Josephine woke up to find her boyfriend pacing naked in the living room, arguing into his phone. He hadn’t even bothered to close the blinds, thus the Florida sunshine was bathing his backside in a warm, almost ethereal glow that made Josephine hold up her own phone and snap a picture. For posterity—or posterior’s sake. Both maybe?
When Wells noticed Josephine had entered the living room, he gave her a slow grin that made little fairies roll around in her belly, giggling and firing pixie dust from finger guns.
Oh my goodness.
This was love. Adoration, affection, connection. And definitely lust.
She’d never actually had to change her sheets in the middle of the night because they’d gotten too sweaty, but there was a first time for everything. Since she didn’t have to temper the desire to have a million first times with Wells, she smiled back at him, letting the welling sensation in her chest reach her eyes. And Josephine must have done a good job portraying how indescribably perfect and right it felt to wake up with this man, because he stopped pacing and stared at her, his Adam’s apple unmoving beneath his chin.
“I was going to need to change my flight to California, anyway,” he said into the phone. “I want to be on the same flight as Josephine.”
In the wake of that gruff pronouncement—and the increasing storm of pixie dust in her belly— Josephine could hear the faint voice of a man talking on the other end of the line.
“Hold on, I’m going to put you on speaker,” Wells interrupted, tapping the screen of his phone. “You’re on with me and Josephine.”
“Nice to meet you, Josephine. I’m Nate. You need a manager stat, honey.”
“No, she doesn’t. And don’t call her honey.”
An electronic snicker filled the apartment. “Sorry. Josephine. I was just telling your boy here that both of you need to get to California a couple of days early. Under Armour wants to meet with their new power duo to play kissy face. They also want to make sure Mr. Whitaker is still on the straight and narrow before they outfit the team for another tournament. You’ve also got some press to do. A practice round. I don’t know who this fucker thinks he is, rolling into town the night before a tournament starts.”
“Worked for us last time,” Wells barked.
“Yeah, well, people actually want to see your disgustingly handsome face now, don’t ask me why. The commissioner wants you and Josephine doing press, my man. You’re the big human-interest story heading into the Masters. It’s only two weeks away, you know. People love a comeback.”
Josephine pressed a hand to her stomach to calm it.
Two weeks to the Masters. With all the changes in her life recently, the most prestigious tournament on the tour schedule by a mile had really crept up fast. Was Wells ready for that four-day pressure cooker, the competition to earn the almighty green jacket?
Yes.
She’d do everything in her power to make sure he was.
“How soon do we need to be there?” Wells asked, still completely naked and 100 percent glorious. “Does tomorrow work?”
Nate sighed. “It’s going to have to be tonight if you want the commissioner happy.”
“Since when do I give a f—” Wells stopped short when Josephine widened her eyes at him. “Hold on.” He smashed a finger to the screen
while crossing the room toward Josephine. “Josephine, quit looking at my dick. I can’t concentrate.”
“It’s looking at me!” she sputtered. “And my neighbors.”
His smile belonged on a pirate outlaw. “Just saving us time. We’ve got another set of sheets to ruin. As soon as we’re done with this call, I’m going to—”
“I’m not muted, you know,” came Nate’s voice over the line. Josephine slapped both hands to her cheeks.
Wells, not even remotely embarrassed, peered down at his phone and hit the correct button before refocusing his attention on Josephine. “Are you good with the schedule change? We’d have to drive to Miami for my clubs tonight and fly out from there.”
She performed a mental inventory of her diabetes supplies. “Yeah, I can . . .” She trailed off when she remembered something. “Oh.”
“What’s up?” Wells asked, raising an eyebrow.
Why was she hesitating to tell him this? “I’m meeting with the contractor at Rolling Greens tomorrow morning. About renovations on the Golden
Tee.”
Some of the light went out of Wells’s eyes, but he nodded without hesitation. “Okay, yeah. That’s important. You need to be there.”
“The project is going to start while we’re in California and I won’t be able to be here in person.” Her palms were suddenly damp. “I just . . . I have to make sure we’re on the same page or the job will be too far underway when I get back. Changes will require more work.”
“I understand, belle.” He walked around the kitchen island, pulled her into an embrace, and kissed her forehead. Once, twice. “I can do press on my own.”
