"Happy Monday," I whispered into Tate's neck when he bear hugged me awake.

"I can't leave without kissing you bye. I'm sorry." Tate kissed me slowly, savoring it. "Okay, you can go back to sleep now. I'll see you later. Good luck on your test."

I nodded and pulled his warm pillow into me to replace his body heat.

I heard him move quietly around my room until I drifted back off to sleep, dreaming about how Tate had made love to me the night before similarly to the kiss he had just given me.

Evidently, Tate covered the spectrum when it came to his sexual personality, and it only made me fall for him even more. I got the best of every one of his moods, his multifaceted temperament.

The night before had been slow and sensual. The wonderfully tortuous kind that dissolved me into a quivering mess. Instead of being forceful and uninhibited, he'd been relatively quiet as he took his time kissing every inch of my body, mapping it out, and taking note of what made me moan, what made me gasp, what rendered me silent. He found every one of my sexual pressure points. Tate wasn't kidding about knowing my body better than I knew my own. He found spots I'd never realized could feel so good when stimulated. He wasn't hurrying me along or pushing me so that he could finish. He built my orgasms slowly, helping me ride the waves for as long as I could, longer than I ever had, because he seemed to truly enjoy making me feel good. And he made me feel good a lot—more times than I had before in one night.

When I woke three hours later, I actually wasn't dreading Monday.

I was ready for my test, thanks to the hundreds of notecards Tate had quizzed me with, and I walked out feeling confident I'd made an A.

I made a short detour afterward to visit Clark in his office.

The sports administration building was one of my favorites on campus. Glass walls, glass windows, glass upon glass, letting in the warm Florida sun and throwing the light around like a prism. The marble floors shined, the hallway carpet somehow seemed better.

I paused at Clark's transparent door. He was on the phone, but he looked up, sensing my presence, and motioned for me to give him a minute.

His office was filled with pictures of teams and championships and big sports moments spanning three decades in the wooden built-ins behind him. To the right, he had two floating shelves: the top packed with Southern Florida trophies and medals and a shelf below littered with family photos and kids' trophies. I hoped I would have an office as impressive as his one day.

He smiled at me when he hung up, so I pushed open the door. I tried to steel my nerves and muster professionalism, but he spoke first.

"Your ears must have been burning. That phone call was about you."

Dammit. Two seconds in and I already felt like a little girl. Had I made a mistake trying to stand up for myself and not let them print that photo? I didn't want to put Clark is hot water. Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut. That was always easier.

"Yes, um," I stumbled. I straightened my shoulders and pulled them back. I imagined men never felt this way in professional settings. They didn't need to straighten their body to look less small or find their voice. "I wanted to thank you."

Clark furrowed his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. I suddenly wanted this to vanish. Actually, I wanted to vanish.

"For the other night. Matt took advantage of me. Of the situation. I'm sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position." I paused. He had a mild look of pity in in his eyes. "I'm regretting now that I said anything. I should have let them run it, and it would have just gone away."

His face morphed slowly to slight surprise while I talked.

"So, thank you," I finished. "And I'm sorry. I won't do that again."

Clark sighed. "I wish I could say it was going to go away, Devin."

My throat tightened. I tried to swallow my shame as I felt my ears start to heat. Ready for whatever lecture he was about to give me to put me in my place. Could it be something worse where I lost my job? My mind was going crazy.

"Well, this went away, of course, because I have your back. But there will be hundreds more scenarios where you will be taken advantage of, where you will experience discrimination and sexism. It doesn't end here. You're about to enter professional sports; a field dominated by men since the beginning."

I nodded slowly, unable to find words. Clark sat back in his chair.

"I know you know that it won't always be an easy road. You'll be considered a token female or judged based on your looks, not for your talent, by a lot of people, even women. Some people might think you're being difficult or too emotional or handed everything on a silver platter just because you're female. But you're one of the best students I've ever had the pleasure of mentoring. Don't forget that. You deserve everything that life will offer you after college. Don't let anyone make you feel differently."

I fidgeted at his unexpected words. That had always been one of my biggest worries. People would constantly think I got where I was because of who I was. Who my father was. And if I dated a professional golfer, who my boyfriend was. People wouldn't see me for me. They'd think I was the world's biggest case of nepotism. It didn't matter how much I loved photography and golf separate from anything else. They were my things, my loves, but that wouldn't matter.

"Thank you. That means a lot."

"I mean it. So next time, don't say you're sorry unless you actually did something wrong."

"I won't," I smiled. "I take all that back."

