Wells did, in fact, eagle the first hole.
She couldnโt even look him in the eye as she collected his driver. What had she beenย thinking?
What were theyย bothย thinking?
Was she actually going to send him a half-naked picture?
Since the moment theyโd torn down the third wall between player and fan, theyโd spent 90 percent of their acquaintance arguing. And 90 percent of those arguments were about pulling his head out of his ass. Was she attracted to him?ย Yes.ย No sense in denying it after the indecent thoughts sheโd been having more and more lately, which were inexcusably heavy on butt biting.
Wells wasย level ten hot. That wasnโt in question.
But he was also her boss. And she wasย all he had. His mentor and manager had deserted him. Blurring the line of professionalism would be a terrible idea. Like, awful.
โI was thinking, Josephine,โ Wells said, coming up beside her, just outside the tee box on the second hole. โI shouldnโt be the only one benefitting from a bet today. This calls for a fair trade off.โ
โWe need to be talking about yardage,โ she blurted.
Did his lips twitch? โI wouldnโt feel right if you didnโt get something out of the deal.โ
โI have everything I need.โ
Very briefly, his attention dropped to her thighs. โDo you?โ
A bead of sweat trickled down her spine. โGood thing youโre not micโd up right now.โ
He hummed in his throat. โWhat do you want in exchange for me taking par on this hole? The suggestion has to come from you.โ
โFor decorumโs sake? Iโm not sure that word means what you think it means.โ
Wells let a beat pass. โI think I like flirting with you. I think you want to flirt back.โ His expression was serious when he looked down at her. โAnd as long as you know your job is safe and I would literally cut off my own
legs before wielding my power over you, maybe we need to just fucking
flirt, belle.โ
How did he manage to make the word โflirtโ sound like an epithet? โThat isnโt what you said on Wednesday night.โ
โNow Iโm qualifying what I said. As long as youโre the one initiating . . .โ
โThe flirting?โ
โAnd you know thereโs no pressure at allโโ โI do. I know that.โ
โThen we fucking flirt.โ He squinted out at the fairway. โName the terms of your bet.โ
What wasย happeningย here? They were in the middle of a golf tournament laying down ground rules forย flirting? How could she be having so much fun while being completely and totally caught off guard? Truthfully, though, she believed Wells when he said there was no pressure, because she felt none. He would never use his position to do anything that made her uncomfortable. Was her intuition enough of an excuse to take a tiny step
forward? Safe enough to pose the mother of all bets?
His eyes challenged her to do just that, but there was reassurance there, too.
Josephine filled her lungs for courage. โIf you par this hole . . .โ She craned her neck to give his booty the tiniest peek, but couldnโt bring herself to say the words. โUm.โ
Slowly, Wellsโs mouth edged up into a grin. โYou want a picture of me dropping trou?โ
And to think, sheโd woken up this morning believing she led a mostly normal life. โIโm not sure there is any point in denying that I like your butt after you overheard my phone call last night.โ
โJuicy.โ He winked at her. โYou called it juicy.โ
Josephine closed her eyes and released a withering sound. โJust play the shot, you clown.โ
Wells laughed.
Heย laughed.
Josephineโs legs almost gave out. Her eyes shot open, hoping to catch the tail end of his laughing face, but he was already back to concentrating on
the shot he was about to take, stepping right to left and examining the angle, feeling the wind.
His swing followed through, without the hesitancy heโd developed over
the last two years, and the ball dropped down on the left side of the fairway. A smattering of applause rippled through the crowd assembled behind them.
Wells handed her the driver. โGood call, belle.โ
Josephine might have spent the rest of the morning driven to distraction by the fact that sheโd just won a bet that guaranteed her a personal snapshot of Wellsโs rear end, but she was too transfixed by the glimpse she was getting of the old Wells. He consulted with her before every shot, both of them poring over yardage books and hunkering down side by side to
compare notes on the angle of the green. He almost seemed to be having . . . fun.
But all that progress came to a screeching halt on the eighth hole.
Josephine and Wells were shoulder to shoulder, waiting for Tagaloa to take his putt, when Buck Lee appeared on the sidelines. He was just one
face among the crowd, but his arrival was like a bucket of cold water tossed on Wells. His expression slowly grew shuttered, his movements less natural.
In no time, heโd dropped two spots on the leaderboard. โHey. It was a tricky slope. Shake it off.โ
When he didnโt bother to respond, Josephineโs stomach sank. The next hole went worse.
Buck Lee left, as casually as heโd arrived.
And thatโs when her glimpse of the old, astonishing Wells Whitaker winked out completely.
At this rate, their chances of making the cut and continuing in the tournament tomorrow were slim to none. Not unless he managed to get through the rest of the afternoon without bogeying a single hole and that seemed about as likely as TSwift performing in her bathroom later tonight.