She pressed her face into his chest, rubbing her nose in the hairy patch between his pecs. “Thanks.”
His big hand stroked down the back of her head. “That doesn’t require a
thank-you.” After another few seconds, he shifted against her, bringing Nate back into the conversation. “Let everyone know it’s just going to be me.
Josephine can’t make it to San Diego until Wednesday night.” Nate groaned. “Who is going to keep you in line?”
She imagined, rather than saw, Wells’s eye roll. “I’ll be fine.”
* * *
But he was not fine.
He was not fine at all.
As soon as Josephine landed in California two nights later, her phone started to buzz, alerting her to the fact that she had three voice mails—and none of them were from her eternally anxious mother calling to make sure she’d arrived safely.
They were all from Nate.
Still waiting to exit the plane, she hit play on the first one.
Hello there, Josephine. Just checking to make sure you got on the flight. Nervous laughter. We need you in San Diego, kid. The meeting with Under Armour went . . . fine? Notice my high-pitched voice when I say fine. Wells didn’t like the shirt they asked him to wear. To be fair, it was lime green, but he didn’t need to call it hell’s official uniform. As you can imagine, they
were a little insulted. I think I’ve smoothed it over, but . . . we sure could use you on the West Coast.
Letting out a pent-up breath, Josephine moved on to the next voice mail.
You’re on that flight, right? Ack. Wells and Calhoun exchanged words during a practice round. A lot of C-words being thrown around and none of them were my favorite C-word—condo, followed closely by capital gains.
The commissioner called to issue a warning. Could you speak to the pilot about taking a shortcut or something? I’m only half joking.
With a weight increasing in her stomach, Josephine hit play on the third voice mail and wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear while hauling down her suitcase, carrying it off the plane clutched to her chest.
For the love of everything holy, Josephine. A reporter asked Wells a somewhat personal question about you. That reporter’s equipment is now in the lake. We are on red alert here, my friend. Danger zone. Text me
immediately when you land, please. I’ll just be over here buying out the entire antacid section of Rite Aid.
Josephine set down her carry-on outside a Hudson News and started to tap out a text to Nate, but a message popped up from Wells before she could hit send.
WELLS: You land okay, belle? Airline website says you should have touched down six minutes ago.
JOSEPHINE: I’m at the airport. How did your day go?
WELLS: Perfect. I nailed it.
JOSEPHINE: Really.
WELLS: I even helped a reporter clean his camera.
JOSEPHINE: WOW. What a Boy Scout.
WELLS: Man scout. Look for a guy in baggage claim holding a sign that says Wells’s Belle.
JOSEPHINE: What??
WELLS: He’s your limousine driver. I don’t fuck around when it comes to my girl.
Josephine stopped in the middle of the busy walkway, bouncing right to left on the balls of her feet for a good five seconds before continuing on her way.
JOSEPHINE: You really didn’t have to do that.
WELLS: Happy birthday, Josephine. Finally making it up to you. x
She frowned a little bit over that last message. What did he mean by “making it up to her”? She would find out when she reached the hotel, she guessed, but for now, she wanted nothing more than to get out of the busy airport. Sure enough, when she rolled her carry-on through baggage claim, a white-mustached man in a suit and jaunty cap was holding a sign that read WELLS’S BELLE. Despite her protests, he took over the duties of maneuvering her bag through the people traffic, leading her out onto the sidewalk, where a champagne-colored stretch limousine idled.
“Oh my gosh,” she muttered, opening the door and throwing herself inside as quickly as possible, so no one would see her partaking in something so needlessly extravagant.
“Surprise!”
The interior of the limousine was dark, save for a row of blinking blue LED lights along the perimeter of the ceiling, so it took Josephine’s eyes a
moment to adjust enough to make out the figure sitting on the opposite side of the vehicle.
Even then, she didn’t quite believe it. Her eyes had to be lying.
“Tallulah?”
Josephine didn’t know it was physically possible to have tears burst forth from her eyeballs, but that’s exactly what happened. They ejected.
Trembling and overcome, she crawled on her hands and knees to the front of the limousine, her best friend meeting her halfway. Laughing tearfully, they threw their arms around each other and toppled sideways onto the leather row seat. It took a full minute for Josephine to speak, words kept getting stuck in her throat. Was this real? Was this really, actually real?
