Fangirl Down: A Novel (Big Shots Book 1)

Josephine stood at the edge of the Golden Tee, watching Wells saunter through the space, hands in his pockets. He was not a hands-in-the-pockets type of guy. They were usually planted on his hips or his arms were crossed over his chest. She knew this man. Knew he was torn between being happy for her and apprehensive about the expiration date on their arrangement. And yeah, she was nervous, too.

Because when the shop was ready and the time came to return to real life, back in Palm Beach, Josephine wasn’t sure she’d be able to leave him.

For the first time, she pondered the wild possibility of giving up the shop. Staying on as Wells’s caddie until . . . when? Until he retired? He was only twenty-nine. Retirement might not come for well over a decade. And what if they broke up . . . personally and professionally . . . and Josephine no longer had the shop to return to? That was a lot of what-ifs.

And could she even physically leave the Golden Tee behind? Despite the flood, her family’s history was still very much alive within these walls. Walking away would be like removing vital organs from inside her body and pretending everything was normal for the rest of her life. She would miss the place, of course, but mainly, she would miss the meaning of it.

Hard work, ingenuity, pride, tradition. Family.

At the same time, Josephine was growing increasingly worried that leaving Wells could prove just as difficult. Add two or three more weeks to the equation and . . . how hard would it be then?

Wells pulled Josephine from her dark thoughts by asking, “Where is the consultation lounge going to go?”

She pointed toward the back of the shop. “There. I’m thinking of two leather wingbacks, a big architect board with maps and yardage. I want it to feel like the captain’s quarters of a ship. But . . . technologically modern.”

He nodded for a long time, as though envisioning what she’d described. “It’s going to be incredible, Josephine.”

“Thanks.”

“Where is the giant cardboard cutout of Wells Whitaker going to go?”

“In the bathroom,” she said, without missing a beat.

He barked a laugh, then fell silent again.

Time to face the elephant in the room. Head-on. That’s how they operated, wasn’t it? “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re thinking, Wells?”

“Okay.” He speared five fingers through his hair, before stuffing them back in his pocket. “I’m thinking . . . we just decided to be together this morning and already the situation is on the verge of changing.” His eyes closed briefly. “I don’t want anything to fuck with this, Josephine.”

“Then we won’t let anything fuck with it,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

Wells’s chest rose and fell. “Yeah, except . . . you’ve met me, right? The self-destructive asshole who holds the record for breaking the most golf clubs on the tour? I’ve won more bar fights than tournaments.” He shook his head. “I’m worried I’ll backslide without you and . . . I’ll stop being this guy who is worthy of you, you know? I’m on thin goddamn ice, as it is. I’ve finished in the money once in the last couple of years, belle. That’s nothing.”

“You’re wrong. It’s something.”

“Yeah? I don’t know.” He swept the room with a glance. “What I do know is that this place feels like Josephine. It has your energy and spirit. Your love for golf. I can’t deprive anyone of that, even if I’m inclined to keep you all to myself.” A rigid line moved in his jaw. “We’re going to spend the next few weeks kicking preppy ass on the tour, belle, because I want this place to be exactly what you want. I need that for you.”

I’m in love.

I’m in love with Wells.

Oh . . . boy.

His ability to adapt and grow, his thoughtfulness, the way he cared about her without making her feel cared for. Now, his selflessness had rolled through and knocked her down like a set of bowling pins.

Strike.

“Are you with me, Josephine?”

“Yes,” she murmured. Then louder, “Yes, of course I am. Those preppies are toast.”

And so am I.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he said quietly, studying her beneath drawn brows.

Were they? On the same page?

There were still so many unknowns, but when he ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and came toward Josephine, all those loose ends stopped flying wildly in the air and just kind of vanished.

For now.

“How long until we tee off at Lone Pine?” he asked, wrapping a gentle hand around her throat.

“Menty finutes.” She winced. “I mean, twenty minutes.”

One corner of his mouth jumped. “Flustered, baby?”

That was one way to describe the slow, delicious wind below her belly button, the need for friction making her nipples stand up straight. “Yes.”

His hand left her throat, sliding down to knead her right breast. “Why?”

Pops of light went off in her vision, a moan building deep, deep in her belly. “I like when you talk to me. When you’re honest with me.”

“Oh yeah?” His lips dragged side to side across Josephine’s. “I’m sorry you’re the only person in the world I like talking to, Josephine. That must be a lot of pressure.”

“I can handle pressure.”

“Good. I’m going to give you a lot of it next time your panties are off.”

A moan sung from her throat and he swallowed it with a hard kiss, his fingers pinching her nipples lightly through her shirt, drawing wetness between her thighs.

“There is no way I’m making it through eighteen holes of golf,” he said hoarsely, his tongue flicking into her mouth, before suctioning her into a hard kiss, making her whimper.

“I signed us up for nine,” she gasped.

He jerked Josephine up onto her toes, attacking her mouth from above. “Still too much.”

“Two?”

“One, Josephine,” he groaned. “I’m already hard just thinking about you teeing off.”

“Wells Whitaker,” she chided. “This is known as the gentleman’s sport.”

“Fuck being a gentleman.” He walked her backward toward a wall, bent his knees, and slowly worked himself up between her thighs in a grind that made them both cry out. “I’ve been daydreaming about licking your beautiful pussy since this morning.”

Everything inside her squeezed. “Let’s cancel our round.”

Wells pumped his hips and she screamed behind her teeth. “Should we?”

“Yes!”

“Nah,” he drawled, tracing the curve of her neck with his open mouth. “First two times with you, I was too keyed up for foreplay. Not today.” He sank his teeth into the slope of her shoulder. “Going to find out exactly how wet I can make my girlfriend.” Turned on to the point of frustration, she tried to wrap her legs around his hips, but he blocked them, shaking his head. “Not yet, belle.”

A protesting sound snuck out. “You really think I could hit a golf ball properly right now?”

He pretended to think about her question. “If you could visualize it, what would it look like, Josephine?”

She gasped in mock outrage. “How dare you turn my genius lesson back around on me?”

Without warning, a grinning Wells stepped back and tossed Josephine over his shoulder. He carried her out of the pro shop, smacking her butt soundly as they emerged and turned for the parking lot. “Maybe I’ve got a few lessons of my own up my sleeve.”