Searching for Perfect

nine

I HATE MALLS.”

Kennedy glanced over. Nate was definitely grouchy. Why were men never pumped to get new clothes and a sizzling look? Maybe it was some type of gene the male population lacked. She felt truly sorry for them all. “Cheer up. We have a game plan, and I’m not dragging you in and out of a million stores. We need to hit the eye place first.”

She walked with purpose into the vision center and spoke to the woman at the front desk. “Dr. Murphy is just running a little late. Can you take a seat?”

“Sure.” She led Nate to the waiting area, but he didn’t sit. Just paced back and forth. “Geez, a bit over the caffeine limit today?”

“I don’t like eye doctors.”

She laughed, then realized he was dead serious. A panicked gleam lit his eyes, barely visible from behind his thick frames. “She’s not going to hurt you. I just want to make sure she fits the contact lenses correctly.”

“No contacts.”

She studied him. The stubble sculpted his jaw and lined his upper lip, giving him an edge. His brows were now perfectly separated, and the slight wave in his hair set off the hint of blond, warming his skin. But her pièce de résistance would be the glasses, and she needed to address his concerns. “Why not?”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t like them.”

She remained patient. “Why?”

He leaned in and hissed out the words. “I don’t like anything in my eye, okay? I am not sticking my finger at my eyeball. Forget it. Let’s just get out of here.”

She bit back her smile. “I hear you. Everyone has something—mine happens to be the GYN. I see stirrups and shudder.”

“TMI, Ken.”

She laughed. “Sorry. Look, just go through the exam and we’ll talk. I don’t want to make you do something you hate, but the types they have nowadays are really different. Will you promise to try? If you hate it, we’ll get you new frames and forget it.”

He let out an aggravated breath. “Fine. But I won’t like it.”

“Nate Dunkle?”

He shot her a glare and followed the doctor into her office. The exam was short, and they were set up at the counter to try some contacts. A pretty woman in a white coat lined up some supplies. Her eyes were a startling blue green that contrasted dramatically with her black hair. She introduced herself as Tracey and went into her spiel about the way to wear contacts, the kind the doctor recommended, and how to maneuver them.

“What are the statistics on eye damage from contact lenses?” Nate asked.

“Umm, I’m not sure, but as long as you follow the instructions for care, it’s pretty low.”

“How low?”

Kennedy slid her hand over the counter and squeezed his hand. Hard. “Nate, most of the population wears them. Give it a try.”

Tracey seemed to sense his fear and smiled brightly. “You’ll look amazing. Your current frames are a bit outdated.”

“How many instances have occurred with the lenses scratching a person’s cornea and causing blindness?”

Tracey blinked. “Umm, I’m sure I can find out for you if I Google it.”

Kennedy squeezed again. “Just try it. Now.”

He muttered something under his breath and took the lens. Tracey guided him through the procedure, until both were safely in his eyes. He blinked madly and stared into the mirror. “How do they feel? They look amazing,” Tracey said.

It took a while for him to answer. “Not bad. Actually, I can’t even feel them.”

The assistant lit up. “See, I told you. Why don’t you wear these for the day, and if they work, we’ll order a three-month supply.”

He kept staring in the mirror as if fascinated by the technology. “Damn, everything’s so clear. I can see better than with glasses.”

Tracey nodded with enthusiasm. “The frames actually limit your line of vision. I’m so happy you like them. You look amazing.”

Kennedy stifled her giggle. The woman seemed to know only that one word—amazing. But what the hell. She seemed enchanted by Nate. Another good opportunity to see if he’d learned a few lessons. “Doesn’t he?” she cooed. “Wait till the females get a look at you.”

Tracey looked confused. “You’re not married?”

“No, Nate’s free and single.”

Tracey sharpened her gaze. Took in his hair, face, and new eyes. Kennedy noticed she winced at his outfit but was able to overlook it for now. “How wonderful. Well, Nate, I’d be glad to give you my number and you can call me anytime with your questions.”

He was so intrigued with his reflection, he didn’t answer. Kennedy nudged him again. Harder. “Oh! Yes, sounds good. I guess they make color contacts, too. I like the ones you’re wearing.”

Tracey shook her head. “Oh, I’m not wearing contacts; this is my real eye color.”

