Read Online Going Nowhere (A Romantic Comedy Novella) by Kimberly Lauren - Free Book Online Page A

was: a tall lanky man overdressed in a polo shirt and long pants. I paced casually, trying to decide if I should start playing or wait until Sam noticed me. Then I looked in Sam’s direction and, by my good luck, he was looking in mine.
    “Sam Goldblum?”
    He cracked a smile. “Hey! Don’t you work at‌—‌”
    “Yes, I’m an attorney at Goldblum, McCarthy, and Harcourt. I’m Kate Ryan.” I held out my hand. “This is such a coincidence, isn’t it?”
    “Sure is.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you the one who’s always hanging around my secretary?”
    “Um... yeah. That’s me.”
    He swung a golf club around in a circle close to the ground. “You look different, though. Did you get a nose job?”
    “No, definitely not.”
    “That’s okay, Kate. You can tell me the truth.”
    I shook my head. “Honestly, I didn’t get a nose job.”
    “A haircut?”
    “Nope.”
    “Boob job?”
    “No!”
    “No need to get worked up. I’m only asking.”
    I clenched my teeth. “I don’t know why you think I look different, but I can assure you, I haven’t changed anything.”
    “Oh, fine! If you don’t want to tell me...” Sam collected another club from the attendant. “Want to play?”
    “Sure.” This wasn’t going too badly.
    Sam handed me a golf club, then hefted his a few times as though testing the weight. “I haven’t played miniature golf since I was a kid,” he said.
    “Me, neither.” I guess it wouldn’t be cool to admit that I’d taken my neighbor and a couple of her friends less than a month ago. Professional women in their twenties didn’t play mini golf at arcade centers, did they?
    “Max was supposed to play with me, but he bailed. You know Max, right?”
    “Sure. We’ve worked on a few cases together.”
    “That’s right!” His eyes lit up. “You’re the one he wants to‌—‌”
    “I ran into him yesterday,” I said quickly, my throat becoming about the size of a drinking straw. I collected a score sheet and a tiny golf pencil then stepped up to the first hole. I placed my ball on the little indentation on the mat. “He mentioned that you guys are rooming together.”
    “That’s right,” he said. “It saves some money, but it adds a little difficulty when it comes to amorous adventures.”
    “Not if the woman invites you to her room.” I gave the ball a medium powered tap and it sailed down the narrow path into the next area.
    “Good point,” he said, carefully placing a blue golf ball on the mat. “No hole in one for you. Maybe I’ll get one.”
    “I’m sure you’re much better at putting things in holes than I am.”
    He preened. “You got that right, crab cake.”
    I watched him carefully as he took his shot. “Oh! Is that the way you’re supposed to hold the club?”
    Sam nodded confidently. “It’s all in the wrist.”
    “Wow, you’re good.”
    He lightly tapped the golf ball. It rolled up the small green hill, stopped before the crest, then rolled right back towards us and right off the course toward the rock-climbing wall.
    Scowling, Sam chased the ball through a group of giggling teenagers. Finally, he came back and wordlessly set up his second shot. “That was a test I like to do at the beginning of the game.”
    “Right.”
    “So it doesn’t count?”
    I smiled benevolently. “Of course not. I knew that was a test shot.”
    When he hit the ball for a second time, it made it over the hill. “There. You see?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    We continued to play through the course, Sam occasionally claiming all sorts of things to get out of playing fairly. Sometimes it was another test shot and therefore didn’t count. Other times, it was that his putting wrist was suffering a sudden carpal tunnel flare up. And, most memorably, there was the time he sent his ball flying into the ocean and claimed it was a pity killing for the sick dolphin he saw swim by.
    None of his excuses mattered to me. I was there to get close to him, not to beat him at