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)
A young man wearing a name tag that read “Ren” slapped the counter and rocked back on his heels. “Wow. I thought you were pranking me over the phone.” He knocked over a tiny brochure stand with his elbow. “You’re really them. Wells and Fangirl.”
Josephine’s smile turned queasy. “Um. Hey.”
As the greeting registered, irritation fired up into Wells’s throat like a torpedo. He had not been keeping up on golf news. He never did, because the endless speculation from the commentators could get into the head of the most seasoned professional. Somewhere along the line, had they started referring to Josephine as Fangirl?
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Wells said, planting a fist on the counter. “That’s not her name, kid. Might want to try again.”
“Josephine,” he blurted, blotches forming on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s just what they’re calling you on golf X, formerly known as golf Twitter. I meant Josephine. Josephine Doyle.”
She looked a little startled that the young man knew her actual name. “Oh! It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Wells argued.
“It’s just that . . . well, I finally got my girlfriend to watch golf with me, because of you two teaming up. She thinks it’s so romantic.” He rolled his eyes and blushed a little more. “She doesn’t love the fact that you make Fangirl—sorry! Josephine carry your bag—”
Wells threw up his hands. “She’s a caddie.”
“It’s my job.” Josephine bit her lip. “Tell her it’s not as heavy as it looks.”
Ren scoffed. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I work at a pro shop. They’re heavy as shit.”
“Is there anyone else here who could help us?” Wells asked through his teeth.
“Nope,” Ren answered cheerfully, beginning to punch some buttons on the register. “You’re the last tee time of the day. I’m heading out as soon as your round starts.”
Wells bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “So sorry to see you go.”
The kid nodded, obviously not picking up on Wells’s sarcasm. “Do you want a cart? Or are you planning on making Josephine carry your bag around today, too?”
Josephine burst into laughter.
“We’ll take a cart,” Wells snapped.
Ren beamed. “Chivalry isn’t dead, after all.”
A few minutes later, as they were loading the clubs onto the back of the cart, Josephine elbowed him in the side. “You didn’t take any of that personally, did you?”
He glared at her.
“The fact that you didn’t question whether I was capable of carrying your bag is one of the reasons I . . .” Seeming to catch herself, she closed her mouth quickly. “It’s one of the reasons I started to like you again,” she finished, eventually.
“I hate the reminder that you stopped liking me,” Wells grumbled.
“It was a very small window,” she said, her fingertips tracing the back of his hand.
Kissing her mouth felt inevitable, but then she glanced over his shoulder, pulling back quickly at whatever she saw. “We have an audience.”
Wells turned and squinted toward the clubhouse, unsurprised to see a group of people holding up their phones, filming. “That kid calling you Fangirl, Josephine . . . you were right,” he said, suppressing the urge to rub at the hollow discomfort in his chest. “The way people minimize how important you are to me professionally. They would rather speculate on whether we’re sleeping together than acknowledge how fucking good you are at your job.” He stomped to the driver’s side of the cart. “No one came up with a cute nickname for my last caddie. Or wondered if I was sharing a bed with him at night.”
Josephine climbed into the passenger side, watching him closely. “This is really starting to bother you.”
“Yes. Not only because it isn’t fair, but . . .” He pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing down hard out of frustration. “None of their behavior stops me from wanting everyone in the world to know you’re mine, belle. I’ll never be able to turn that off. Does that make me a barbarian?”
Her look was one of pure understanding. Patience. Because she was an angel. Because she understood he was part caveman and didn’t judge him for it. “I just think it means you like me, too,” she said cheekily.
“Like you?” he echoed, witheringly.
They traded a look heavy with meaning. Wells more than liked Josephine and she damn well knew it. The vulnerability of her expression made him wonder—hope—those much deeper feelings went both ways.
Please God, let her love me back.
But neither of them said the words out loud. It had to be too soon, right?
Wells put the cart in drive and covered the distance to the first hole, stopping to the right of the tee box. They worked in silence, removing their drivers from their bags, the quiet hush of the course a thing of beauty as the sun dipped low in the sky, taking down the temperature and dusting everything in gold. He’d forgotten about these special moments on the golf course, forgotten why he’d found solace here as a pissed-off, neglected teenager, but Josephine had reminded him, hadn’t she?