Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Whatever you do, don’t voice this ridiculous idea out loud.
It probably wasn’t even possible. The longest of long shots.
But maybe . . .
Maybe one last time, he’d swing like he had nothing to lose.
“If I can get back on the tour, if they’ll allow me back on, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and caddie for me? Since you know so goddamn much.”
Josephine went so perfectly still, she might have transformed into a mannequin. “Wait . . . what? Wh-what did you say?”
“You heard me. Next stop on the tour is San Antonio. You in?” He crossed his arms in defense of her shock. Hell, his own shock. “If you won’t just take my money, earn it, instead.”
She stepped back from him, her chest rising and falling. “Are you messing with me?”
“Let’s get one thing straight, belle. You will never wonder where you stand with me or if I’m bullshitting you. You get exactly what you see. I don’t mess around with people, but especially you.”
Heat singed the back of his neck.
Fuck.
That last part had slipped out.
“Because I’m potentially going to be your caddie,” she tacked on, mercifully. “There can’t be any secrets or pretenses between a golfer and his caddie. A caddie is a chauffeur, coach, and priest all in one package.”
“Is that a yes?” Wells asked gruffly, holding his breath.
“I . . .” She looked around the flooded pro shop, as if searching for someone to talk her out of his wild idea. “I mean, I would have a couple of conditions.”
“Name them.”
“I can’t caddie for you indefinitely. When and if I make enough money to remodel the shop the way I’ve always wanted, I’ll have to . . .”
Wells waited. And waited. “You can’t even say the word ‘quit’ can you?”
She made a face. “I’ll have to come home, is what I’m saying.”
“Got it. What else?”
Green eyes zeroed in on him and he sensed the gravity of what came next. “I meant it, Wells. I won’t be pitied. Okay? I’ve been coddled and treated like a charity case many times before, all because of my T1D. But I’m not one. If we make this agreement, it’s because it’ll benefit us both. Not just me.”
Whether this arrangement would benefit him remained to be seen—nothing he’d tried to bring his game back on line had worked, so why would this? But he’d bite. Hell, he didn’t want her to feel like a charity case, either. “Done.”
“Then . . . I don’t think I can say no.”
Wells tried not to be obvious about his breath escaping. “Fine.” He shrugged. “Good.”
“Do you really think you can get back on the tour?”
“You let me worry about that. You just show up and carry the bag.”
Several beats of silence passed while she looked at him, almost appearing bewildered.
“What is it, Josephine?”
“You didn’t even . . . consider that diabetes might make it hard or impossible to carry your bag all over a golf course for eighteen holes.”
“You’ve done harder things than carry a bag. Haven’t you?”
God help him, the sheen that appeared in her eyes made him utterly fucking determined to get his ass back on the tour, even if it meant swallowing his pride—and he’d be doing that by the mouthful. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I . . . yes. Thank you.”
Before Wells could do something out of character, like ask if she perhaps needed a tissue or a comforting shoulder pat, he turned and stomped out of the water.
“Wait!” She splashed after him. “I have one more condition.”
“What now? A kidney?”
“Maybe later,” she responded, without missing a beat. “For now, let me take you to get a haircut and shave. I’m not being seen on national television with a guy who looks like he just survived six months in the Amazon.”
Wells cast her a dark look over his shoulder, despite the bubble of amusement lurking near his collarbone. Honestly, he shouldn’t have given up any more ground, but the PGA wouldn’t allow him onto the green looking like an ungodly mess, anyway, so might as well concede the point to Josephine. “Is that the final item on your list?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Fine. Let’s go. I’ll give you a ride.”
“A ride? Didn’t you say you walked here?”
“What did I say about questions?” Sliding on his shades, he unlocked the door of his Ferrari with an expensive-sounding beep. “Get in and hold on.”
Chapter Six
Watching the barber whip a teal cape around Wells’s shoulders and fasten it behind his neck was nothing short of surreal. Wells was a mysterious celebrity creature she observed from a safe distance or on television. Now she was watching him gripe under his breath about being required to take his hat off. A moment later, it became obvious why.
He looked like he’d miraculously survived a trip to the electric chair.