Page 11 of Fangirl Down

“You thinkyoucould show me better? I had no idea you were a professional.”

“I might not be a professional—”

“No. Because if you were, you would know that once you lose your stroke, getting it back is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I’velooked, Josephine. One day, a player has formula and the next, he’s forgotten how to pronounce the ingredients. That’s why these greats go on winning streaks that seem endless, but theyalwaysend. Success in golf is finite.”

“Do you really believe that or are you just making excuses to be a quitter?”

“I don’t need this shit.”

“Then leave.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I will.”

He didn’t move an inch. The dumbest, most harebrained idea of his life was occurring to him and the more he allowed it to invade his mind, the more oxygen he breathed. Her oxygen. She was an endless supply, standing right in front of him and, Jesus, he couldn’t walk out of there knowing the obstacles she’d have to face by herself. Leaving her to deal with everything alone would haunt him day and night, along with her... mouth. God, her mouth. It was the most stubborn and kissable mouth he’d ever seen.

Whatever you do, don’t voice this ridiculous idea out loud.

It probably wasn’t even possible. The longest of long shots.

But maybe...

Maybe one last time, he’d swing like he had nothing to lose.

“If I can get back on the tour, if they’ll allow me back on, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and caddie for me? Since you know so goddamn much.”

Josephine went so perfectly still, she might have transformed into a mannequin. “Wait... what? Wh-what did you say?”

“You heard me. Next stop on the tour is San Antonio. You in?” He crossed his arms in defense of her shock. Hell, hisownshock. “If you won’t just take my money, earn it, instead.”

She stepped back from him, her chest rising and falling. “Are you messing with me?”

“Let’s get one thing straight, belle. You will never wonder where you stand with me or if I’m bullshitting you. You get exactly what you see. I don’t mess around with people, but especially you.”

Heat singed the back of his neck.

Fuck.

That last part had slipped out.

“Because I’m potentially going to be your caddie,” she tacked on, mercifully. “There can’t be any secrets or pretenses between a golfer and his caddie. A caddie is a chauffeur, coach, and priest all in one package.”

“Is that a yes?” Wells asked gruffly, holding his breath.

“I...” She looked around the flooded pro shop, as if searching for someone to talk her out of his wild idea. “I mean, I would have a couple of conditions.”

“Name them.”

“I can’t caddie for you indefinitely. When and if I make enough money to remodel the shop the way I’ve always wanted, I’ll have to...”

Wells waited. And waited. “You can’t even say the word ‘quit’ can you?”

She made a face. “I’ll have to comehome, is what I’m saying.”

“Got it. What else?”

Green eyes zeroed in on him and he sensed the gravity of what came next. “I meant it, Wells. I won’t be pitied. Okay? I’ve been coddled and treated like a charity case many times before, all because of my T1D. But I’m not one. If we make this agreement, it’s because it’ll benefit us both. Not just me.”

Whether this arrangement would benefit him remained to be seen—nothing he’d tried to bring his game back on line had worked, so why would this? But he’d bite. Hell, he didn’t want her to feel like a charity case, either. “Done.”

---