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)
“Oh,” he said, coughing. “I disagree.”
“No, really. It’s a whole situation.”
“As your employer, I should know up front what we’re dealing with.”
They traded a silent look over the word employer. Their relationship, as it was now, didn’t necessarily feel like a boss-employee relationship, but that could very well change in the morning once competition started. Josephine let out a breath. “There is only one musical act that can make me dance. If that group comes on, it’s finger guns and hip thrust city.”
This was the closest to laughing that she’d ever seen Wells. “You know I’m going to ask which band.”
“And I told you, you’re going to have to work for things to tease me about.”
“It’s the Spice Girls or something, isn’t it?”
“Cold.”
“Timberlake.”
“Freezing. You’ll never get it. Sorry.” Josephine pursed her lips and looked around the room, noticing for the first time that nearly every head was turned in their direction. “I guess it’s going to be up to us to mingle, since none of your friends are approaching.”
Wells accepted the nonalcoholic beer from the waiter and tipped it back, drawing Josephine’s attention to the strong lines of his throat, before she determinedly dragged it away. “You think I have friends?” He used the back of his wrist to swipe moisture from his upper lip. “That’s adorable.”
“There isn’t even one person in this room you can tolerate?”
“I’m tolerating you, aren’t I?”
She couldn’t possibly be sensing a flutter in her belly over that. Tolerating someone didn’t pass as a compliment. “Besides me.”
“Nope.”
Surely this man wasn’t a total lone wolf. “Do you have any friends outside of golf?”
Wells shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck. He started to set his beer down, then changed his mind, keeping it in his hand. Look at that. She’d landed on something.
“Few years back, during a charity pro-am,” he started, referencing the tournament where a professional golfer gets paired with an amateur, who is usually a celebrity in some capacity, “I got stuck with this hockey player as my teammate. Have you heard of Burgess Abraham?”
Josephine started. “Uh . . . yeah. I don’t even have an interest in hockey and I know who that is. Isn’t he constantly going viral for being somewhat . . . volatile?”
“That’s him.” Wells rolled a shoulder. “Anyway, he lives in Boston, but he shows up occasionally to spectate when I’m in California, since he’s got a vacation home in Monterey. I’ve gone to one or two of his games, too. We go for a beer—maybe. Nothing is set in stone. But I wouldn’t call us friends, so if he shows up, I never said that.”
She shook her head. “Why are men like this?”
“Let me guess, you have someone you call bestie.” He shuddered.
“Proudly.”
“Who?”
“Tallulah.” Saying her best friend’s name made her throat sting, so she swallowed hard. “She’s a future marine biologist who wants to specialize in winter wildlife. Ironic for a Florida girl, right? She’s been studying penguins as an intern in Antarctica for almost a year.” Pride in her friend brought a smile to Josephine’s face. “You might remember her. She came with me to cheer you on a few times.”
Wells shook his head. “Must have been too distracted by your aggressive chanting.”
She hummed.
Why was he studying her so hard? Was the concept of friendship so foreign to him? “You . . . miss her. A lot.”
“Yes,” she said, pressure creeping in behind her eyes. “A lot.”
After a long moment, Wells nodded.
He started to take another sip of his beer, but he hesitated to press the bottle to his lips when a group of men entered the room doing a lot of laughing and back-slapping.
One of them was Buck Lee.
Now in his mid-sixties, the legend himself didn’t spend a lot of time in front of cameras anymore. He’d retired two decades ago, but his indelible mark on the game kept his influence strong in the golf world, as evidenced by the room quieting at his entrance.
He wasn’t tall or short, falling somewhere in between, his bald head covered by a tweed newsboy cap. He walked with several tour golfers, all of whom Josephine recognized, since they were all leaderboard regulars, including Chance Montgomery, Ryan Kim, and Buster Calhoun. As one, they slowed to a stop in the middle of the room and basked in the crowd’s undivided attention, before breaking off into smaller groups.
Buck’s eyes settled on Wells and Josephine, as if he’d known they were there all along, but was simply taking his time acknowledging them. Wells didn’t move a muscle, but there was a sudden electrical charge in the air.
“Are you two on speaking terms?” Josephine ventured.
“Sure.” Wells’s tone was one of forced nonchalance. “He ran interference with the powers that be to get me back on the tour.”
You got your answer. Let it drop. “Things just seem a little strained.”