Page 32 of Fangirl Down

“Definitely not,” he rasped, clearing his throat hard. “Hold on... what?”

“Let’s get a good night of sleep and kick some butt in the morning.”

She held up a hand for a high five. He observed it with a look of pure disgust.

“Eight fifteen tee time, belle. Don’t you dare show up late.”He backed down the hallway toward the elevator. “And don’t you dare arrive cheerful, either, or I’ll send you home.”

“No, you won’t.”

He stopped at the end of the hall. “No, I won’t,” he said, without turning around.

Then he was gone. Leaving Josephine staring after him in a daze.

Chapter Eleven

Sleep never came easy for Wells the night before a tournament—and last night was no exception. As soon as the digital numbers read 5:00a.m., he swung his legs out of bed, sat up, and dragged his hands down his face.Can’t believe I’m back here.

What happened to being done with this sport?

It was the wrong question to ask himself when he’d spent the last eight hours trying not to think too hard about Josephine. Also known as the reason golf had dragged him back in.

He could still feel the shape of her hip in his hand.

He’d been tempted to kiss hiscaddiein front of players and association members alike because he’d been completely oblivious to their surroundings. That kind of romantic gibberish didn’t happen to him.Especiallysober. But the thing he couldn’t seem to stop wondering was... would she have kissed him back?God, most of all, how did that mouth taste?

Maybe I’m the best kisser you’ve ever met in your life. You’re not going to find out.

Wells groaned on his way to the bathroom, going through the motions of shaving, showering, and finger brushing his hair before slapping a hat down over the whole mess. He’d go out and walk the course, clear his head, acquaint himself with the terrain. Sleep would serve him a hell of a lot more, but rest wasn’t in the cards.

Not with the redhead on his mind.

Not when he’d be back in front of the cameras today—an experience that had become more and more humbling over the last two years. This time, though, there was more than his career and finances on the line. He was playing for Josephine, too, and that added a whole, scary level of responsibility that he’d been flat-out reckless to take on. Because there was every single chance that he was going to let her down.

He’d been letting everyone down for two years. What made him think this time could be any different? He wasn’t going to step out onto the green and find his stroke had magically been restored.

I won’t give up on you as long as you don’t give up on yourself again.

Those words rang in Wells’s head as he descended in the empty elevator and strode through the sleepy lobby. A couple of organizers were running around setting up cardboard advertisements for luxury cars and wealth management groups. Not a Coca-Cola or Bud Light sign to be found.

Wells rolled his eyes at a floor-to-ceiling banner depicting Buster Calhoun behind the wheel of a Mercedes and walked faster out of the lobby, exiting into the humid morning air. The sun was creeping up over the horizon, ready to wash the course in Texas gold. A few staff members and the odd caddie were watching it happen. They looked at Wells curiously as he passed, probably noticing that his polo shirt didn’t have a sponsor logo on it, since nobody wanted to put their money behind him.

“Aren’t you glad you put your trust in me, Josephine?” he muttered, stepping onto the dewy course and wading into the mist, slowly inhaling the scent of freshly cut grass.

I won’t give up on you as long as you don’t give up on yourself again.

His chin jerked up when a figure appeared in the mist in frontof him, a person coming in off the fairway for the first hole. As they came closer and took shape, he realized it was a woman—and unfortunately, he knew that shape very well.

“Belle?” He moved into the mist, intending to meet her halfway. “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

When they drew even, she blinked, obviously surprised to see him. Rays of sunshine stabbed through the moist air around her, like they were harkening the Second Coming. “Walking the course. What are you doing?”

“The same, obviously.”

“Oh.”

He flicked his gaze downward, taking in her sleep shorts and T-shirt. They were covered in smiling giraffes. “You’re wearing pajamas, Josephine.”

She winced. “I thought I would sneak back into my room before anyone saw me. Couldn’t you sleep?”

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