Page 68 of What We Break
Aw fuck. She's got the infection. Next thing she'll be telling me is a goose flew away with it. Only when I stop next to her and follow the line of her arm, damned if I don't spot a squirrel clutching the ball to his stomach, chittering.
"Well fuck. Let him have it." I fish another ball out of my pocket and toss it to her.
"My hero," she says, and grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me down.
The kiss is quick but it is not polite. There's tongue. There's teeth catching my bottom lip. Then she's pulling back with that grin—the wicked one, the one that makes my brain go full dial-up—and I'm just standing there with wobbly legs.
"What was that for?" I manage. Slightly dazed is an understatement. Fully rebooting is closer.
"For being prepared." She drops the ball and lines up her shot. "Also because I wanted to."
"Feel free to want to anytime."
"Noted."
"Incoming!" Tony yells, blowing past us with his putter like a man fleeing a crime scene.
"This is the weirdest sport ever," Laine says, but she's grinning.
"Wait until you see what happens at the ninth hole," I tell her.
"Why, what's at the ninth hole?"
"Water hazard. Big one."
Her eyes light up and she does a happy little hop. "Are you telling me someone's going to end up in the water?"
"Someone always ends up in the water."
"Please tell me it's going to be Tony."
"It's always Tony."
Her whole face lights up — full-wattage, kid-on-Christmas anticipation — and I sling my arm around her shoulders without thinking about it. She leans in. Tucks right against my side like a puzzle piece clicking into place, like she's always been there.
Don't think about that. Don't.
Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Tony's standing knee-deep in the pond on nine, hacking at his ball like it personally insulted his mother while Walsh holds up his phone like a referee.
"Thirty seconds!" Walsh calls.
"I can get it!" Tony yells back, takes another swing. Water goes everywhere. Ball doesn't move. Classic.
"Time!" Brennan announces.
"Fuck!" Tony sloshes toward shore, completely drenched, and Kowalski gives him a slow clap like he just watched a TED Talk on failure.
Laine's laughing so hard she can barely stand up, leaning against me for support. "This is the best day ever," she manages between giggles.
Her hair's a mess — half of it's escaped her ponytail, sticking to her flushed cheeks. Grass stains on her shirt from that kamikaze dive forthe ball rolling toward the water. Streak of dirt on her neck. Mascara slightly smudged because she laughed so hard she cried.
She's a complete disaster.
And she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I want to marry this woman.
The thought slams into me like a linebacker I didn't see coming and I actually stop breathing. Just — stop. Lungs offline. Brain short-circuiting. Marriage. We've been dating for what — a month? Six weeks? That's insane. That's clinically insane. I don't even know her middle name. Do I know her middle name? I don't think I know her middle name.
