Alicia whacked the ball.

The white missile whizzed through the air, landing neatly near the 300-yard marker. Dozens of its siblings littered the grassy pitch, a cemetery of small round corpses. A sharp gust jabbed at her collarbone, and she cursed, adjusting her jacket. The wind was merciless today; it howled through the driving range, shaking the towering trees.

She lined up another ball, and then hit it.

Another one.

She flexed her fingers. Her wrists were aching slightly, but she didn't mind; it was a welcome distraction from the infuriating man that kept haunting her.

Oliver.

She lined up another ball. What was it about him? The stupid git kept appearing in her thoughts like a terrible, endless re-run of the same TV show. If this went on for much longer, then Alicia would go mad. She hadn't felt this way in ages. At least, not since Greg.

And look how that turned out.

Alicia whacked the ball, hard. The wind reached an icy hand under her jacket, and she swore colorfully, fumbling for the zipper.

"You could use an indoor bay, you know."

She spun around, and then nearly dropped her club.

Antony McIntosh was leaning against the side of the golf academy, watching her with slow, golden eyes. He wasn't wearing any gloves, but his right hand was pale. Which made sense, now that she was thinking about it; hadn't he just been golfing in Florida?

Alicia paused.

Wait. Was that a stalker-y thing to know? She had been following Antony's career for as long as she could remember. Hell, for her fifteenth birthday, she had asked for a poster of his big win at Pebble Beach.

Cool, Alicia reminded herself. Act cool. And not like a deranged fan.

"I can't afford it." She put her club back. "Those things are criminally expensive. It's much cheaper to golf outdoors."

"Surely you make enough money."

She paused in stripping off her glove. "Carrying around golf clubs? Not exactly."

"You're a caddy?"

His eyebrows flew into his hairline. Alicia hoisted her clubs, torn between feeling offended and amused. She started towards the main building.

"Do I not look like a caddy?"

"You look like a professional." Antony fell into step beside her. "I've seen golfers on the circuit that would kill to swing the way that you just did."

Alicia almost collided with the door. No. Nope. He did not just say that. Okay, she was officially done being cool and aloof; there was only so much that she could take. She turned to face him, her heart racing.

"But you're Antony McIntosh."

His lips quirked. "I certainly hope so."

"You can't really mean that," she continued. "I mean, you've seen Danielle Kang play. And Brooke Henderson. And people that are incredible."

She wrenched open the door. Antony caught it with one hand, blocking her way. His golden eyes were careful. Assessing. "You really don't play golf professionally? Not even at an amateur level?"

She shook her head.

"Then you should start." He moved out of the way. "They're holding qualifiers for the Junior Ladies' Open in January, but sign-up ends this month. I could put in a good word for you if want a spot, sugarplum."

Alicia stared at him. She knew that she should say no. Competing in the Junior Ladies Open was as good as sending up a red flare with her name on it. But Antony was dangling the bait right in front of her, and she wanted it. Oh, god, did she ever.

"I'll think about it," she said slowly.

"Let's exchange numbers." Antony held out his phone. "Just in case."

Alicia took the shaking phone. Or maybe her hand was shaking; it was difficult to say. She suddenly understood why Tess's friend Rachel had chased a terrified boyband member down the street; if Antony McIntosh gave her his shoe, she would have slept with it under her pillow. Like a total creep.

"Thanks." She handed the phone back. "I appreciate it."

Antony paused. "Your name's Alicia?"

"Yes." She frowned. "Why?"

Antony chuckled. "I should have known." He shook his head, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I have a feeling that I'll be seeing you around, sugarplum."

And with that, Antony exited the building, leaving her staring after him in confusion.

"Can you believe it?" Alicia shook her head. "Antony McIntosh, Hattie! The best amateur golfer in the world offered to put in a good word for me."

She swung her legs, which dangled over the edge of the counter. In fact, between her dark plaits, juice box, and gleeful smile, Alicia was certain that she resembled a toddler hopped up on sugar. But she didn't care. Antony McIntosh. Antony sodding McIntosh.

Hattie looked up from the table. "What did you say?"

"Hmm?"

"About the competition?"

She took a sip. "That I'd think about it."

"Leese!" Hattie threw a crumpled piece of paper at her. "You have to do it! You're going to sign up, aren't you?"

Alicia caught the paper easily, unfurling it with one hand. Hattie had sketched a gorgeous blue dress, complete with flutter cap sleeves and lace accents. She arched an eyebrow. "Are you making this?"

"Don't avoid the question."

"It's beautiful."

Hattie pointed her pencil at her. "You won't be able to distract me with compliments, Martinez."

"I'm just saying, I—"

The doorbell rang. Alicia hopped off the counter, crumpling up her juice box. She set the sketch carefully on the table.

"I'll get it."

She hurried down the short flight of stairs, wrenching the front door open. Then she stopped dead. Because there, on the steps, was Oliver.

Oliver was shifting nervously from foot-to-foot, his cheeks stained red with the wind. He clutched a bouquet of daffodils in his hands, and she watched, stunned, as he thrust them towards her.

"Here," he said. "These are for you."

She took the flowers numbly. "What are you doing here?"

"Go out with me."

"What?"

"Go out with me," he repeated. "Tomorrow. Today. Now."

She almost dropped the flowers. This couldn't be happening. She had to be hallucinating this whole thing; Oliver couldn't be standing here, on her doorstep, asking her out. What the hell had been in that juice box?