“You have beautiful eyes,” Kennedy offered.

“No, they’re contacts. I can see the lines around her pupil. Her real eye color is brown.”

Tracey stopped smiling. “You must be mistaken.”

Uh. Oh.

“No, I’m not. Just like your hair, it’s obviously not black since I can see the roots coming in. How come you changed it? I like brown hair with brown eyes.”

Tracey froze. Her voice dripped icicles. “I’ll write up your bill, Mr. Dunkle. If you have a problem, you can call the customer care center.” She stalked away, hair swishing, and Kennedy dropped her face into her hands and groaned.

“What? What’d I say?”

Kennedy wondered if another dog collar session with higher electrical shock capacity would make a difference. “You broke the cardinal rule again. Again. I thought you read Cosmo!”

“I do. I never said a word about her body. Or her weight, or age. I gave her a compliment.”

She lowered her voice to a hiss. “Some backhanded compliment. You mentioned her roots. And called her a liar. Yeah, that’ll get you to the first date.”

His mind clicked for a few moments. Finally, he groaned. “Crap, I did. Sorry, I was distracted by being able to see so clearly. It’s intriguing how sharp the world looks.”

“Forget it. Let’s get out of here and get you some new clothes.”

She averted the stores with loud rap music and teen clothes, and started in J.Crew. She wove in and out of the Saturday crowds with the ease of an expert. He stumbled behind her, trying to keep up, muttering “Excuse me” to a bunch of people before reaching their destination. The buzz of adrenaline lit up her blood, and she needed to breathe deeply to remain calm. God, she loved shopping. Everything about it revved her up. The limitless possibilities of sales, new looks, confidence, and hope. And shoes. Oh, my, the shoes . . .

“Ken?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared. You have a weird look on your face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wait here.” She hit the register and came back with measuring tape. “I need to confirm your sizes. Stick your arms out to the side and hold still.”

He regarded her as if she had asked him to strip naked and dance on the corner of Times Square. “I’ll tell you my sizes.”

Kennedy wielded the tape as a weapon. “I already know you wear the wrong size. Your pants are too big for you.”

“I beg your pardon.”

She tamped down another laugh. He was so damn funny in his own way. “Not around the crotch. The waist.” The words shot out of her mouth, and automatically her gaze lowered. She stopped laughing.

Suddenly, an image of what he would look like naked clouded her vision. Back off, girlfriend. Fantasizing about her rocket scientist was off limits. “Arms out.”

This time, he obeyed. And the whole time, his gaze burned into her. Ate her up. And licked her clean. Her fingers trembled slightly as she wrapped the tape around his waist. His distinct scent hit her nostrils, and she fought the urge to bury her face into his chest and breathe in deep. His muscles jumped under her touch, and stiffened. Kennedy tried to breathe and stay calm. What was going on? She’d never been attracted to a client this intensely—let alone this type of man—in her life. “Thirty.” Her voice came out husky. She eased her way up.

How had she ever thought he wasn’t toned? It must have been the ill-fitting clothes. His actual chest was quite broad and had a delicious hardness underneath the cotton fabric that she itched to explore. What type of lover would he be? All focused and serious? By the book? Or so intent on her pleasure nothing else would matter?

A shudder wracked her spine. “Forty,” she squeaked out.

He stared at her, unblinking, a flare of pure male lust gleaming from his greenish eyes. “Must be all that Zumba working for me.”

Ken bore down and slid the tape up and around his neck. Swallowing hard, she managed to touch the two ends together. Then looked up.

His lips were a woman’s dream. Full, sculpted, with that sexy stubble wrapping them around like a Christmas gift all for her. His features boasted new definition, now that the bulky frames were gone. Sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw gave him a hint of the badass type she’d always been weak for. His shoulders and biceps suddenly seemed massive and meaty, with enough power to lift her and hold her against the wall while he pounded inside her and . . .

Oh, God, she had to move on or she was going to lose it.

“We’re done.” She dropped the tape and scurried back. But his gaze refused to release her, and she waited for him to say something, anything to break the ratcheting sexual tension zinging her like Kate’s touch.

“I don’t think so.” A smile touched his lips. “Not yet.”

