Page 63 of Fangirl Down

She couldn’t think of a single thing. Not when she suddenly felt... buoyant. Like she could float up into the cloudless sky and bask there in the sunshine, never coming down.Wasshe?Very fucking importantto him? She’d been harboring the hope that her assistance on the course was making a difference, but having Wells say it out loud unlocked something inside her. Something like... pride.

A young man with a clipboard waved them into the big, white media tent as soon as they arrived—and dear lord, it happened so fast. One second, they were outside in the blazing sunshine and the next, they were embraced by shade and ice-cold air conditioning. Also, lighting crews, television cameras, and reporters, interspersed with boom mics.

A table waited for them at the front of the room, complete with several microphones proclaiming all the major networks. Her parents were 100 percent going to see this.

“Hold up. Come here,” Wells said, turning her around by the shoulders.

Before she could question his intentions, he tucked a few strands of hair into her ponytail and tightened it gently, making her eyes blink at a very rapid rate. “Thanks.”

In response, he pulled her toward the stage with a grunt, ascending the stairs...

And stopping short.

There was only one chair.

Relieved in the most indescribable way, Josephine started to back down the stairs. “I’ll just catch you later—”

“Nope.”

Wells pulled out the chair, guiding her down into it.

Then he stood directly behind her, frowning, with his arms crossed.

“What?” he shouted at the tent.

A sprinkling of nervous laughter followed. Face on fire, Josephine watched the reporters exchange glances, some of them amused, others aghast. Finally, one of the brave ones stood.

“Mr. Whitaker,” said the middle-aged man, holding a notepad. “Congratulations on a successful round of golf today. Would you mind giving us some insight into what led to you returning to the tour?”

“The question is would I mind? Yes.”

Josephine didn’t think. She just elbowed him. Hard. It just came naturally.

The tent erupted in laughter.

She couldn’t see Wells’s face, but she was relieved when he spoke again, dry this time, rather than hostile. “Does that answer your question?”

The reporter rocked forward on his toes, eyebrows elevating. “Your caddie had something to do with your return?”

“That’s right. She bullied me into it.”

Josephine leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “That’s a lie, your honor.”

More laughter, louder this time, echoed in the dim tent.

Wells bent over, nudging her aside to amplify his own voice. “Meet Josephine Doyle, folks. She’s meaner than she looks.”

“Only when you claim the wind speed is irrelevant.”

“That’s when you get run over by a golf cart to make a point, if I recall.”

Josephine smiled broadly. “It was a welcome reprieve from you, Wells.”

No one was holding back on the laughter at this point.

“Thanks for keeping me humble, Josephine.”

She smiled up at him, surprised to find his usual stone-faced countenance held a glimmer of... affection. Her heart pounded in response. “Anytime,” she said, breathily.

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