"How did you get my address?"

"Ah." He looked sheepish. "Mary gave it to me."

Alicia ran through a number of creative curse words, several of which were in Spanish. Of course Mary did. God, she could murder that woman. Wasn't there some sort of company policy against this sort of thing? Surely her boss couldn't just go around handing out her employees' addresses like candy on Halloween?

"Oliver, I—"

"Who is it?"

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. A moment later, Hattie appeared next to her, breathless and covered in ink. Her blonde curls bounced around today, and she flushed when she caught sight of Oliver, pushing them behind her ear.

"Oh, my god," she breathed. "You are good looking."

"Hattie!" Alicia hissed.

"What?"

"Hang on," Oliver said, his mouth quirking. "Did Alicia say that I was good looking?"

Hattie leaned against the door, crossing her arms. "Well, she refused to say that you weren't. So in a way, yes."

Oliver looked far too pleased with himself. Alicia clutched the flowers to her chest, using them as a shield of yellow petals. "I wasn't joking before, Oliver. I don't date."

"Ollie."

"What?"

"That's my name." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Oliver is far too formal. And it doesn't have to be a date," he continued. "Think of it as both of us showing up at the same restaurant. At the same time. With a bottle of wine."

"No."

"Why not?"

The flowers dug into her hands. "Because I can't."

"Oh, go on, Leese." Hattie bumped her hip. "Give the poor boy a chance."

Alicia stared at her. Exasperation and irritation swelled in her chest, and she shoved the flowers into Hattie's hands. A part of her knew that she was being childish, but she couldn't help it; Hattie knew why she couldn't go out with Oliver. What the hell was she playing at?

"You know what?" She threw her hands up. "You two seem to be getting on famously; why don't you just go on a date?"

And with that, Alicia turned on her heel, sprinting up the stairs.

Oliver watched Alicia storm away.

"Well," he said dryly. "That went well."

He could just picture Brooks — concealed in a bush about six meters away — killing himself laughing. Oliver was never going to hear the end of this. He was sure of it. From the doorway, Alicia's blonde flatmate gave him a small smile. He frowned. What was her name again? Hailey? Hannah?

No, Hattie.

That was it.

Hattie scratched her cheek. This had the unfortunate effect of smudging ink across her face, although it didn't seem polite to point that out, Oliver mused. Especially when she was being so kind to him.

"Alicia has a good heart, really," Hattie offered. "She's just cautious." She glanced at the empty stairwell. "I mean, she's not had the easiest time of it."

"Dating?"

"Yeah. Her ex-boyfriend..." She fiddled with the flowers. "Well, it's not my place to say."

Oliver felt a rush of something. Pity? Protectiveness? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he suddenly wanted to chase after Alicia and offer to make her a cup of tea and listen to her rant all day. About anything.

God, he really was going mad.

Hattie squinted at him. "This is going to sound bizarre," she said, "but don't I know you from somewhere?"

Oliver froze.

He resisted the urge to smooth down his dark fringe. He had done away with the baseball cap today — no need to look any more like a stalker than he already did, skulking outside Alicia's flat — and he had successfully, thanks to a pair of sunglasses, made it through town without being recognized.

Until now, apparently.

"No." His throat felt dry. "I don't think so."

She frowned. "No, I definitely do. Weren't you the year above me at school? Kingfell's Academy?"

"No."

"Have you been into The Sinner?"

"Nope."

For a terrifying moment, Hattie squinted at him. Then she shrugged. "Never mind, then. You must just have one of those faces."

And Oliver — who had been in the process of suffering a premature heart attack — let out a breath. Thank god; he had avoided detection for now. Hattie was already making to shut the door when he stuck his foot out.

"Wait!"

She paused.

"I need a favour." His heart was racing. "Can you get Alicia down to West Sands tomorrow evening? Around ten o'clock?"

"Why?"

"Because," he said, "I want to convince her that I'm worth going out with."

For a moment, Hattie merely looked at him. Then she shook her head, smiling slightly. "You're awfully determined, aren't you?"

"Can you do it?"

"We'll see you there," Hattie said.

Oliver was still beaming when she shut the door. Now, he just needed to get his hands on a number of explosives, a bottle of champagne, and maybe a suit. All within the day. He glanced both ways and then turned towards a nearby bush.

"Brooks?"

The other boy's head popped up. "Yes?"

"Did you see that?"

"Obviously." His bodyguard smirked. "Wish I had it on camera, too." Oliver glowered at him, but Brooks' eyes were still lingering on the door. "Who was that blonde girl? The one with Alicia?"

His voice was deliberately casual. In fact, it was the exact same tone Theo used when there was only one chocolate croissant left at breakfast and he was trying to suss out if he could have it. Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I'm just curious."

"I'm sure." Oliver took out his phone. "That's Hattie. Alicia's flatmate."

"Ah."

"Anyway, we have work to do." Oliver waggled his phone. "You don't happen to know anyone that sells explosives for a living, do you?"

A/N: Oh, Oliver — what could you possibly want with explosives? ;)

So a little behind-the-scenes tidbit: I originally wasn't planning to include Brooks in this novel (he was supposed to be a minor character simply known as "the bodyguard"), but he kind of inserted himself into this scene, and things went from there. Now, he's one of my favourite characters!

Any guesses on what Oliver's planning to impress Alicia with?

Affectionately,

J.K.