her face.
“Take it,” Mac said, his voice a low growl much closer than she’d realized.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Mac growled.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re basically one full moon away from being a werewolf?”
“What?” Mac asked, frowning down at her, with his dark eyes and dark hair and darker scowl.
“With the growling, and the frowning, and the hair.” Maggie motioned towards his beard.
Mac ignored her.
“You’re freezing. The amount of goosebumps you have is alarming. Your body is almost convulsing as you try to hold in your shivers, and your lips are turning blue.”
“They are not turning blue,” Maggie turned to face Mac. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her lips parted.
Maggie stared up into Mac’s eyes, his sweater between them. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her mouth, and even Maggie recognized the flash of heat in the dark depths. That stubborn muscle in his jaw ticked and his brows pinched so close together than they were almost a single unibrow. Maggie had the intense urge to run her fingers along the thick hairs there, and then to move her hand down to his beard. He stood close enough that Maggie could see a faint tinge of pink cross his cheeks. Was Mac blushing? He shifted restlessly from foot to foot and held the sweater closer to Maggie with a little shake.