Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)

“Last time we spoke,” Wells drawled, his eyes locked on the pulse of Josephine’s neck, “you called me a royal prick.”

“Ah, ah, ah. I said you behaved like one.”

Wells implored the ceiling for patience. “My practice round is starting. Why are you blowing up my phone?”

“You want to get down to brass tacks. Sure.” Keys clicked in the background. “I bring you a wealth of opportunities this morning, young man. And just to get the ugly fine print out of the way up front, I’ll be collecting fifteen percent on all of these sexy opportunities.”

“Wow.” He ran a hand down Josephine’s ponytail, smirking when she mouthed the word “fetish.” “Too bad you don’t work for me anymore.”

“We can change that quite easily, comeback kid.”

Wells sighed.

“Have you turned on the Golf Channel lately? Hell, even ESPN is putting coverage on you, man. The big turnaround story. You’re hitting the ball like Wells of yore—and you’ve got a beautiful caddie, to boot? The media is lapping it up like hungry little kittens.”

“They . . .” His pulse spiked like he’d just fibbed on a lie detector test and his arm wrapped around Josephine’s waist of its own volition, pulling her back against his chest. “What are they saying about Josephine?”

“Nothing bad, obviously. There’s nothing bad to say!”

Josephine turned in his arms and tipped her head toward the bedroom. “Going to get ready,” she whispered. “Finish your call.”

He kissed her forehead, nodded.

Like a husband sending his wife off to work.

After the morning they’d shared, it just felt oddly . . . natural.

He waited until Josephine was out of earshot and he’d shut the bathroom door to continue the conversation. Because he knew Nate well and he’d recognized the man’s tone of voice. “What are they really saying about her?”

“Ah. Well, you know, times being what they are, writers and commentators can’t technically call her hot, but there’s a lot of winking and nudging going on. ‘If she was my caddie, I’d be practicing a lot, too.’ Ha ha ha. Stuff like that. On the innocent end of the spectrum, they’re calling her your good luck charm.”

“Oh.” Humiliating that he should get choked up over that. “Hmm.”

A few moments passed in silence.

“Is there? Something going on there?” Nate asked.

“That’s nobody’s business but ours,” Wells growled. “Got that?”

“Loud and clear, champ.”

“I don’t like them talking about her. She’s . . .” Mine. He paced the bathroom. “She’s all heart. She’s authentic and perceptive and loyal. There is no way they could do her justice with a sound bite.”

Nate didn’t respond right away. Then he said, “Sorry, there’s nothing I can do about them talking about her. Especially if you keep winning.”

“I know, dammit. I just don’t like it.”

“Then I suggest you keep your television turned off.”

Wells walked in a circle rubbing the back of his neck. “All right, let’s get this over with. What are these opportunities?”

“The most magical of all opportunities, Wells.” The manager dropped his voice to a reverent whisper. “Sponsorships. Two of them.”

“Whatever.”

“How does Mercedes sound?”

“Pass. Next.”

Nate fake cried on the other end. “I knew you were going to say that. Figured we’d cross it off the list early.” He paused, for dramatic effect no doubt. “Ever heard of a little brand called Under Armour? And get this, they want to sponsor you and the caddie.”

That brought Wells’s head up. He stopped pacing. “How much?”

“Five figures each. For now. They’re being smart, picking you off cheap before your return to the tour can officially be called a comeback. That being said, they’re only asking for two appearances in their gear, so they can be sure you’re not going to self-destruct and leave them with egg on their face. They will have first right of refusal on your next sponsorship deal. Fine by us, right? It’ll leave us a ton of wiggle room to negotiate terms if you continue on this trajectory. Which you will, my boy. Sound good?”

Five figures. A few years ago, the offer would have been in the tens of millions.

God, he wanted that so bad for Josephine. She’d be able to rebuild the shop, afford better health insurance, take care of her parents. Five figures would mean a lot to her, though, too. A hell of a lot. “Done.”

“I thought you might say that. They’ve already sent over a selection of shirts and hats for both of you to choose from. I’ve taken the liberty of having them arranged in a conference room downstairs.”

“You’re a smug motherfucker, Nate.”

“We’re back, baby!”

Wells hung up.

Left the bathroom—

And stopped short, watching with mounting hunger as Josephine tugged on a sports bra, covering her perfectly perfect tits. A T-shirt next. Too many layers.

“Hey,” she said. “Almost ready.”

He was well past the point of ready. But Christ. Where was this going? His feelings for Josephine were expanding at an alarming rate, but he had no idea what would or could come from the painful attraction. Sex might mess up their entire dynamic and yet, at this point, he’d probably die if he didn’t fuck her brains out.

And soon.

What happened after that? Did she become his girlfriend?

How long could that last with them working together—especially taking into account that he could be a class A dickhead on the course? She could get run over by a golf cart again.

Or worse.

Wells cleared his throat hard. “Look. We’ve got a sponsor. Congratulations, belle, you’re five figures richer. We’re going downstairs to pick out your outfit—and it better not be anything pink.”

She turned so fast, she almost fell down. “I . . . me? I’m . . . five figures? Me?”

Not for the first time this morning, a lump built in his throat. “Yeah.”

“B-but . . . ,” she sputtered. “Why?”

“Because you’re . . . you, Josephine. And for the record, you’re worth a hell of a lot more. I just have to prove myself before that’s possible—and I will. For you. For . . . us.” Even from across the room, he swore he heard her breath quicken. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Not a hint of doubt in her voice. What had he done to deserve her?

“Good, let’s—”

She gasped. “Are we going to try to match outfits?”

“Hell no, Josephine. Absolutely not.”





Chapter Twenty




Oh yes, they did end up in matching outfits.

By accident.

Or was it?

After five years of being a Wells superfan, Josephine had the advantage of knowing the colors he favored—and baby blue was among them. As soon as they walked into the conference room and she did a quick survey of both tables, she knew the polo shirt he was going to pick off the men’s side of the room. It was more of a glacial shade than baby blue, but it was the closest to his signature color. And as luck would have it, there was a skirt that matched the shirt exactly, down to the navy logo.

“Do you want to play a game?”

Wells narrowed his eyes at her. “This feels like a trap.”

“Me? Set a trap?” She blinked innocently. “Come on. Say yes.”

He crossed his arms and sighed but couldn’t quite keep the amusement from his expression. “Explain first.”

Josephine swept a hand over the wide array of garments. “We pick and get dressed in an outfit without letting the other person see it. But once we put it on, that’s it. No changing.”

“You’re stuck with whatever you pick.”

“That’s right.”

Wells stroked his chin. “Somehow, I know I’m going to regret saying yes to this. But the fact that it entails you getting seminaked is putting me in an agreeable mood.”

“Uh-uh.” She walked over to the door and engaged the lock. “No peeking.”

“Josephine,” he warned. “You’re making me hard.”

Never could she have predicted that a man making blunt references to his junk could rev her hormones like a tank engine. “Better be careful zipping up, then, I guess,” she breathed.

He laughed with a flash of white teeth, smile lines and all. Utterly gorgeous.