Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)(94)

His responded with, You haven’t seen anything yet.

Side by side, they walked out of the tent.

And Wells only shot the reporters the briefest of middle fingers behind his back.

*

Wells stared at the dinner menu in his hands, the words blurring together in indecipherable lines. What did “braised” mean? He couldn’t remember.

He was in the players’ lounge having dinner with Josephine and Tallulah, but he’d barely managed a proper greeting for Josephine’s best friend when they arrived.

Because he’d been rendered speechless by sex. Utterly fucking speechless.

“Wells, do you want one of these rolls?” Josephine asked, nudging the breadbasket in his direction. All he could do was look at the baked dough in confusion.

“Huh?”

Josephine pressed her lips together in amusement—because she knew exactly what she’d done to him. Scrambled his brain like a couple of farm fresh eggs, that’s what.

She’d given him head. Twice.

Enthusiastically.

Were his legs even attached to his body anymore? He couldn’t feel them. Couldn’t hear or see anything but Josephine on her knees in that blue dress, telling him softly that it was okay to come in her mouth. That she really wanted him to.

You better not be doing this because of the press conference, he’d said, while flexing his hips toward her mouth. Or because I flew in your friend, Josephine, I swear to . . .

Can’t I just miss the taste of my boyfriend’s cock? she’d purred, kissing his crown.

And his brain went offline after that.

He’d literally passed out from the sucker punch of relief she’d given him. And when he’d woken up, she was back at it. Moaning as she sucked him.

No clothes this time. Not a single stitch.

Now he was supposed to make small talk. Chew things and operate utensils.

How.

Wells watched the waiter approach with a sense of dread. “Something to drink, folks?”

Josephine and Tallulah ordered glasses of white wine.

Wells helplessly gestured to the bar.

“A . . . beer, sir?” guessed the waiter.

Wells nodded, his neck so loose, he probably resembled a bobblehead.

He had no idea what he’d done to deserve the Cadillac of sexual favors, but he wanted to be a better person now. Volunteer more. Build orphanages with his bare hands. Save the bees. All of it.

“So, Wells . . .” Tallulah buttered a roll. “Do you have rituals you perform before a tournament starts? Like, is there a song that hypes you up?”

Both women looked at him expectantly. As if his brain wasn’t still a pile of mashed potatoes on the pillow upstairs. But didn’t he want to make a good impression on Josephine’s best friend? Get your head on straight.

“Lately, I usually just argue with Josephine.”

Tallulah snickered. “How long did it take you to realize she always wins?”

“Day two, I think. Maybe three.”

“And yet, he keeps trying,” Josephine said, squeezing his thigh beneath the table.

Making him think of how she’d held on to his thighs while she stuck out her tongue for his spend. “I’m never going to argue with you again,” he rasped. “You win forever.”

“Oh. This is a victory dinner?” Tallulah raised her glass of wine. “Aren’t those supposed to come after the tournament?”

“Yeah. But we’ve always been a little unconventional,” Wells said, and he could actually feel his fucking heart pounding in his chest as he looked at Josephine. “And I don’t want to change a single thing.”

Josephine’s smile dipped a little, seemingly beneath the weight of the moment. “Me either.”

“Holy shit,” Tallulah said, setting down her glass with a clink. “Look at that giant man with a child’s backpack on his shoulder.”

Halfway through Tallulah’s exclamation, Wells somehow knew she was referring to Burgess. In his panic to reach Palm Beach, followed by the rush to reach California early, he’d forgotten all about his phone call with the hockey bruiser. Now, Wells tore his eyes off his girlfriend and followed Tallulah’s line of sight toward the lobby, where, indeed, Burgess was towering among a sea of people with a miniature, sparkly silver backpack on his shoulder, a very solemn young girl holding his hand in the checkin line.

“Wow, he actually brought his kid,” Wells said. “To a golf tournament.”

Tallulah raised a dark eyebrow. “You know him?”

“Yeah.” Why was he shrugging so much? “Casually. Like, beers and the occasional phone call, but it’s not a big deal.”

Josephine tapped her temple. “Making a mental note not to fly him in for your birthday.” She split a look between Wells and the lobby. “Do you want to ask them to join us?”

“With a kid?”

“Kids eat, too, last time I checked,” said his girlfriend.

Suddenly, he was very fixated on what Josephine was saying. “Do you like kids?”

“Of course, I like kids.”

“Do you want one?” he half shouted.

“Oh, I wish they had popcorn on this menu,” Tallulah said wistfully, tipping her glass to her lips. “But I guess wine will have to do.”