“What are you doing here?” Josephine sobbed, pulling back to look at one of her favorite faces of all time, before diving back into the hug.
“Keeping the secret has been so hard. I’ve wanted to call you a hundred times.”
“When? H-how?”
“Wells Whitaker, that’s how. He emailed me a couple of weeks ago and asked what it would take to bring me in for a visit. When he finally convinced me he was Actual Wells Whitaker, I told him it would take an act of God to get me days off and a trip to California. And he said, ‘Then
you’re in luck. Have your boss give me a call.’ I think he promised her
tickets to Augusta or something.” Tallulah grasped the sides of Josephine’s face. “You are caddying on the PGA Tour, Joey. I repeat, you are caddying on the PGA flipping Tour.”
“I know. I know, right?”
“You weren’t joking on the phone!”
“Nope.” Josephine plopped back on her butt on the floor of the limo, still swiping at the moisture in her eyes. “I can’t believe he did this.”
Finally making it up to you.
This was repayment for the time he’d hung up on Tallulah. Unbelievable.
He was unbelievable.
“I’m not even going to get mad at him for yelling the C-word.”
Tallulah nodded in agreement. “Everyone has to yell it once in a while.”
Josephine laughed. Reached out to trace her best friend’s prominent cheekbones that, despite her time in Antarctica, still held the glowing,
natural tan that heralded her Turkish background. She traced her dark brows and smoothed a palm down her long, brunette waves. “How long are you
here for?”
Tallulah winced. “Therein lies the rub. Only one full day, I’m afraid.”
Josephine’s heart sank a little. “You won’t even be able to watch one day of golf?”
couldn’t be on good behavior for one day without her, what chance would he stand without her . . . indefinitely?
“You okay over there?” Tallulah asked, perceptive as ever. “More than okay,” Josephine assured her.
“Good, because I’m going to need every scintillating detail of this Wells Whitaker partnership. Don’t even think about telling me you’re just his caddie. You are more than qualified, but a dude doesn’t track down your best friend and fly her to California from Antarctica unless romance is
afoot.” She tilted her head back and squealed. “Oh crap, you’re already blushing! I’m going to flash a mounted policeman, I’m so excited.”
“I’ll never live that down.” “Nope.”
Once again, moisture flooded Josephine’s eyes out of pure happiness to be sitting next to her best friend. “Wells is . . .” She tried to search for the words that would adequately describe the waterfall of emotion in her chest when she thought of the temperamental golfer. “Well, he’s my boyfriend and friend. We balance each other. I smooth out his rough edges and he
makes me feel . . . stronger and more capable than I’ve ever felt. Ever. He respects me. Look what he did, flying you here. He’s thoughtful. And he’s so mean, but in a way that I love? Because that’s normal.”
Tallulah sighed gustily. “More. I need more.”
“The sex is unparalleled,” Josephine whispered.
Her best friend folded her hands and bowed her head, as if deep in prayer. “That’s what I’m talking about. Continue.”
“He’s rough with me. No one has ever been rough with me.” “That’s what you want, right?”
“Yes.” She squeezed Tallulah’s forearm to reassure her. “Apparently, it’s what I’ve needed without realizing it. I’m not fragile. He reminds me of that, but somehow . . . I know if I wanted to have a fragile moment, he’d just whip out some glue and fill in the cracks.”
“It sounds like he’s been whipping out a lot of things,” Tallulah deadpanned.
“I’m not complaining. Clothes are stupid.”
“So stupid. Josephine.” Tallulah turned, taking Josephine by the
shoulders and shaking her. “Holy hell. You’re caddying on the PGA Tour.” “You already said that,” she laughed.
“It deserves to be said again.” She dragged Josephine back into a hug and she went willingly, sighing into her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.
Not only because you’re finally getting recognized for your talent. But because you’re getting that sweet, sweet golfer dick.”
“It’s the opposite of sweet. It’s like . . . monstrous—”
“Careful, you’ve got a sexually neglected future marine biologist on your hands.”
“Fine, it’s sweet.”
“Liar.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too, Joey. Now, I’ve been eating MREs for months. Someone take me to get some real food! And tequila. In that order.”