This was no timid, nerdy rocket scientist. This was all testosterone and hear me roar male ready to claim a woman. Last week, he’d surrendered and walked away, leaving her alone, frustrated, and sad but knowing she made the right decision. They could never be a couple. Yet here he was, confidence restored, giving her that yummy look like she was a lollipop he was dying to get his mouth on. He wasn’t as meek as she originally thought.

She chose to ignore his words and hope things would return to normal. “Be right back.”

She took a few deep breaths at the register and calmed her racing heart. Time to refocus her intentions and think about his future wife. Who was not her. Kennedy returned with a battle plan, in her mind and heart. No more episodes. They couldn’t possibly lead to anything good.

“Let me give you the ground rules. I’ll hand off the clothes, and when we have enough, we’ll go to the dressing room. No questions, whines, or protests. You try everything on, and if you hate it, we’ll discuss.”

“What about—”

“No questions. Let’s begin.”

She dove for the first rack. Her fingers flew over the hangers, pulling, testing, assessing. She talked to herself under her breath, completely in the zone, and shoved items into Nate’s hands in an endless motion.

“That shirt’s expensive!” Nate tried to show her the price tag, but she ignored it, refusing to break rhythm. “I could get this at Target for half the price.”

“Do you make six figures?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can buy this shirt.”

“But—”

“No talking.”

Waves of frustration beat from him and attacked her, which she resolutely ignored. They moved from casual to dressy, until colors and patterns and textures surrounded her in a cushy glow that gave her a high reminiscent of smoking the joint with Kate and Arilyn. Finally, she could barely see his face peeking over the mound of clothes. “Let’s take a break.”

“You’re certifiable. Think of the starving children in Africa. The factory workers in China. The massive layoffs in our own country.”

She quirked a brow. “The economy is in desperate need of Americans spending money on products and services. I’m just trying to fulfill my patriotic duty here. Follow me to the dressing room.” Kennedy set him up in the front corner and took a seat on the bench right out front. “I want to see everything. Go in exact order, since the pants I picked out work with the shirts. I hung them exactly as they should be tried on.”

“These jeans are worth more than my car!”

“Then you need to upgrade your vehicle. You’re being dramatic—the Tesla is much more than those jeans. Close the door, Nate.”

He shot her a look and closed the door. Kennedy stifled a laugh. It took him a while before he finally shuffled out. Pissed off, he stood in front of the mirror with a sulky expression that rivaled her signature pout. Her gaze took in the total transformation she had been waiting for.

He was hot.

The dark denim cupped his ass like an adoring lover. He was slim hipped, and though not overwhelmingly tall, his stance was powerful. He didn’t slouch or duck his head. He stood in front of the mirror like he owned it. That mysterious male sexuality vibe was hard to teach, and the man actually had the quality all along. It was just covered up by bad clothes and glasses.

The black button-down shirt was fitted, with embroidery down the front and large cuffs. His chest and shoulders filled out the lines nicely, begging a woman to flick open a button or two to see what lay beneath.

Oh, yeah.

Nate Ellison Raymond Dunkle had arrived.

“I’ve never worn stuff like this before. Feels a little weird. Do I look like an idiot?”

“No. You look amazing.” He glared at her in the mirror for using Tracey’s word. “Are you comfortable in this type of outfit?”

“I guess.” He pulled at the cuffs and turned to the side. “Aren’t the jeans too tight?”

She grinned. “No.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hmm, Connor said I had a wimpy ass and to hide it in bigger clothes.”

“Connor was wrong.”

He swung around at her softly spoken words. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Speaking of your brother, I did want to discuss a possibility with you.” Her approach had to be flawless or he’d get defensive. “I know you’ve been living together for a while, and I think it’s great. I always wished I had a sister. But I also know how a roommate can affect a new romantic relationship. You want to find your wife. She wants to know you’re serious about a long-term commitment. If she gets the idea you like to hang in a bachelor pad with your older brother, she may get spooked.”

Nate nodded. “What do you suggest I do?”

“My friend Genevieve has a lovely bungalow in Verily. Rent’s pretty cheap. She just moved in with her fiancé but doesn’t want to sell it at this point. She said she’d be willing to allow Connor to move in.”

