Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)(29)

Wells remembered the kid’s smile like he’d seen it yesterday. “Must have been another golfer. That never happened.”

“Yes, it did. That’s why I started coming to watch you.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Everyone drifts from their path once in a while. But your path is still there waiting. It’s a perfectly good one.”

This woman was like one of those farm tools that churned up the hardened earth, turning over soil that just wanted to be left alone. Or thought it did.

“Should I expect one of these unbearable pep talks every morning, Josephine?”

“Only if I’m feeling generous.” She paused, fiddling with her ponytail again. “What did Buck want to speak to you about last night?”

“You mean, while you were off charming the masses.”

“Why, yes.”

Wells cursed. “He told me to play nice with the press. It’s one of the conditions for letting me back on the tour.”

A giggle bubbled out of her, turning into a full-fledged laugh.

“It’s not funny, belle,” he muttered. “I’d rather hammer a rusty nail into my forehead.”

She sobered. Sort of. “Do you even know how to play nice with the press?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Forget golf, we should practice smiling.”

He stabbed a finger into the air. “I am not smiling. I’m here to play golf, not become the next spokesman for Mercedes.”

“Oh, I think we can mark ourselves safe from that hellish possibility,” she murmured, before clapping her hands together. “Are you up for a quick challenge?”

“Did you forget why we’re here?”

“Not golf. Not exactly. Something else.” She gripped his wrist and tugged him into the lifting fog, toward the green of the first hole. Why he was allowing this freakishly positive woman to drag him around, he had no idea, except that he didn’t want to be anywhere else and he was reluctantly enjoying himself. So confusing. “Okay,” Josephine said, positioning him approximately ten yards from the hole. “Take out your phone and close your eyes.”

“No.”

“Do it,” she growled.

“Fine. Jesus.” Sighing with irritation, despite the ridiculous lightness in his sternum, Wells took out his phone and shut his eyes. “Now what?”

“Without opening your eyes, put your phone into the hole.”

“Sounds perfectly normal.” He tipped his head back to implore the heavens for patience, then gave in to the absurdity of it all, taking a few strides forward in the direction of the hole. When he judged himself reasonably close, he slowed down and shuffled forward at a slower pace, before bending over and—

“Mmmm,” Josephine hummed behind him, the noise dissolving into what sounded suspiciously like an appreciative sigh.

His lips twitched. “What was that, belle?”

“Nothing,” she said, way too quickly.

Wells tucked his tongue into his cheek to subdue a grin. Josephine was an ass girl. Good to know. He might not be the best golfer on this tour, but hell if he didn’t have the best butt.

“Set the phone down,” she instructed. “Let’s see how close you came.”

He dropped the device onto the grass and opened his eyes, dismayed to find himself a full two feet from the hole. “I already know I’m going to regret asking, but what was the point of this little exercise?”

She appeared in front of him, stooped down, and picked up his phone, placing it in his hands with a slap. “You could have walked past the hole, if you wanted. You didn’t have to stay between the pin and where you started. You’re not in the box. Look at this whole giant field . . .” Passion flickered in her green eyes and he couldn’t help but feel an answering spark inside himself. “Don’t limit yourself. Don’t live in a stressful little box. Go as far as you want. That was the point.”

With that, she gave him a cheerful smile, folded her hands behind her back, and walked away. Just dropped that mindfuck on him and skipped off toward the resort lobby entrance, like she hadn’t just dropkicked his brain.

“I’m going to get a muffin, if you want one,” Josephine called over her shoulder.

Goddamn right he wanted a muffin. After that eye-opening lesson, he wanted to eat enough carbs to kill an ox. And then another, equally pressing thought occurred to Wells and he found himself stomping after her in something of a daze. “You shouldn’t be by yourself when you’re wearing pajamas.”

Without halting her stride, she spun around, giving him a look that implied he was smoking the good stuff. “Giraffe pajamas are probably a great conversation starter.”

“You’re my caddie. I’m the only one you need to have conversations with.”

“Sounds bleak.” She pushed through the double doors that ran along the side entrance to the lobby, sauntering toward the coffee counter, where the employees were still in the process of setting up. “Can you order me a muffin while I do my stuff?” She scanned the glass case. “Cranberry orange.”

“They invented that flavor in hell, but sure.”

The kid behind the counter asked Wells what he’d like, but he was distracted by Josephine swinging around the small cross-body bag and taking out the green object that looked like a pen. When she uncapped it, he could see that it was a needle. Insulin. She was eating, so she had to give herself insulin so her body could process the carbs. How easily he’d thought about consuming a mountain of them without worrying how it would affect his body, the way it would Josephine’s. Biting her lip, she clicked a wheel on the end to a certain setting.