Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)(71)

But it was more than that. She missed her friend and fighting partner.

“You are strong, Joey,” Evelyn said, voice quivering. “It was never my intention to make you feel otherwise. Sometimes I just can’t shut off the worry.”

“I know. I’m sorry you have to live with that, Mom. It’s not fair.”

Jim settled a hand on her shoulder. “You’re worth ten lifetimes of it.”

“Thanks.” A watery laugh bubbled out of Josephine. “This conversation is getting way too heavy.” She used the edge of her shirt to swipe at her eyes. “Quick, somebody say something funny.”

“Good idea,” Jim said quickly.

Her parents searched each other’s faces for a moment until finally Evelyn snapped her fingers. “Oh honey, what was it Wells said this morning that had you in stitches?”

Wells? This morning? Josephine’s mouth fell open.

Jim slapped his knee. “He told me there’s a tree at the ninth hole at Torrey Pines where all the golfers go to drain the weasel. It’s tradition! They call it the Pissing Tree. And it’s the fastest growing tree on the course—he swore up and down!”

Josephine couldn’t even begin to process that. They were going to be at Torrey Pines next week, though, so she pocketed the valuable information for future use. “Why were you speaking to Wells?”

“He calls your father every day, dear.”

“He what?”

Jim crossed his fingers. “He’s trying to wrangle me a ticket to the Masters.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Golf. What else? Although . . . ,” Jim hedged.

“What?” Josephine prompted.

“Well, he usually manages to sneak in a few questions about you, Joey-Roo.” He paused, looking sheepish. “Come to think of it, that might be the real reason he’s calling.”

“Oh no, he loves you, honey,” Evelyn assured him.

Jim’s chest puffed up. “He does, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Josephine stared at her parents. “What does he ask about me?”

“Well . . .” Her father scratched his head. “He’s crafty about it. See, we were having a conversation about golf clubs and he says, very casually mind you, ‘What kind of sticks does Josephine use?’ And it goes like that.”

Obviously, there was no satisfaction to be had from this line of questioning.

“He asked about her birthday,” volunteered Evelyn. “Remember?”

“Oh yes. He wanted to know the date.”

“Why?”

“Well, how am I supposed to know, Josephine?”

“By asking!”

“Wells doesn’t like questions.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Josephine pushed to her feet. “If he wants to know anything else about me, he can ask me himself.”

Jim gave a firm nod. “I’ll be sure to let him know that during our next chat.”

“Good.”

“Is there a romance brewing here, Joey-Roo?” asked her mother with a little shimmy of her shoulders. “I ran into Sue Brown at the supermarket yesterday and she seemed to think so. Said the broadcasters implied as much while you were in San Antonio.”

“The checkout clerk at the plant store asked about it, too.”

“Wow. More plants, huh?” Josephine sighed. “Did anyone ask about golf? Or caddying? Or was it all about whether or not Wells and I are—”

“I don’t think I like questions, either,” Jim blurted. “Don’t finish that one.”

“Dating. I was going to say dating.”

“Oh.” Jim coughed into his first. “Yes, it seems people are mostly interested in the possibility that our daughter is seeing Wells Whitaker. Also . . . that he’s a class act for helping you get back on your feet.”

Concerns validated, Josephine’s nod was jerky.

Wasn’t this what she’d been afraid of?

Being recognized as Wells’s charity-case girlfriend, instead of for her abilities?

Apparently, she’d done the right thing by backing away and giving all the hype a chance to die down. Would it pick back up as soon as they were on television in California?

Only time would tell.

And inevitably, she’d have more decisions to make. Such as how much longer could she remain as Wells’s caddie? More importantly, would any length of time serving as his caddie be enough to make people recognize her as an asset to the sport, instead of what had brought her on the tour? Would that talent serve the new and improved Golden Tee? Bring her family’s shop the attention she was hoping for? Or was that only wishful thinking?

An hour later, Josephine was still mulling over these worries when she walked into her apartment. Before the door even closed, her phone started to beep.

Sensor expiring said the alert on the screen.

Time to change the site of her glucose monitor. One arm to the other.

With a yawn, Josephine showered and went through the practiced motions of removing the old sensor, unsnapping the transmitter that sent her blood sugar number to her phone, then attaching the new one to the back of her arm with a slight wince. No matter how many times she performed the ritual, a needle punching into the back of her arm never stopped being a little jarring. Blowing out the breath she’d been holding, Josephine snapped in the fob and tapped the screen on the app to begin warming up the new device, which usually took around an hour. She chewed a few tabs, just to make sure she didn’t go low while waiting for the new device to kick in—and then she face-planted on the couch and fell fast asleep.