Page 89 of Fangirl Down

He stopped short when it started to ring.

No joke, he almost fell off the leather bench, thinking Josephine might be calling.She changed her mind about taking time apart. She’s coming to Miami and I’m about to raid a fucking Bath & Body Works to get ready for her.

It wasn’t Josephine, however.

It was Burgess Abraham. Also known as Sir Savage.

His professional hockey–playing friend, though neither one of them wouldadmitthey were friends. It was a completely healthy relationship.

Wells tapped the button to answer. “What?”

A low grumble of sound filled the small home gym. “Someone’s in a mood.”

“That’s right.”

“I live with a moody eleven-year-old now. Believe me, I don’t need your shit, too.”

Wells watched his own eyebrows rise in the mirror. “Your kid is living with you now? Like, full time?”

“Part time. And yet the whole apartment never stops smelling like Sol de Janeiro.”

“What the hell is that? And how are things with her mom?”

“I didn’t call to talk about this.” Burgess sighed.

Wells chuckled. “Who’s moody now?”

“Go to hell.”

“Nice to hear from you, too.” Wells switched the phone to his other hand. “Are you coming to Torrey Pines this week for the tournament?”

A hum came down the line. “I don’t know. Do eleven-year-old girls like golf?”

“Christ, I don’t know.” Wells paused, trying to swallow the protrusion forming in his throat. “Josephine probably liked golf when she was eleven.”

Even though Burgess didn’t make a sound, Wells had a feeling he was amused by the abject misery in his tone. “Ah. The caddie.”

Wells grunted.

Burgess made a thoughtful sound. “Can you ask her if it’s advisable to bring Lissa to the tournament?”

“I could if she was here.” He dug a knuckle into his eye and twisted. “Which she is not.”

“You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“Nope!”

The hockey player was silent for several seconds. “She the one?”

“The one what?”

“Really?” Leather creaked in the background. “Don’t make me say it.”

“I’m afraid I need clarification.”

Burgess cursed under his breath. “This always happens to me. The young people in my life think I’m wise because I’ve got a few gray streaks in my beard and I get stuck explaining romance and giving advice on how to handle women, when I’m obviously not qualified to do either one of those things.”

“Hence the divorce.”

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