After I had done my nervous phone call to Camden, he swung by Uncle Jim’s and picked me up. He was out in the groves at the time, thank goodness, so I just left him a note saying I had gone out job hunting. It was kind of the truth.

Camden made no mention of the vague way things ended last night and was back to being his friendly self which made me feel like a moronic, crush-bound girl. One nice date and I’m overanalyzing shit, dissecting every word and look, trying to figure out what it really meant. He probably didn’t want to make any false promises at the end of a date and decided to take things as they came. I used to have a guy mentality like that and I wondered where it had gone. Being Ellie Watt seemed to bring about a lot of regression.

“So, are you ready to start Camden and Ellie’s Day of Fun?” he asked, taking the bucket back from me. Back in high school we used to have these days, usually on Saturdays. All the cool kids would hang out and do their parties and shit like that, so we just decided to create days where we did anything we wanted, preferably weird and random stuff like raiding thrift stores and making the other person buy an outfit of our choosing, taking his dad’s guns and shooting our failed art projects out in the desert, or pretending one of our teachers was a spy and trailing them all over town. For the year that Camden and Ellie’s Day of Fun lasted, it became our favorite day of the week. And yes, being that it was the late ‘90s, we totally ripped that phrase off from our favorite show, Friends.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I told him as we walked out of the shop and down the way to our spot. I’d been golfing a few times before, but I was terrible. People with anger management issues and impatience do not a good golfer make. I swing at the ball way before I’m ready and then I throw my club and scream. A driving range would be a lot easier since we wouldn’t be holding anyone up, but still. If I had been in charge of our day of fun, this wouldn’t have been the first choice.

He put his hand on my shoulder for a moment and gave a warm squeeze that reached all the way into my chest.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. This isn’t about getting the ball as far as it can go.”

“No?” I asked, trying to hide the disappointment in my face as he took his hand away.

He shook his head. “Nope. This is about taking control. It’s about controlling yourself, getting into that tiny moment in which you can make things happen. It’s hard to channel everything you have into Titleist, but when you do, you get…I don’t know…Zen.”

“I didn’t know you were such a golfer, Camden.”

“I’m a lot of things, but a golfer isn’t one of them,” he said with a laugh. “I just like swinging the club. When you take the pressure off and just go for it, it does wonders for your anger.”

I chewed on my lip. “You have anger? You’re like steady as a rock.”

He laughed again but it didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his hand through the sides of his hair and looked away. “I’m glad it seems that way. You kind of need to be as steady as something when you have my job.” He mimicked holding a shaking tattoo needle.

We took our spot at the range a few sections down from the other golfers like troublemakers who sat at the back of the classroom. I told him he was swinging first, and he responded by taking two cold beers out of his backpack.

“First things first,” he said, handing me a beer. “In order to get into the Zen zone, you have to be calm. Beer always helps.”

We clinked the bottles together and then quickly hid them when a curious golfer looked our way. I stepped closer to him to get out of the golfer’s range of sight, and by doing so, my head was almost at Camden’s chest. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.

Crap. I hope I was subtle about that creeper move.

Camden lowered his head and I was too afraid to look up. I could feel his lips burning just inches away from the top of my head.

I cleared my throat and spoke into his pecs. “Well now that beer is involved, it looks like this will be Camden and Ellie’s Day of Fun after all.”

“What was it before?” he murmured. His words ruffled my hair, causing the skin on my scalp to tighten pleasurably.

“Camden and Ellie’s Day of Assault with a Golf Club.”

I could feel him smile. “Once a spazz, always a spazz.”

I put my hand on his chest and pushed myself away from him, ignoring how hard it was beneath my fingers, how I could feel his heart thumping hard. I gave him a wry look and took a long sip of my drink.

“I’ll have you know I only spazz when it’s called for. And if any game calls for it, it’s golf.”

He raised his brows and said smoothly, “Well then you better drink faster.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

I was as bad as I thought I’d be. The first few swings were a little rough. I mean, I totally missed the ball. Not even close. And that’s when I could feel the waves of anger pushing up through my limbs, wanting some form of release.

I tightened the grip on the club and bit hard on my lip. I briefly shot Camden an embarrassed look and he slowly shook his head.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to be the ball or something?” I asked, trying to push the frustration away. Christ, I was a spazz, wasn’t I? I wished I could take some of the Kava pills I had in my bag without looking like a total junkie.

“Just…stop caring what I think,” he said.

I grunted and looked down at the ball, trying to line my club up properly. “I don’t care what you think.”

“You do. You’re trying to impress me.”

