“What is this? A pride thing? You’re too stubborn to accept?”
“Are we really pointing out each other’s flaws, because I don’t think you have that kind of time on your hands.”
“I have nothing but time on my hands.”
“Fine! Then your backswing is timid.”
“My—” His neck locked up like a prison cell. “What did you say?”
“I said . . .” She stomped through the water and got right in his face—and damn. It had been a very long time since he’d wanted to take a woman to bed this badly. In fact, maybe he’d never wanted that outcome more in his life. At this exact point in time, it would have been the angry kind of sex that ended with nail marks down his back and her in a stupor, because yeah, she’d just taken a shot at his technique. And she wasn’t done. “You used to swing like you had nothing to lose. It was glorious to watch. Now, you handle the driver like you’re worried the ball might yell at you for hitting it too hard.” She stabbed him in the chest with her index finger. “You swing like you’re scared.”
No one had spoken to Wells like that. Not since Buck.
Not since those early, early days when he’d picked up the club and felt magic race all the way up into his shoulder and a sense of purpose in his fingertips.
It was like coming up through the surface of the water and taking a deep breath.
Her honesty was oxygen.
But breathing it? That part was terrifying.
“You think you could show me better? I had no idea you were a professional.”
“I might not be a professional—”
“No. Because if you were, you would know that once you lose your stroke, getting it back is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I’ve looked, Josephine. One day, a player has formula and the next, he’s forgotten how to pronounce the ingredients. That’s why these greats go on winning streaks that seem endless, but they always end. Success in golf is finite.”
“Do you really believe that or are you just making excuses to be a quitter?”
“I don’t need this shit.”
“Then leave.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I will.”
He didn’t move an inch. The dumbest, most harebrained idea of his life was occurring to him and the more he allowed it to invade his mind, the more oxygen he breathed. Her oxygen. She was an endless supply, standing right in front of him and, Jesus, he couldn’t walk out of there knowing the obstacles she’d have to face by herself. Leaving her to deal with everything alone would haunt him day and night, along with her . . . mouth. God, her mouth. It was the most stubborn and kissable mouth he’d ever seen.
Whatever you do, don’t voice this ridiculous idea out loud.
It probably wasn’t even possible. The longest of long shots.
But maybe . . .
Maybe one last time, he’d swing like he had nothing to lose.
“If I can get back on the tour, if they’ll allow me back on, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and caddie for me? Since you know so goddamn much.”
Josephine went so perfectly still, she might have transformed into a mannequin. “Wait . . . what? Wh-what did you say?”
“You heard me. Next stop on the tour is San Antonio. You in?” He crossed his arms in defense of her shock. Hell, his own shock. “If you won’t just take my money, earn it, instead.”
She stepped back from him, her chest rising and falling. “Are you messing with me?”
“Let’s get one thing straight, belle. You will never wonder where you stand with me or if I’m bullshitting you. You get exactly what you see. I don’t mess around with people, but especially you.”
Heat singed the back of his neck.
Fuck.
That last part had slipped out.
“Because I’m potentially going to be your caddie,” she tacked on, mercifully. “There can’t be any secrets or pretenses between a golfer and his caddie. A caddie is a chauffeur, coach, and priest all in one package.”
“Is that a yes?” Wells asked gruffly, holding his breath.
“I . . .” She looked around the flooded pro shop, as if searching for someone to talk her out of his wild idea. “I mean, I would have a couple of conditions.”
“Name them.”
“I can’t caddie for you indefinitely. When and if I make enough money to remodel the shop the way I’ve always wanted, I’ll have to . . .”
Wells waited. And waited. “You can’t even say the word ‘quit’ can you?”