Her look was one of pure understanding. Patience. Because she was an angel. Because she understood he was part caveman and didn’t judge him for it. “I just think it means you like me, too,” she said cheekily.
“Like you?” he echoed, witheringly.
They traded a look heavy with meaning. Wells more than liked Josephine and she damn well knew it. The vulnerability of her expression made him wonder—hope—those much deeper feelings went both ways.
Please God, let her love me back.
But neither of them said the words out loud. It had to be too soon, right?
Wells put the cart in drive and covered the distance to the first hole, stopping to the right of the tee box. They worked in silence, removing their drivers from their bags, the quiet hush of the course a thing of beauty as the sun dipped low in the sky, taking down the temperature and dusting everything in gold. He’d forgotten about these special moments on the golf course, forgotten why he’d found solace here as a pissed-off, neglected teenager, but Josephine had reminded him, hadn’t she?
She did so again now, swaggering toward the tee box and bending forward to wedge her tee into the grass. The wind funneled past, fluttering the hem of her skirt to reveal a peek of white panties, and Wells bit the inside of his cheek, trapping an appreciative sound. Normally he wouldn’t feel the need to keep his vast appreciation of Josephine’s ass to himself, but after the whole Fangirl situation—not to mention the smug looks from the country club bar—he wrestled the groan back down into his belly.
Later.
He’d appreciate her later.
In so many positions, she would lose count.
There was more fluttering fabric as Josephine settled the ball onto the tee and Wells was forced to adjust himself. God, was he just as bad as everyone else? His girlfriend couldn’t even tee off without him wanting to put his hands up her skirt. In his defense, he hadn’t been inside her since last night—and only twice in his lifetime. Far from enough when he felt this fucking much for her. One hole, maybe two, and they were breaking the speed limit to get home.
Every single thought in Wells’s head scattered when Josephine hit the ball.
He dropped the club in his hand, the weight slipping straight from his fingers.
Her form was perfect.
An actual miracle.
He replayed the stroke in his head, searching for a single defect and coming up empty—and then all he could do was watch the ball go sailing, landing in the dead center of the fairway. Bounce, bounce, then rolling to a rest. “Josephine.”
“Yes.”
His tone was pure reverence. “You had to have hit that two hundred and fifty yards.”
If he hadn’t already fallen madly in love with her, the cocky little smile she gave him over her shoulder would have inked the deal. “Jealous?”
His brain cells were still hanging suspended in the air—and honestly, his dick was now at full mast, because hell, Josephine had a more fine-tuned stroke than him, by a fucking mile, and her talent was so unforgivably hot, he just wanted to get closer to it. On top of it. Her. Now.
Maybe that masterful drive knocked some sense into him, though, because his thoughts reorganized in a new way—and suddenly he was thinking very, very clearly.
They had a problem. Josephine needed to be seen as capable and valued. She wanted success through her own merit and she damn well deserved that respect. The media had incorrectly labeled her as someone at the mercy of his kindness. Being in a public relationship would only compound the issue and yet, he already knew that pretending she wasn’t his girlfriend on tour was going to eat him alive. Hiding was beneath them.
Did he have a way to solve these problems in one fell swoop?
Maybe. Yeah.
He just might.
But he needed to take action before he told her anything.
Otherwise, she might try to stop him.
“Do you trust me, Josephine?”
Her red ponytail whipped around. A second later she nodded. “Yes.”
Gratitude spread through his limbs. “I won’t let you regret that.”
She shook her head. “What’s going on with you?”
Being in love with you has altered my brain chemistry. Suddenly he could come up with solutions that would have eluded him before there were stakes involved. High stakes. Apparently when a man needed a woman the way he needed Josephine, he became a human think tank whose sole mission was to come up with numerous ways to keep her.
Wells ached to tell her his plan now, but he needed to show her he meant business. He wanted to give her proof he not only loved her but also understood her, so she wouldn’t have any doubts about him when he said those three words.