Clark gave me an approving nod. "Good. Now, that phone call. The PGA asked me a few weeks ago if I had anyone I thought would be a good fit as a student intern for their upcoming tournament at South Pelican Country Club. They've been using local students in each city to learn and work with their photographer. Naturally, I submitted your photos, and they are interested in interviewing you."

My heart was thumping in my ears loudly, but I couldn't scream for joy because, you know, professionalism. "Thank you. I'm honored that you would even consider me."

"I believe it's down to you and one other person from University of Florida, so if you're interested they would like to meet with you on Thursday morning before you leave for Hilton Head."

"Yes, I'm interested," I said too quickly.

"Perfect, I'll set it up and let you know." He paused and gave me a long look. He knocked his knuckles against the top of his desk twice. "And before you let any thoughts get in your head that you didn't earn this on your own, I hope it's alright that I used your middle name in place of your last name."

"Of course, that's fine," I replied, shocked. I never knew he knew who my dad was. My heart was going to burst at the seams from how much appreciation I had for him in that moment.

"Besides, they probably assume you're a man with the name Devin anyway. So put together your best portfolio and wow them."

"Yes, sir."

I couldn't wipe the ridiculous smile tugging at my lips. I already had an idea swirling in my mind.

| ⛳️ |

"Why does it have to be a surprise?" Tate said for the hundredth time, scrunching up his nose slightly and pulling down one of his gray T-shirts over my head.

"You can't see it until after I present it to them Thursday morning." I hopped up on the bathroom counter, and Tate handed me my toothbrush. "I don't want to jinx it. And I need to make sure my ideas pan out first."

He rolled his eyes and kissed my nose, getting toothpaste on the end of it. It tingled the tip, making me twitch my nose.

Tate smiled, wiped my nose with his shirt, and then kissed me again on the lips. "That was the cutest nose twitch I've ever seen."

He played with my hair as we brushed our teeth together.

I loved how this had already become the norm: his place or mine. Just a simple text from him when his day was finally over: Practiced late, so I got you cheese fries. Where do you want to eat?

If it was my choice, I'd always choose his place. I liked between tucked away in his third floor tower with him. I liked being the only colorful thing in his room surrounded by monotone grays and browns. I felt like I was his.

When we crawled into bed, Tate lay flat on his back and picked me up. He positioned my stomach on top of his and grabbed each of my hands as he stretched out into a T.

"Be my weighted blanket."

I laid my head on his chest and straightened my legs down his, my feet only reaching his mid-shins.

"You're going to get the internship," Tate said into the air as he laced his fingers through mine. "You can practically see the love you put into your photos."

I grinned into his chest. Tate just understood me.

He squeezed my hands. "What?"

"Nothing," I replied, trying to keep the smile out of my voice.

"You know," Tate said. "I used to dream about playing professional golf and traveling the country with you working for the PGA. That we could be best friends past college. You'd take my pictures, and I would fill a room with all the boxes I'd have stuffed with all of your golf photographs from articles and websites and newspapers. We'd have fun exploring every city across the country together. We'd play golf together all the time. Sometimes I would allow myself to dream further—that at that point I could show you that I could make you happy, that I would never use you like that. I'd know that what I could give you was for forever. We'd be together as a family." Tate paused. He took a deep breath, lifting me with it. My heart was churning against chest. His dream was my dream. "But I knew really that my reality looked more like a nightmare, watching another pro golfer convince you of that. Watching him give you everything you'd ever dreamed of, everything that I couldn't. And that I'd lose you slowly the closer you grew to him."

The tone of his voice almost brought tears to my eyes. "You're not living in a nightmare. You're not going to lose me."

"Maybe not." Tate kissed the top of my head. "If I do, at least time will erase my nightmare. Eventually, it would become painless. Because time heals everything, right?"

I raised my head. "I'm not going to do anything that you need to be healed from."

I was confident of that, but from the look he was giving me I couldn't help but feel that he thought he might do something himself if he thought I wasn't happy or if he thought he couldn't make me happy.

"You make me happy, Tate. You are the only one who can make me happy."

"You make me happy, Devin." He smiled, drawing himself out of his mood, and rolled over on top of me. He picked up the hem of my T-shirt and buried his head and shoulders underneath it.

He ran his tongue over my nipple, making me shudder. I scraped my fingernails along the groove of his spine when he switched sides. One touch from him and I was already in frenzied and disheveled shambles. He kissed his way down my stomach as I sucked in a breath.

"And right now I'm going to make you so happy, my whole room is going to look like pink stars. No one will ever fuck you again like I do. I'll make sure of that."