Ken held her breath. He kept still, his brain obviously shifting through her scenario. She imagined him probing the weaknesses, the assets and liabilities, and the proper solution. He shook his head. “No, wouldn’t work. Connor would hate Verily. He’s in construction, and the job site is close to our apartment. He goes to the bar down the street every Friday and Saturday night. He’s gotten into a routine, and he’s happy. That’s why I’m having a hard time kicking him out.”

Ah, so he did want Connor to leave. That helped her overall strategy. “Understood. What if you moved to Verily?”

His gaze shot to hers. “Near you?”

She nodded. “Most of the mixers I set up for clients are in the area. It’s not that much further for you to commute. And you’ll have the privacy you need to begin a long-term relationship.”

He studied her face for a while. Kennedy tried not to shift on the bench. Damn, his attention was like a laser pointer, leaving her nowhere to hide. “Okay.”

“Huh?”

He grinned. “I’m in. Thank you for the offer.”

“You’re welcome.” Their connection lit, caught fire, and sizzled. Why was his directness becoming so damn sexy? “Now try on the next outfit.”

They rang up the purchases and hit Brooks Brothers. The stylist measured him and confirmed his sizes, then set him up with a variety of suits. He grumbled nonstop. “I don’t need suits, Ken. I wear a lab coat at the office, and I tend to drop things during meals.”

“Every man needs two designer suits in his closet.”

“I’m not touching pink. Connor will never let me hear the end of it.”

“I can live with that.” She nodded at the salesman, who looked disappointed but picked out a bright red tie to match the charcoal classic three-button.

“I like the double-breasted. They wear those in the mob movies.”

She rolled her eyes and waved it away. The salesman loudly agreed and put it back on the rack. “No double-breasted. It will swallow you up. You’ll do better with the European cut.”

“Is this my body or not?”

“I know how to dress it better.”

The salesman laughed. “How long have you guys been married?”

She froze. Looked up. His gaze took, held, and silenced her. “Not long enough,” he answered.

The salesman smiled. “That’s nice. Trust your wife. Let’s try the navy blue.”

Speech still eluded her as Nate ducked into the dressing room. A few moments later, he exited and stood on the pedestal in front of the three full-length mirrors. “What do you think?”

Her girly parts flamed to life and begged for relief.

Nate Dunkle was gorgeous.

The dark blue pinstripe was a lean cut and accented the strength and grace of his body. The bright red tie gave him a flash of style, and the crisp white shirt was unmarred and showed off the toastiness to his now normal skin tone. He was pure deliciousness wrapped up for one lucky woman she was about to introduce him to.

“Perfect. You look . . . perfect.”

The salesman fussed with the fabric and beamed in the mirror. Nate stared at his reflection and caught her gaze in the mirror.

“We’ll take it,” he said.

He stepped off and walked back to the dressing room, closing the door behind him. She let out a shaky breath and clenched her hands into tight fists. The transformation was complete. He was ready to meet the woman of his dreams.

She ignored the strange bolt of pain that pierced her heart and chalked it up to indigestion. Nate was right. Too many salads.

She forced him into the shoe store, where she bought three pairs for him, and one for her. He lifted the bags and groaned. “I’m starving. And exhausted. My arms hurt from all the packages. Can we eat now?”

Kennedy let out a laugh. “You have no stamina, golf boy. Women do this for hours without a break or a sip of water.”

“I surrender. How about pizza?”

“How about the deli? I can get something healthy.”

“Done.” They ordered, found a table in the food court, and began to eat. Nate spread out a bunch of napkins first and lined the white Formica tabletop before resting his elbows on the edge. A group of teens lingered in the corner, tattoos, heavy makeup, and various piercings pegging them as the rebels. Or maybe that was the cool group now. Thank God, she was out of school. “Did you live at the mall when you were in high school?” Nate asked, taking a bite of his roast beef sandwich.

She shrugged and picked at her perfectly rolled oven-roasted turkey breast. She was so sick of lean meat. She eyed Nate’s club roll with longing. Maybe a pickle would help liven up her taste buds. “Didn’t most kids?”

“Nah. I went once on a Friday night and tried to fit in. Got beat up in the parking lot. Then they swiped my video game I’d saved months for.”

