Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
“But not you?” Finley asked with a pout.
“Well…I…um…of course. It’s just…” Clearly, he didn’t want to dent her confidence, but he also didn’t want her to feel like a failure when she lost.
Finley tapped a finger on her lips and cocked her head to the side, studying Gabe. “Tell you what, cuz. If you beat me today, I’ll take over your stocks from your broker for two months.”
To people who didn’t know Finley, that might have seemed like a crazy reward. However, when she was ten, she’d asked me about how the stock market worked. I’d taught her the basics and explained each move I made with my portfolio. Within a few months, it was obvious she had a knack for it. I opened a kid’s trading account for her, and after a year, she’d turned the hundred dollars I started her out with into five thousand. So I upgraded her to the real thing when she was twelve.
By the time she turned eighteen last spring, she was making enough income from the interest alone that she would be able to pay for her college expenses—minus the tuition because I wouldn’t budge on paying that—without needing a job or touching her trust fund.
To my delight, she wanted to intern with the Nighthawks during college, working on analyzing team and player statistics. But I wasn’t allowed to interfere in the hiring process.
Gabe’s face lit up, but he tried to remain casual. “I don’t know…”
Finley sighed and raised an eyebrow, then filled her expression with hope as if she’d just remembered she was supposed to be playing the innocent. “Three months?”
“And what do I owe you if I win?”
She pretended to think hard, tapping her finger on her pursed lips. “Hmm…how about your 1967 Shelby Cobra 427?”
Gabe blanched, and I coughed to cover a laugh while Rhys and some of the other guys did the same. After Avery, his family, and his business, Gabe’s favorite thing was his classic car. He’d restored it himself, and before he met Avery, he’d been adamant that he wanted to be buried in it.
Finley grinned and blinked up at him, reminding me of when she was a cute little girl that we struggled to deny anything. No doubt that was her goal.
Finally, Gabe stuck his hand out. “Deal.”
“Thanks, Gabe!” Finley exclaimed as she bounced on her feet.
Gabe smiled indulgently and bent over to kiss her cheek. “Anything for you, Fin. Just don’t be mad at me when I win, okay?”
Finley’s smile turned sweet. “I could never be mad at my favorite cousin!”
“Bet you ten grand he comes in at least three strokes higher than her,” Rhys murmured as we watched Gabe ruffle her hair, making her yelp in annoyance.
“Nope,” I replied.
Rhys chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “What do you mean?”
“Gabe was so focused on Finley, he wasn’t watching you. And while you have one of the best poker faces I’ve ever seen, you didn’t bother to hide your smugness while they negotiated.” Then he winked and turned to one of the other men golfing with us and made the same bet.
“You’re on!” he agreed with a “cat ate the canary” smile.
Rhys discreetly made the same deal with several more of our party. They didn’t even think to ask each other if Rhys was making the same bet with all of them. If they had, they might have wondered why Rhys would gamble so much on Finley. I could only snicker at their gullibility.
When Finley hit her first ball, it flew down the fairway in a drive worthy of the PGA. “Damn, Fin,” Gabe breathed. “Nice shot.”
“Beginner’s luck,” she chirped with a shrug.
After she birdied—one under par—the first and second holes, Gabe began to look nervous.
By the time we arrived at the last hole, Gabe was sweating over losing his precious car to Finley. She’d stayed somewhat even with him, shocking him that she was so much better than he thought but not shattering his confidence. What fun would there be in that? She even let him get a few strokes behind her for a couple of holes. However, on the seventeenth hole, she eagled—two under par—and Gabe got a bogey—one over par—putting Finley in the lead since Gabe now had three more strokes than her.
Gabe had been throwing me suspicious glances for several holes, and the guys who were about to lose to Rhys were fidgeting nervously. “Who taught you to golf, Fin?”
“I’ve been playing since I was little. Had a few private lessons over the years.”
I couldn’t hold back my snort of amusement, and he glanced back and forth between Finley and me but didn’t say anything else. Finley had been taking private lessons for nearly five years.
Finley stepped into the tee box—she used the men’s, which made me even more fucking proud of my awesome niece. Everyone except Rhys and I gaped as they watched her swing her driver and then stared at her ball as it sailed straight down the fairway, landing on the fringe.