Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Lately, I usually just argue with Josephine.”
Tallulah snickered. “How long did it take you to realize she always wins?”
“Day two, I think. Maybe three.”
“And yet, he keeps trying,” Josephine said, squeezing his thigh beneath the table.
Making him think of how she’d held on to his thighs while she stuck out her tongue for his spend. “I’m never going to argue with you again,” he rasped. “You win forever.”
“Oh. This is a victory dinner?” Tallulah raised her glass of wine. “Aren’t those supposed to come after the tournament?”
“Yeah. But we’ve always been a little unconventional,” Wells said, and he could actually feel his fucking heart pounding in his chest as he looked at Josephine. “And I don’t want to change a single thing.”
Josephine’s smile dipped a little, seemingly beneath the weight of the moment. “Me either.”
“Holy shit,” Tallulah said, setting down her glass with a clink. “Look at that giant man with a child’s backpack on his shoulder.”
Halfway through Tallulah’s exclamation, Wells somehow knew she was referring to Burgess. In his panic to reach Palm Beach, followed by the rush to reach California early, he’d forgotten all about his phone call with the hockey bruiser. Now, Wells tore his eyes off his girlfriend and followed Tallulah’s line of sight toward the lobby, where, indeed, Burgess was towering among a sea of people with a miniature, sparkly silver backpack on his shoulder, a very solemn young girl holding his hand in the check-in line.
“Wow, he actually brought his kid,” Wells said. “To a golf tournament.”
Tallulah raised a dark eyebrow. “You know him?”
“Yeah.” Why was he shrugging so much? “Casually. Like, beers and the occasional phone call, but it’s not a big deal.”
Josephine tapped her temple. “Making a mental note not to fly him in for your birthday.” She split a look between Wells and the lobby. “Do you want to ask them to join us?”
“With a kid?”
“Kids eat, too, last time I checked,” said his girlfriend.
Suddenly, he was very fixated on what Josephine was saying. “Do you like kids?”
“Of course, I like kids.”
“Do you want one?” he half shouted.
“Oh, I wish they had popcorn on this menu,” Tallulah said wistfully, tipping her glass to her lips. “But I guess wine will have to do.”
“Maybe,” Josephine answered, finally. “Not yet. But maybe someday.”
“I don’t know a damn thing about kids,” he warned her.
Josephine opened her mouth, closed it. “People usually don’t know, until they have one. Not really.” She very clearly kicked her friend under the table. “Right, Tallulah?”
The aspiring marine biologist choked on her wine, but recovered fast. “She’s right. You have to have one to find out if you actually want one. It’s pretty fucked. Unless your mother had one of your siblings late in life, like mine did, and you helped raise them.” She rubbed her hands together. “That’s how I know I want ’em. Bring me that child!”
Wells had the very distinct urge to witness Josephine around a young kid and he had no idea where it was coming from. “I’ll ask them if they’re hungry.”
Josephine slumped, as if relieved to be done with his line of questioning. And he was done with it. For now. He’d never been remotely serious about a woman, the way he was with Josephine. It stood to reason that he should know her vision for the future. Obviously, she wanted to turn the Golden Tee into a premier destination in Palm Beach for golf, but beyond that . . . what did she want? A house? Did she want a split-level or more of a ranch style?
Unbelievable. He knew nothing.
When Wells reached Burgess, he briefly clapped a hand down on the man’s gargantuan shoulder. “Hey, man. You made it.”
Burgess turned halfway. Dipped his chin. “That’s right. You better not suck tomorrow.”
“Dad!” The little girl punched her father in the leg. “Normal people say hi?”
The hockey player grunted. “This is Lissa. She’s eleven.”
“Hi, Lissa who is eleven.” Wells stuck his hand out for a shake. To his surprise, she didn’t hesitate to take his hand and squeeze it firmly. “Do you eat? Food?”
“No, she eats tree bark,” Burgess deadpanned. “Of course, she eats food.”
“Look, I’ve had an afternoon. All right? I’m lucky to be alive right now.” Wells jerked his thumb at the restaurant, his ridiculous heart skipping when Josephine waved. “We’re having dinner over there. Me, Josephine, and her friend Tallulah. You’re welcome to join. They’ve got a lot of things that are braised on the menu. That’s all the information I have to report.”
“Do they have chicken fingers?” asked Lissa.
Shit, that sounded good. “I don’t know. But if they do, I’m fucking ordering them.”
Burgess’s left eye twitched. “Watch the language, Whitaker.”
Lissa doubled over giggling.
Wells stared in stunned silence.
Holy shit. He’d made a child laugh.
Wells turned and made eye contact with Josephine, pointing at Lissa.