Kennedy looked up. He told the tale with no emotion, as if reciting a narrative from a book, but something deep inside her lunged up from the darkness and clawed for the light. “Were you bullied in school?”

“Yep.” He bit into a potato chip. “Can’t blame them. I’d skipped a grade, so I was younger and much smaller than the majority. The teachers loved me and always set me up as an example to the class. And I was a walking social disaster. If it hadn’t been for Connor’s protection, something bad could have happened. Kids are vicious.”

Hey, fat girl. You be nice to us, and we’ll be nice to you. Got it?

The pickle fell from her fingers. She wiped her clammy hands on her designer jeans. “Yeah.”

He pointed to her half-eaten turkey. “How can you enjoy that without a roll? Here, take the rest of mine. And some chips.” He pushed them over to her. They sat in her line of sight, taunting, reminding her again and again if she didn’t stay skinny, people wouldn’t love her. Reminding her of all the times she looked in the mirror and hated who stared back at her. Trapped in a body she despised and a mind that screamed for help.

The anger flooded past the dam and snapped her chin up. “Stop pushing your crappy food on me,” she hissed. “Just because you can eat anything doesn’t mean the rest of us can.”

His brows lowered in a frown. “I don’t understand. You looked like you wanted them. It won’t hurt you to have a few bad things, Ken. Your body is perfect.”

“I’m not perfect!” she ripped out. “You want to know what I was doing while kids hung out at the mall? I stayed home with a bunch of pizzas, soda, chips, and anything else I could fit in my mouth. A drive-through to me meant two Big Macs, super-size fries, and a shake. And I still wanted more. I couldn’t shop at the mall because I needed a special fat person’s store since regular sizes never fit. I was tripped, tortured, abused, and reminded every fucking day that I was ugly. That I was fat.” Her hands shook with rage, but the words spewed out of her mouth like vomit, dark and ugly. “I conquered that problem pretty fast. Decided to stop eating. I starved off forty pounds and then I had lots of friends. Boys wanted me. Everything was great. Until I realized I had dropped so much weight my ribs showed, and my period stopped, and I was disappearing just like I always wished.” Completely spent from her emotional tirade, she blinked furiously to keep her eyes dry. “It took me a long time to climb out of the pit. I went to therapy, learned how to eat and work out, for balance. Now, I can look in a mirror again. Remind myself I’m a successful, healthy woman. But I haven’t forgotten. Sometimes food drags me back into hell. And I sure as hell am not perfect.”

The full realization of what she had just done hit her like a karate kick to the head. My God, what had she told him? She had just spilled the venom in her soul to her client in the fast-food court. How could he continue working with her? How could he ever respect her for such an admission? Now he knew she was a complete fake—a mirage in the world of the flawless and fabulous. Humiliation choked her, but she raised her head and looked him dead in the eye.

Pride.

Those deep moss green eyes were filled with a fierceness that froze her in place. He reached across the table and snagged her hand. Warm, strong fingers interlaced with hers in a sign of friendship. Support. And something else. Something deep and beautiful and so very fragile that she sucked in her breath, afraid it would disappear like a curl of smoke.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I see you light up when you let yourself go a bit and think you deserve to be happy. But I get it.” He leaned in. “I know because I’ve been there. You fought, survived, and flourished. You gave the world a big fuck-you and didn’t let them break who you were. That’s perfection, Kennedy. Sheer perfection.”

She blinked, unable to pull her gaze from his. The touch of his skin on hers made her crave more. His thumb rubbed the sensitive pulse point on her wrist, massaging, pressing. Her nails dug gently into his palm, and a low sound came from her throat, a slight whimper of need and want she’d never experienced before. It took all her willpower not to get up, cross over to him, and slide into his lap. Drag his mouth to hers and finally take what she wanted, his taste and essence on her tongue. Filling her body.

A loud clatter of a tray dropping to the floor broke the spell.

She jerked back and pulled her fingers from his. Kennedy spent the next few minutes organizing her trash and recapping her water bottle. She dumped the garbage. He never moved, just sat and stared at her, as if not knowing what to say. An awkward silence dropped between them.

“I think we can call this a successful trip,” she said lightly. “Ready to go?”

“Not yet.” His eyes gleamed with purpose. “Let’s dump the bags in the car first.”

