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Chapter no 14

Fangirl Down

Wells did, in fact, eagle the first hole.

She couldnโ€™t 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 theyโ€™d torn down the third wall between player and fan, theyโ€™d 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 sheโ€™d been having more and more lately, which were inexcusably heavy on butt biting.

Wells wasย level ten hot. That wasnโ€™t 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.

โ€œI was thinking, Josephine,โ€ Wells said, coming up beside her, just outside the tee box on the second hole. โ€œI shouldnโ€™t be the only one benefitting from a bet today. This calls for a fair trade off.โ€

โ€œWe need to be talking about yardage,โ€ she blurted.

Did his lips twitch? โ€œI wouldnโ€™t feel right if you didnโ€™t get something out of the deal.โ€

โ€œI have everything I need.โ€

Very briefly, his attention dropped to her thighs. โ€œDo you?โ€

A bead of sweat trickled down her spine. โ€œGood thing youโ€™re not micโ€™d up right now.โ€

He hummed in his throat. โ€œWhat do you want in exchange for me taking par on this hole? The suggestion has to come from you.โ€

โ€œFor decorumโ€™s sake? Iโ€™m not sure that word means what you think it means.โ€

Wells let a beat pass. โ€œI think I like flirting with you. I think you want to flirt back.โ€ His expression was serious when he looked down at her. โ€œAnd 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 โ€œflirtโ€ sound like an epithet? โ€œThat isnโ€™t what you said on Wednesday night.โ€

โ€œNow Iโ€™m qualifying what I said. As long as youโ€™re the one initiating . . .โ€

โ€œThe flirting?โ€

โ€œAnd you know thereโ€™s no pressure at allโ€”โ€ โ€œI do. I know that.โ€

โ€œThen we fucking flirt.โ€ He squinted out at the fairway. โ€œName 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. โ€œIf you par this hole . . .โ€ She craned her neck to give his booty the tiniest peek, but couldnโ€™t bring herself to say the words. โ€œUm.โ€

Slowly, Wellsโ€™s mouth edged up into a grin. โ€œYou want a picture of me dropping trou?โ€

And to think, sheโ€™d woken up this morning believing she led a mostly normal life. โ€œIโ€™m not sure there is any point in denying that I like your butt after you overheard my phone call last night.โ€

โ€œJuicy.โ€ He winked at her. โ€œYou called it juicy.โ€

Josephine closed her eyes and released a withering sound. โ€œJust play the shot, you clown.โ€

Wells laughed.

Heย laughed.

Josephineโ€™s 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 heโ€™d 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. โ€œGood call, belle.โ€

Josephine might have spent the rest of the morning driven to distraction by the fact that sheโ€™d just won a bet that guaranteed her a personal snapshot of Wellsโ€™s 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, heโ€™d dropped two spots on the leaderboard. โ€œHey. It was a tricky slope. Shake it off.โ€

When he didnโ€™t bother to respond, Josephineโ€™s stomach sank. The next hole went worse.

Buck Lee left, as casually as heโ€™d arrived.

And thatโ€™s 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. Donโ€™t quit on him.ย โ€œThe wind is picking upโ€”โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t give a shit about the wind, Josephine. Iโ€™m pissing into it at this point.โ€

Her shoulders wanted to slump, but she wouldnโ€™t let them. โ€œYouโ€™re burning it all down.โ€

โ€œSounds about right,โ€ he responded, tight-lipped, while examining the head of his club.

โ€œDonโ€™t. Step back, recognize what youโ€™re doing, and balance yourself out.โ€

His snort drew the attention of several spectators. โ€œOh Jesus, stop shovel feeding me your Zen nonsense, belle.โ€

โ€œNonsense 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€

Wellsโ€™s head turned slowly, pinning her with an incredulous look. โ€œYou met him for all of thirty seconds and you got all of that?โ€

โ€œYup!โ€

He really, truly looked like he was trying to claw his way out of the mental hole heโ€™d dug for himself, but he just couldnโ€™t do it. The grimace of regret, the remaining light fading from his eyes, told her that much. โ€œLet me take my drive, Josephine.โ€

โ€œGo for it. Iโ€™ll be on the sidelines.โ€ โ€œWhat?โ€ he shouted.

โ€œI said, Iโ€™ll be . . .โ€ She fluttered her fingers at the roped-off spectator section. โ€œOver there.โ€

Panic slowly snuck into his expression. โ€œWhat happened to never quitting?โ€

โ€œI said I would never quit as long as you didnโ€™t quit on yourself. Thatโ€™s what youโ€™re 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 didnโ€™t 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. โ€œJosephine.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 โ€œIโ€™m fine.โ€

โ€œWhat the fucking fuck,โ€ he exploded, dropping to his knees in front of her. โ€œYou gotย run over.โ€

โ€œJust my foot.โ€

โ€œYou ran over my caddie,โ€ he barked at the cart, which was carrying two officials. โ€œIโ€™m going to fโ€”โ€

โ€œWells.โ€

He made a sharp sound of frustration. โ€œWhere 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. โ€œWhere?โ€

The official stood up. โ€œIโ€™ve radioed them. The medical cart is on the way.โ€

โ€œOh good,โ€ he responded. โ€œAnother cart. Maybe if weโ€™re lucky, itโ€™ll finish her off!โ€

โ€œWatch yourself, Whitaker,โ€ the official shot back, jabbing the air with his finger. โ€œWe were headed over here to give you a warning about the profanity.ย Again.โ€

โ€œWells, it barely hurts anymore,โ€ Josephine said, trying to work herself free of the steel banded hold keeping her in place. โ€œI was just caught off guard.โ€

โ€œIs this the wrong time to point out that this wouldnโ€™t have happened if youโ€™d stayed with me, where you belong?โ€

โ€œYes, itโ€™s the dead wrong time to point that out.โ€ Her neck lost power, dangling back over the crook of his elbow. โ€œPlease God, donโ€™t let my

parents see this.โ€

โ€œHere 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 didnโ€™t even have a chance to climb out of the driverโ€™s seat before Wells knelt down again in front of Josephine. โ€œI canโ€™t remember. Are you supposed to leave the shoe on when itโ€™s a sprain, so it doesnโ€™t swell? Or am I wrong?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s not a sprain!โ€ Josephine shouted.

โ€œSir, I can take over from here,โ€ said the medic patiently. โ€œJust a second. Iโ€™m going to check the damage.โ€

Wells eased off Josephineโ€™s shoe and thatโ€™s when everything started to move in slow motion. She thought back to the evening when sheโ€™d painted her toenails and denial swung inside her like a pendulum. โ€œNot the sock.

Leave my sock on.โ€

โ€œHow am I supposed to see anything with your sock on?โ€ โ€œThereโ€™s nothing to seeโ€”โ€

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.

Heโ€™d 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, โ€œWeโ€™re making the cut.โ€

Josephine jumped when he slapped a hand down on the roof of the cart. โ€œWeโ€™re making the fucking cut, Josephine.โ€

โ€œOkay,โ€ she whispered, her embarrassment turning into something else.

Pure hope. Hope and . . . connection. To this man.

For better or worse.

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