Keep trying. Donโt quit on him.ย โThe wind is picking upโโ
โI donโt give a shit about the wind, Josephine. Iโm pissing into it at this point.โ
Her shoulders wanted to slump, but she wouldnโt let them. โYouโre burning it all down.โ
โSounds about right,โ he responded, tight-lipped, while examining the head of his club.
โDonโt. Step back, recognize what youโre doing, and balance yourself out.โ
His snort drew the attention of several spectators. โOh Jesus, stop shovel feeding me your Zen nonsense, belle.โ
โNonsense is allowing that passive-aggressive, condescending has-been to get in your head and letting him rearrange it. Letting himย win. I thought you were more badass than that.โ
Wellsโs head turned slowly, pinning her with an incredulous look. โYou met him for all of thirty seconds and you got all of that?โ
โYup!โ
He really, truly looked like he was trying to claw his way out of the mental hole heโd dug for himself, but he just couldnโt do it. The grimace of regret, the remaining light fading from his eyes, told her that much. โLet me take my drive, Josephine.โ
โGo for it. Iโll be on the sidelines.โ โWhat?โ he shouted.
โI said, Iโll be . . .โ She fluttered her fingers at the roped-off spectator section. โOver there.โ
Panic slowly snuck into his expression. โWhat happened to never quitting?โ
โI said I would never quit as long as you didnโt quit on yourself. Thatโs what youโre doing.โ She whirled around, took a few steps, and ducked under the rope, a few feet to the right of the galleryโ
And immediately her foot was run over by a golf cart.
Pain shot from her toes to her ankle, snatching the breath clean out of her lungs. It was such a shock, happened so quickly, she didnโt even have a
chance to make a sound. Her backside planted in the grass before she knew she was falling, her only necessity to get the pressure off her foot. Surely it was broken?
A roar of denial from Wells nearly deafened her. โJosephine.โ
He was in front of her, his image momentarily blurred by the blood rushing to her head, but after a few seconds of taking stock, the shock wore off and the pain started to dull.ย Just surprised. You were just surprised.ย โIโm fine.โ
โWhat the fucking fuck,โ he exploded, dropping to his knees in front of her. โYou gotย run over.โ
โJust my foot.โ
โYou ran over my caddie,โ he barked at the cart, which was carrying two officials. โIโm going to fโโ
โWells.โ
He made a sharp sound of frustration. โWhere is the medic on this
course?โ Before she knew his intentions, Wells had picked her up off the ground to cradle her in his arms. โWhere?โ
The official stood up. โIโve radioed them. The medical cart is on the way.โ
โOh good,โ he responded. โAnother cart. Maybe if weโre lucky, itโll finish her off!โ
โWatch yourself, Whitaker,โ the official shot back, jabbing the air with his finger. โWe were headed over here to give you a warning about the profanity.ย Again.โ
โWells, it barely hurts anymore,โ Josephine said, trying to work herself free of the steel banded hold keeping her in place. โI was just caught off guard.โ
โIs this the wrong time to point out that this wouldnโt have happened if youโd stayed with me, where you belong?โ
โYes, itโs the dead wrong time to point that out.โ Her neck lost power, dangling back over the crook of his elbow. โPlease God, donโt let my
parents see this.โ
โHere comes the medical cart,โ Wells said, still sounding far more
anxious than the situation warranted. Three long strides and she was being settled onto a leather bench. The medic didnโt even have a chance to climb out of the driverโs seat before Wells knelt down again in front of Josephine. โI canโt remember. Are you supposed to leave the shoe on when itโs a sprain, so it doesnโt swell? Or am I wrong?โ
โItโs not a sprain!โ Josephine shouted.
โSir, I can take over from here,โ said the medic patiently. โJust a second. Iโm going to check the damage.โ
Wells eased off Josephineโs shoe and thatโs when everything started to move in slow motion. She thought back to the evening when sheโd painted her toenails and denial swung inside her like a pendulum. โNot the sock.
Leave my sock on.โ
โHow am I supposed to see anything with your sock on?โ โThereโs nothing to seeโโ
Off came the sock.
There they were. Five freshly polished blue toes. With yellow letters on them. Spelling out W-E-L-L-Sโ. He went very still. Three seconds passed. Four. And then, ignoring her sputtering protests, Wells yanked off the other shoe and sock, revealing the word B-E-L-L-E.
He said nothing.
No movement.
Heโd become a statue.
Josephine held her breath as he stood up, braced a hand on the top of the golf cart, and looked at her, long and hard, wheels turning behind his eyes.
His voice vibrated when he said, โWeโre making the cut.โ
Josephine jumped when he slapped a hand down on the roof of the cart. โWeโre making the fucking cut, Josephine.โ
โOkay,โ she whispered, her embarrassment turning into something else.
Pure hope. Hope and . . . connection. To this man.
For better or worse.