“Then what?”

He smiled slowly. “Then it’s my turn to collect on my favor.”

NATE GUIDED HER INTO the computer simulator and prayed for focus. As much as he hated malls, this one boasted a huge indoor playground that included a roller coaster, video games, bowling alley, and an updated golf simulator. He rarely used them anymore, but he didn’t want to drag Kennedy onto a course without teaching her the basics first and getting an idea of her swing.

Usually golf calmed his mind when he was feeling overstimulated, and he desperately needed a distraction. So did Kennedy. The humiliation on her face after her confession shredded his control, until he ached to hold her in his arms and make her feel safe. Her strength and sheer force of will took his breath away, but her truth and vulnerability destroyed him.

He was crazy about her.

A loud sigh drifted toward his ears. She wiggled her ass and shifted on her heeled black sandals. Her toenails were scarlet red, and strings of rhinestones were encased across her foot. The famous toe ring shone brightly and dared him to do something naughty. “Do we really have to do this now? It’s too crowded.”

He pushed her gently to the front of the line. “I need to know your natural swing ability so I can help you develop when we get on the course. It’ll give you great feedback.”

“Sounds like work, not fun. Why are you intent on torturing me with something I hate?”

He grinned at her playfully. “Payback’s a bitch.”

They went into the room. She took in the large screen on the far wall, the row of clubs hung to the side, and the computer set up in front. “Oh, yay. A dark, airless room so I can swing a ball at a fake movie screen. Sign me up.”

He ignored her and picked a beginner’s course from the screen. “What have you told me throughout our sessions? Have an open mind. Trust you. Be willing to stretch boundaries.”

She snorted. “Fine. What does this thing do anyway?”

“When golfers want to analyze and fine-tune their swing, they can get feedback from the computer. It calculates speed, angle, distance, spin, trajectory, et cetera. There are radar and light sensors around the ball and screen.”

“Hmm, more advanced than a Wii, huh?”

“Yes.” He tried a few clubs, picked one, and handed it to her. “We’ll use this. Get a feel for it first and take a practice swing.”

She grasped the club in her hands, lifted it back, and swung through. “There. Can I do it for real now?”

“No. I need to show you the proper stance and hold. Come here.”

She stepped over, and he positioned himself behind her. Dragging her tight against him, he brought his arms around her waist and wrapped his fingers over hers. Her body stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to show you the correct way to tee off.” He bit back a groan when she did another wiggle. The lush curve of her rear pressed against his dick. Her scent swarmed him, a touch of tangerine and sandalwood that made his mouth water. The silk of her hair brushed his cheek. Nate yanked his mind off his body and ran through mathematical sequences until he was able to refocus. “Hands placed over each other. Index fingers pointing down. Choke up on your grip.”

He adjusted, then drew her arms back behind her head. “This feels awkward,” Kate remarked.

“It should at first. This is about where you want to stop. Now, shift your hips back. Your power is going to come from the hips and legs.” Her denim-clad thighs slid past his and ripped a groan from his lips.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Now you need a complete follow-through. Keep your eyes on the ball and swing.” She did. “You didn’t keep your eye on the ball.”

“Yes, I did!”

“No, you thought you did. That gets beginners all the time. What’s the best thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“What?”

He let out an impatient breath. “An image. A photo. What was the most intriguing image you set eyes on, where you felt like you couldn’t look away?”

Her cheeks turned pink. “My cousin showed me a copy of Playgirl. I had never seen a naked man before.”

Nate stabbed a finger toward the floor. “That ball is your first naked man. Got it?”

She giggled. “Don’t you mean balls?”

“Concentrate.”

“Sorry.”

“Now, do it again.” He made her practice a few times until he was satisfied she got her basic grip, stance, and gaze on the ball. “Good. Let’s try it now with the simulator. Move up to the swing pad and get ready.”

“That grassy thing there?”

“Yes. Relax, breathe, and concentrate on the ball.”

She mumbled something under her breath but obeyed. She wriggled her hips, adjusted her grip, and gazed at the ball. He wondered what man she was fantasizing about naked. The idea annoyed the crap out of him, so he pushed the thought aside.

She swung.

