Ray Wilson only cared about one thing for most of his life -- golf and being the best golfer in the world. He sacrificed everything to be an elite athlete, including personal relationships, until he turned forty and his life changed drastically. A chronic back injury forced him into retirement, and the loss of his sister made him the guardian to his young niece, Chloe. Three years later, Ray is completely removed from the sport he once loved so much, entirely focused on his role as Chloe’s adopted father and struggling with his limited mobility.
Until a call from an old friend changes his life once again. A talented young player, Jimmy Hart, needs Ray’s help with a once in a lifetime opportunity to join the professional golf tour. Ray is familiar with the younger man. Three years ago, they shared a flirtation but Ray never thought more could come from it. Jimmy is everything Ray is not -- young and healthy, single and free, beautiful and talented and Ray definitely has more than a professional interest. But does the handsome young player see Ray as more than just a mentor?
Jimmy shrugged. “Just trying to make it, you know? Hard not to get discouraged. Like, I know I have to pay my dues, but you had already won a major by the time you were twenty-five, and I’m going to be lucky if I even get on the tour.”
“Got a shot, though, at the Red Umbrella Open.”
“Yeah, yeah. Could be my big break.” He laughed and held his hand up. “Look, I’m so nervous I’m shaking.”
“Nothing to be nervous about. It’s just a round of golf, right?”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Right,” Ray agreed.
There wasn’t any reason to be nervous, except Ray’s guts were churning and his palms were sweaty. It was just a round of golf with a man who was probably twenty years younger than him and was in his physical prime and was absolutely gorgeous and about to play in a professional tournament, and Ray was so rusty he was surprised he didn’t creak when he walked. God, he was going to fuck humiliate himself out there, and Jimmy was trying to sell it like he was the nervous one? He was really, really regretting not getting there early enough to hit a bucket or two on the range.
“We walking?” Jimmy asked as they neared the club house.
“Fuck no. I’m never walking eighteen again. You can if you want to, I guess.”
Jimmy laughed. “No, I’m happy to ride around with you.”
Ray realized the error of his ways about three seconds after they settled into the cart. For one thing, Jimmy’s large shoulder kept brushing against his while he drove out to the first hole. He could have survived the incidental contact if not for the fact that he was close enough to smell Jimmy, and he smelled incredible. There was a soft, warm hint of his laundry softener, or maybe his dryer sheets, and overlaying that was something citrusy and spicy at the same time. Like oranges and cinnamon. He smelled as lovely and inviting as he looked, and this close, he looked even better. Ray wanted to touch his arm and see if his skin was as supple as it looked. He wanted to kiss his full, pink lips. He wanted --
Ray’s grip tightened on the wheel and he pushed all of that out of his head. He would think about it later. Now wasn’t the time to daydream about kissing this handsome young man’s beautiful smile. Now was the time to concentrate on the fact that other than a few half-hearted visits to the driving range, he hadn’t played golf at all since he retired and he probably had no business being out there and he was about to make a colossal fucking fool out of himself. Which maybe wasn’t so bad. Humiliation was usually a pretty effective boner-killer for him, and watching Jimmy stand up from the cart and stretch his lean body definitely was making something stir in his pants.
“You want to flip for it?” Jimmy asked as he took the cover off his driver.
“Go on.”
Jimmy flashed him a cheeky grin and then strolled over to the tee box. It was already getting hot, the sun alone in the sky without a cloud in sight, and Ray’s back and neck might be ready for the garbage pile but his eyes were just fine. He could see the drops of sweat on the back of Jimmy’s neck as he looked down the green, and then he balanced the ball on the tee and settled into position. The muscles in his arms flexed, and Ray remembered a time -- way back when he was a kid -- when a man didn’t need to spend hours every day in the gym in order to play golf. But Jimmy’s generation grew up watching the generation after Tiger Woods, and now they would be horrified at the suggestion of anything less than peak physical dominance.
Jimmy’s clothes were tailored and fit his form perfectly, but all that did was make Ray intensely aware of the fact that he would look absolutely fucking incredible without his clothes.
Christ, what was he even doing out there? How was he ever going to help Jimmy with his game if he couldn’t even concentrate long enough to watch his drive?
