Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)

“Okay. Okay.” She folded her hands in her lap. Took a breath.

Oh, this was important.

Wells turned to face her a little more.

“I don’t want to be too long-winded about the whole thing,” she started. “But . . . you know, my parents were really protective when I was growing up. Because of . . .” She waved a hand at her insulin kit, which was sitting open on the coffee table. “You know.”

Wells swallowed. “I follow.”

“Like, my mother quit her job when I was diagnosed, so she could be home in case my elementary school called with an emergency. So, my parents were telling me everything was going to be fine, that I could live a normal, happy life like everyone else, but their actions said otherwise. I couldn’t possibly be like everyone else if they felt the need to alert my soccer coaches or the parents of my friends. Or if they screamed, ‘Do you have the emergency shot?’ at each other every time we left the house.”

A zipper had formed at the center of his chest and it closed one tooth at a time, tightening, tightening. “That was probably really scary.”

Josephine nodded. Took a moment to keep going. “Anyway, when I got older, I just needed to shut them out. When it came to my diabetes. For my own good. For their own good—I mean, the worry was going to kill them. They were doing their best. I love them. But I’m the one who has to live with it, you know? I’m the only one who understands. It’s hard when other people get involved, because they remind me to be scared.”

The air supply in the room had dwindled down to nothing. “Do you need to be scared?”

“If I overthink it? Yes. My life depends on this vial of insulin. But as long as I have what I need, I can live to be a hundred. People are told every day that they have conditions they can’t live with. That makes me lucky in a sad, doesn’t-have-a-working-pancreas kind of way, right?”

This wasn’t the first time it had hit Wells how easily he could have chalked this woman up to being an overzealous fan. A face in the crowd. A beautiful one, sure, but a mere member of his cheering section, nonetheless. When, in fact, she should be celebrated everywhere she went. Wells ached to tell her she was so fucking brave, but intuition told him she wouldn’t react well. It would remind her there was something to be scared about and she’d just told him she hated that.

He thought of the emergency glucagon shot back in his room, stored in his luggage.

The one her mother had overnighted him.

Should he send it back? How would Josephine feel knowing he had it?

“You are,” he said, without thinking.

“I am, what?”

“Going to live to be a hundred. I demand it.”

The dimple that formed on her cheek made him want to die. “You just don’t want to find a new caddie.”

Wells grunted.

She was sitting extremely far away.

Frowning at her, for some reason, he moved to the center of the couch, jerking his chin in a silent command for her to snuggle beneath his arm. “Come on. Before I change my mind.”

Instead of cozying up to him, she reared back a little. “What is this? What are you doing?”

“Sealing this bonding moment with a hug, Josephine. What does it look like?”

“But that was only my preface!”

“There’s more?” Was she trying to rip out his heart?

“Yes!” She stood in front of him, phone in hand, flipping it end over end. “I was thinking, you know . . . I’ve been expecting you to trust me blindly out on the course and you don’t really have a reason to. Trust me. But what if I trusted you with something? I don’t know. Maybe that would help.”

Wells’s raised arm dropped to the couch like a dead weight, his heart rapid-firing in his rib cage. “You’re going to trust me with something?”

“If you want it. There is zero pressure.”

“Yes.” He was shouting again. “Whatever it is, belle. Yes.”

“You haven’t heard what it is yet.”

“Yes.”

“Wells.”

“Yes.”

“You really want to follow my blood sugar on the app?” Pink faced, she fumbled her phone a little and his entire body covered itself with goose bumps. “No one has ever followed me, besides my parents and Tallulah, but it has been years since then. You wouldn’t have to do anything, obviously. You don’t even have to turn on the alerts. I can take care of myself. But it’s . . . I guess it’s just something that’s really vital to me. I thought if I trusted you with that, you might feel more inclined to—”

Wells pulled her into a bear hug.

He didn’t even remember standing up, but suddenly, she was in his arms, her blue toes probably a good few inches off the ground. His blood raced in so many directions he felt dizzy. Among all the mental chaos, one thought occurred to him over and over again. If this incredible human being was willing to share something so important with him, he had to be worth a damn, right? He had to be worth salvaging.

“For the record, you didn’t have to preface anything,” Wells said against her forehead. “If you want something from me, ask, Josephine. You’ve got a standing yes.”

She looked up at him and blinked a few times, as if surprised, before recovering. “I’ll remind you of that tomorrow when you want to use a hybrid when we clearly should be using your five iron.”

That mouth was inches away. Inches. “You bring this up during our bonding session?”

“Session adjourned,” she murmured, her eyelids growing suspiciously heavy.

They couldn’t have been any more obvious about staring at each other’s mouths. He saw the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. “Is it, belle?”

“Well, um.” She wet her lips and his balls started to throb like a son of a bitch. “I was going to watch a movie if you want to hang out f-for a while.”

I shouldn’t. “Yeah. I’ll stay awhile.”

Wells didn’t realize he still had Josephine locked in an embrace until she wiggled free, dropping down to the couch. When she reached for the remote on the coffee table and turned on the television, he noticed her fingers trembled slightly. Hell, so were his own. Sitting down with Josephine—in a robe—was a ten on the Richter scale of bad ideas. But there he went, taking a spot close enough to her that the cushion dipped, bringing her up against his side and allowing him to put an arm around her shoulder.

“Josephine.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He held on to his willpower. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

Her chest rose and fell, glassy eyes trained on the television. “It’s just a movie, Wells.”

He swallowed a pained laugh.

It’s just a movie. Right.

And Josephine was just his caddie.





Chapter Sixteen




Josephine probably shouldn’t have put on the movie 300.

Going in, it seemed like a happy medium.

Action for Wells. Shirtless Spartans for her.

Right?

But she had forgotten about the scene. The sex scene. When King Leonidas is leaving for battle and makes very passionate love to his wife beforehand. An unbridled, slow-motion masterpiece that, frankly, she might have rewound a few times if she were alone. But she wasn’t alone—and the atmosphere surrounding her and Wells was growing more charged by the second.

What was going on here?