The ball hit the screen with good trajectory. She peered at the screen while the ball launched toward the fairway, hooking a bit left, but sailing nicely to land for perfect setup to the green. She frowned. “Is that good? How come it’s so far away from the hole?”

“That’s excellent for a first swing. Okay, you hook left so we need to straighten that out. Speed is a bit low. Trajectory decent. Now you’re going to set up the shot to get onto the green.” He took her through the steps, readjusting her stance and swing, then stepped back.

Gaze glued to the imaginary naked man, she nibbled at her lower lip, then drew back. And swung.

The ball landed on the green a few inches from the hole. “Oh, yay! That’s good, right? Now I just have to push it in the hole.”

“Putt. Huh, you corrected the hook, even though there was a dog leg on this course.”

“Dog what?”

“Dog leg is a hole that’s not straight. I haven’t seen a beginner able to accomplish that. Can you putt?”

She stuck out her chin. “Of course. I like miniature golf. It’s fun to try and get through the windmills and water fountains.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a putter from the shelf. “Here, try this one.”

She set herself up and sunk it in one perfect putt. “Yay, did I win?”

“There’s no winning here. It’s a game of how many strokes it takes to get your ball in the hole. Your statistics are impressive. Let’s do the next one.”

They completed the nine-hole course. Nate computed her numbers and watched them increase in quality with every hole. He went to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, then remembered he was wearing contacts. Odd. It was almost as if she had a natural swing. Which was impossible, of course. Maybe a bit of beginner’s luck? But the computer didn’t lie.

“Nate? Can we go now?”

“In a minute.” The club face dimensions were a gift most golfers prayed for and never got. Her grip was still awful. But what would she be like when she increased her strength and practiced more? Would she get even better, or worse? He reached for his pencil to do some quick calculations, but the pocket protector was gone.

“Nate, I’m done with golf. I want to go.”

He came out of his fog. “Sure. Listen, any chance you can take off Wednesday morning? Meet me at the golf course? I really want to get you on a real green.”

She narrowed her gaze with suspicion. “How many more sessions do I have to complete before our favor is officially over?”

“Three times on the course. I can drag you out on a weekend morning if that works better.”

“Wednesday’s fine. I can rearrange my schedule.”

“Excellent.”

“Do you have decent golf clothes?” she asked. “We forgot to pick anything up today.”

“Actually, my golf wardrobe is highly rated and all designer.”

She perked up. “Cool. I always wanted to wear this tennis dress that’s been hanging in my closet.”

He followed her out and tried not to groan. Great. Watching her short skirt flip up when she bent over and took a swing would likely kill him. Kennedy was with him to find his soul-mate. Crushing on her wouldn’t help either of them. They shared a similar past and understood one another on a different level. And he wanted to sleep with her.

Bad.

That didn’t mean they’d make a good couple or that she was interested in something more. Yes, he swore a few times she had also sensed the connection and wanted to kiss him back. But it quickly disappeared, and Kennedy wasn’t the type to follow impulse if it affected business. He needed to concentrate on the original plan to find himself a suitable woman. One who wanted to settle down, share his life, and love him as he was—geekiness and all. One who would stay and not be tempted by the next hot guy who came along.

“You okay?” she asked.

He forced a smile. “Yes. Actually, I’m amazing.”

Her laughter soothed his soul as they walked out.

“YOU’RE MOVING OUT?”

Nate winced and kept his head down, taping down the box and clearly marking it in black marker. “I told you yesterday. I managed to get a small rental in Verily, near Kinnections. I think we both need some private space.”

“I don’t mind you bringing women home, man.” Connor paced through the cluttered room. “What do you expect me to do? I can’t afford this rent on my own.”

“No worries, I’ll take care of it. It’s not fair I sprung this on you last minute.”

“I can pay my way.”

The resentment in his brother’s tone made Nate look up. “I know you can. This isn’t about you. I just don’t want my future wife to think I’m a partyer who likes hanging with his brother and getting drunk.”

“Yeah, I did teach you well. Where are your glasses? You’re blind without them.”

“I’m wearing contacts.”

His brother gasped. “You put something in your eye? Holy shit, you’re going hard core on this makeover thing. Does it bother your eyeball?”