Okay, that did it. I faced him and leaned with one arm on the end of the club. “I am not trying to impress you.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. It was borderline smug and I wanted to wipe it off his face. “Yes you are. You don’t want to look weaker than you seem. You want to look like you’ve got everything figured out, everything under control, even your swing.”

“You don’t know me,” I told him with a surprising amount of bitterness. I turned back to the club and the ball and tried to adjust my grip. It all felt wrong. My fingers were stiff. My face was flaring up with heat. I was about to make a ridiculous swing that would have the club go flying across the range.

Then I felt his presence behind me and his arms slowly, softly, slid down on top of mine. He pressed himself to my back, not too tight, and put his lips just behind my ear. My eyes widened and I nearly let go of the club.

“I know what I know of you,” he whispered into my ear, his breath hot. “And I want to know more.”

His husky voice sent subtle shockwaves through me. I was going from angry to turned on in seconds flat, and the friction from my jeans was not helping. He let his hands wrap around the tops of mine, his massive forearms nearly rendering mine invisible. He pressed closer to me, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was as hard as stone. Fuck, he felt large. He felt good. His lips brushed the outer edge of my ear.

“Just like this,” he said softly. “Let everything go.” He started stroking the tops of my hands with his fingers, slowly, in circles. Back and forth, over every little hair. Somehow, the motion of it was extremely erotic. I couldn’t help but press my ass back into him, just an inch, and his breath hitched heavily in response. If he truly wanted me to let everything go, I’d flip him over and ride him right there on the range. Screw golf, I’d screw him instead.

“Now…” His voice trailed off and he gradually stepped back. My back felt cold without his body there. “Now swing.”

I swallowed hard and willed my legs to stop from shaking. I took in a deep breath, feeling a headiness that sank into my core, raised the club, and swung.

I hit the ball with a satisfying thwack and it sailed across the range. All right, so it didn’t go too far but it went far enough. It bounced merrily among the other balls that dotted the sea of green and came to a stop near the 70-yard line.

I looked behind me at Camden who was standing with his arms folded across his chest, grinning in approval. I did my damndest not to look at his crotch and suss out if he still had an erection. If he did, he certainly didn’t care.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he said. He held out his hand for a high-five.

I returned it, wiggling my lips. “That’s quite the technique. Do you use that on all the girls?”

His teeth were so white against his perpetually tanned skin. “Only the ones worth the effort. With everyone else I just tell them to be the ball.”

He handed me another fresh beer and then guided me by my shoulders and moved me out of the way.

“All right, now it’s my turn to impress you,” he said, picking up his club.

I stood back and watched him with a smile. I didn’t think I could be more impressed than I already was.

My drive improved after that, er, hands-on lesson, but sadly he didn’t try his technique again. I could only hope he was saving it for later, but to be honest, that thought terrified me a little. The good news was that he seemed to be able to wet my panties with nothing more than erotic hand holding, the bad news was the whole act of ripping your clothes off and jumping each other involved…ripping your clothes off.

I’m sure the average female has some aversions about being seen naked by a guy they’re into—or anyone, really. Maybe they don’t like the cellulite on their ass (somehow there’s none on mine) or their stomach pooch or they think their torso is too long or maybe their nipples are too small. You name it, everyone’s got something. But my something was impossible to hide and it always prompted a story. Every time I had sex with a guy, I had to apologize for the way my leg looked. I had to let them know that I acknowledged my deformity, that I in no way thought I was perfect.

Ironically, most men didn’t give a shit. If they saw the horrible ribbons of scars that swarmed my leg, they didn’t stare. They barely noticed. They were just staring at my tits and vagina and that was about it. If they were really nice, they’d stare at my face. But it didn’t stop me from almost having a panic attack every time I got naked. I was always waiting for that moment for some asshole guy to kick me out of bed for being a freak.

Camden knew about my scars; he always wanted to see them, but I’d never show. I didn’t want the only person who liked me to lose his desire or interest in me. I didn’t want it to put a barrier between us. It sounded silly since he was just as different as I was, but I could never forget how easy it was for him to hide— if he wanted to—and how impossible it was for me.

And now, well now he wasn’t a freak. Now he was a virile young man whose body I wanted nothing more than to run my hands over and get a firm grope in here and there. He was now that and I was still me.

After we left the driving range and headed back into town, the searing heat of the sun and the stark blue sky burning away some of my insecurities, we got started on the next portion of our Day of Fun.

He pulled the Jeep into the parking lot of one of the local thrift stores and peeked at me over his wayfarer shades.