Page 61 of Fangirl Down

“Make it delicate,” Wells snorted. “It’s never been more obvious I have a chick for a caddie.”

“Lucky you.”

“We’ll see.”

She bit her lip to subdue a smile. “You good, then?”

“Mmmm.”

That was Josephine’s cue. She backed up, putting an unsteady hand on the bag. Today wasn’t for all the marbles—that was tomorrow—but today felt...big. There was something exciting in the air. Wells hadn’t lost his temper or gotten overly discouraged by bad shots. And she couldn’t give the credit to their little wager. A man didn’t resurrect his golf game in the name of sex. Right?

No.

That would be ridiculous.

Perhaps that was how it started this morning, but she’d been watching this man play for five long, storied years—and she could practicallyfeelhim coming back to life. Deep down, Wells Whitaker loved golf and finally, finally she could see him allowing that to be true again. Out loud. In his every action. What a glorious thing to witness.

Please let it continue.

The hard leather of the bag strap bit into the palm of Josephine’s hand as Wells lined up the shot and fired gently, rolling the ball into the target, where it disappeared with aclink. The sudden roar of the crowd was tinged with shock at the daring play. Cameras jockeyed for the best position to film Wells as theypassed through to the clubhouse. Commentators were recapping the shot on live broadcasts. It was mayhem.

For a golf course.

Meanwhile, Wells casually removed his glove and shoved it into his back pocket, as if he saw none of the stir he was causing. “Ready, belle?”

“Yes.” She shouldered the bag. “Not even a single fist pump, huh?”

“We’re better than that,” he responded, loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“Tell that to my fist.” She shook out her hand. “It wants to pump so bad.”

“Yeah?” Tucking his tongue into his cheek, he gave her a quick, but heated once-over. “I know how it feels, don’t I?”

An embarrassing whoosh sound snuck out of Josephine, her legs wobbling ominously.A lotof cameras were trained on them. Not the most opportune time to be sporting stiff nipples.

“You’re not just playing well because of my...”

“Sex-centive?” Wells deadpanned.

She shook her head. “As I’ve said before, thank God they know better than to mic you up.”

He half-grinned, gesturing for her to stay close to him on their way up the path—and it was easy to see why. Hundreds of hands stuck out, begging for high fives from Wells. From... her, too? Yes. Every so often, someone shoutedJosephine!Had her name been mentioned on the air or did they look her up—

“Stay close, please,” Wells said briskly in her ear. “Belle, please.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve established that you’re more than capable of shlepping my bag around for five hours, but I would very much like to take it now. Is that all right with you?”

“Why?”

“There are marks on your shoulder.”

“Oh.” She turned her head to one side, observing the series of red grooves buried in the place where her neck sloped into her shoulder. “They don’t hurt.”

“Looking at it is hurtingme.”

Josephine rolled her eyes, letting him take the bag.

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