Nate tried not to squirm at the thought. Damn older siblings. “No. And don’t talk about it, or I’ll get weirded out. I don’t feel a thing.”

“Fine. Listen, Ned—”

“Nate.”

“Sorry. I’m worried about you. I think you’re focusing too hard on this one-woman thing and it’s gonna blow up in your face. Why don’t you play it cool for a while? Sleep around a bit. I bet you can get some serious play with this new look you got going for you.”

He studied his brother. Usually Connor reflected an easygoing, uncomplicated guy who wanted nothing more than to get laid. But today, underneath the words, something darker loomed. He simply looked unhappy. Nate gentled his voice. “Aren’t you tired of just getting laid? Don’t you want more from your life? More of . . . anything?”

His brother jerked back. “Who’d want more than a good piece of ass?”

“Not all women are like Mom.”

Connor stopped pacing. His cheeks grew ruddy. “Don’t ever talk about Mom. You don’t know what happened.”

“She left us. Doesn’t mean they all will.”

The anger deflated but left behind only a shadow of the brother he knew. What was going on? Flat hazel eyes gazed back at him without expression. “Yeah. They will.”

“Forget it.” Nate grabbed the last box and unrolled the tape. He knew from experience that Connor was well versed on the family-and-kids speech. He cited their own parents’ failings, the divorce statistics, and the innate biological drive of the male species to stray. Depressing. His brother was right on most counts. Love and marriage made no logical sense if approached analytically; the failure rate way outran the successes. Yet, here he was, a scientist who devoted his life to analytics, aching to take the leap, while Connor refused to get hurt again. “The truck’s coming this week. I left you enough groceries. You should have plenty of time to get paid from the new job.”

“Don’t need your charity, bro.”

“Not giving you any.” He laid the last box on top of the pile and wiped his brow. “You put me through school and gave me everything I needed. Let me handle the rent on this place for a while. Hell, when you get supervisor, I’m making you take me out for a steak dinner.”

Connor’s lips turned up. “Prime rib?”

“New York strip at Delmonico’s. Nothing less.”

His brother grunted. “Whatever. Wanna hang out tonight? We can go to the bar and meet Jerry, knock back a few, then catch True Blood.”

“Can’t. I’m meeting Kennedy for a session at the gym.”

“Again? What’s up with all the working out? You sure you’re not screwing her?”

He tamped down his anger at Connor’s crude words. “I’m sure. She’s just helping me find my best self. I’ll be meeting a bunch of women at a mixer next week, and she wants to be sure I’m prepared.”

“Prepared? I did that for you, man. My advice is stellar.”

“Maybe for you,” he muttered. The memory of getting shocked at the bar over and over still made him squirm. Talk about hard-core therapy. “I’m looking for more than a one-night stand. I want something real. Is that too much to ask?”

Connor turned his back. “Do whatever you want. It’s your funeral.”

The door slammed behind him.

Nate groaned. Ah, hell. He didn’t want to hurt Connor’s feelings or insult him. He just needed to be his own person and stop being his brother’s clone. Guilt ate at his gut, but soon he heard the outer door close and knew he’d left. Probably out to the local bar to drown his sorrows and talk smack about his ungrateful little brother.

Nate checked his watch. He needed to meet Kennedy for Zumba in a bit. He’d make it up to Connor later. Maybe take him out for dinner and spend some quality time with him. He tossed on sweat pants and a T-shirt and shoved his feet into sneakers. Then looked in the mirror.

Funny, he looked . . . normal. Even halfway attractive. His eyes seemed more interesting without the large frames, and the goatee that he’d despised and wanted to shave off had grown in nicely. He’d gotten in the habit of lifting some weights after Zumba while Kennedy drilled him, and the muscles he sported already seemed a bit tighter and more defined.

He was officially deemed socially acceptable. His big mixer was set up for Friday night. All three women had declared him ready to hit the next level.

Now, if he could only learn not to shove his foot in his mouth like Fred Flintstone, life would be perfect.

He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. Shame on him for wishing Kennedy Ashe would be his very own Wilma, ready to accept and love him even with all his noticeable flaws.

This wasn’t primitive times. And that cartoon got canceled a damn long time ago.

Nate ignored the ache in his heart and told himself he was looking forward to the mixer.