Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)

“Are you bringing the communal ibuprofen, or am I?”

Ricky ducked his head on a laugh and reached over to shake her hand. “Tomorrow isn’t looking so rough after all, Josephine.”

She couldn’t agree more. Knowing there would be a friendly face in the vicinity dulled some of her spikiest nerves. “Which player are you caddying for?”

Pride squared his shoulders. “Manny Tagaloa.”

Josephine sucked in a small breath. “Oh wow, the new guy.”

“Yup. He’s already upstairs asleep for the night. The man’s got a powerhouse drive, but he’s boring as hell. Makes my job a lot of fun.” They shared a snort. “I’m only doing this caddying thing on the side until I can get my reptile business up and running.”

“And that is the dead last thing I expected to come out of your mouth.”

“Excuse me for interrupting,” a man said from behind Josephine, his voice smothered in the South. “I just had to meet the woman of the hour.”

“Oh boy,” Ricky muttered for her ears alone. “Here we go.”

A ripple carried all the way down to Josephine’s ankles when she turned around and looked directly into the face of none other than the tour darling, Buster Calhoun, his sandy-blond hair lying artfully on his forehead. This guy never failed to be humble on camera, giving the media the Aw shucks, I’m just grateful to be here moment they craved. For the briefest of windows, Josephine couldn’t help but be starstruck.

“You must be Josephine Doyle,” he drawled, lifting her free hand and kissing the air just above her knuckles. “An honor and a pleasure.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Calhoun.”

“Oh.” He feigned surprise. “My reputation precedes me, I see, but I’m far more interested in yours, as is everyone else.” He encompassed the terrace with a sweep of his martini. “Where did you come from Miss Doyle?”

She smiled brightly and said, “Florida.”

A brief pause was followed by a charming chuckle. Three other golfers joined him.

When did they get there?

Calhoun took a slow sip of his martini. “And what are your thoughts on the course tomorrow?”

Josephine thought back to the research she’d done over the last week. The kidney bean–shaped sand trap on eleven, the water surrounding seventeen. “I think the two forced carries on the back nine are going to make a bunch of grown men cry.”

For an extended moment, Calhoun appeared dumbfounded. Then he and his companions erupted with amusement. “Well, I’ll be, Miss Doyle.” Something new, like interest, took shape in the Southerner’s eyes. “I might just have to steal you from Whitaker.”

“I highly suggest you don’t try that,” Wells said, shouldering his way through the group of men and pinning Josephine with a hard look. “If you’re done being cornered by these preening windbags, I think we’ve stayed long enough.”

“Aw, don’t take her from us so soon,” Calhoun complained, clapping a hand down on Wells’s shoulder. He removed it just as quickly when Wells gave him the famous death glare. “She’s the most interesting thing at this party,” he said, voice weakened slightly.

“She’s not the entertainment.”

“At least let her stay for the fireworks.” He gestured to the night sky. “They’re just about to begin.” He gave Josephine a sly wink. “I sponsored.”

Wells rolled his eyes so hard, Josephine was surprised when they didn’t pop out of his ears. He looked as though he wanted to respond to Calhoun’s boast, but a loud boom overhead prevented him. Pink sparkles plumed in the sky, raining down shimmery lights, followed by another one in green, then white. Based on the increase in conversation, guests were emerging from inside to witness the spectacle on the terrace, leading to limited space and everyone crowding toward the rail that overlooked the green.

Calhoun started to sidle closer to her, but Wells cut in, surprising her with a firm hand on her hip. He turned her to face the railing, then planted his fists on the stone barrier on either side of her, bracketing her in neatly. The position went beyond friendly. At the very least, it was an intimate way to be standing with her boss. And the crowd was pushing forward at such a rapid rate, more and more space was being swallowed up by the second.

Sensing eyes on her, Josephine sent a sidelong glance at Ricky.

His eyes sparkled with knowing humor.

Great. He thinks I’m with Wells. Like with him, with him.

But the other caddie was totally misreading the situation. Obviously, Wells wasn’t interested in her romantically. Their arrangement was purely business. Like, come on. He wasn’t even nice to her. The arm trap he’d created to keep the other golfers away was nothing more than a necessity, thanks to the surging crowd.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” he growled beside her ear, “and somehow you manage to find the worst possible company.”

“The jury is out on that. I’m still trying to get a read on Calhoun.”

“Close the book, belle. You’re done reading.”

Josephine’s spine straightened. “Am I?”

She could hear him grinding his teeth. “Don’t forget I’ve spent five years on tour with the man. His golden-boy image is exactly that. An image.”

“One could say the same thing about your bad-boy image.”

“No, that is accurate.”

Overhead, the fireworks picked up the pace, booming and breaking apart one after the other in explosions of color. Thus, more guests crowded out onto the terrace, giving Wells no choice but to inch closer to Josephine. Her back molded slowly to his chest, his measured breaths stirring her hair ever so slightly. It was lucky that he couldn’t see her face, because his heat, the strength of him made her lashes flutter, her lips parting to drag in the magnolia-scented air. “So what are you doing? Warning me away from him?”

“That about sums it up.”

“Don’t bother sugarcoating it.”

“I never do.” Wells cursed beneath his breath. “Josephine, I need to know you’re mine, so I can concentrate.”

Her vision split into two, before swerving back together. “Yours?”

“My teammate,” he clarified in a low voice, after a moment. “The last thing I need is to worry about you defecting to some other camp.”

Josephine whirled around—and it was a huge mistake.

Huge.

Wells towered over her, his arms caging her against the railing. And his mouth, his body, all of him, was very, very close. So close that her breasts dragged across the hard ridges of his stomach when she turned around, her head tipping back automatically so she could meet his gaze. A firework lit his face and she saw exactly how heavy-lidded his eyes were as they watched her breasts press up against his chest, a low rumble emitting from his throat.

Oh dear.

As quickly as possible, she twisted back around, grateful he could no longer see how the contact had affected her. So much that she struggled to locate the things . . . the . . . what were those things called you said out loud? Words?

“Is that what you’re worried about? Me ditching you?” Frankly, after years of rooting for him on the sidelines, that hurt a little. “I guess I haven’t made it obvious enough that I’m the sticking around type.”

“I’ve made that assumption about someone before,” he said near her ear.

Wells was referring to Buck Lee, right? After seeing them together inside, that didn’t even feel like an assumption, just fact. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to prove I’m different.” The hard heat of his chest against her back was making her mouth dry, so when she spoke again, her voice sounded a little scratchy. “I won’t give up on you as long as you don’t give up on yourself again.”

Did the pace of his breathing pick up slightly in response to that?

She watched as his right arm dropped away from the railing.