“Yes. He was visiting a friend.”
“Huh.” He watched the television behind the bar for several seconds, which, of course, was showing a recap of the day’s best golf shots. Safe to say Wells would not be featured. “And this friend was . . . whom?”
Josephine wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t ask and he didn’t offer to tell me. Which probably means it was a woman.”
“Right.” He brought the pint glass to his lips again. “Not sure I would bank on that.”
“Oh. Why?”
Before Ricky could answer, Josephine’s phone started hopping around on the bar. She picked it up, expecting her parents to be calling with some heartfelt encouragement. But it wasn’t her parents. It was Tallulah.
She gasped and snatched the phone to her chest. “I’m sorry, I have to answer this. My friend is calling all the way from Antarctica.”
“Jesus,” Ricky said, shooing her away. “Go.”
“Be right back.”
“Don’t be surprised if your drink is gone,” he drawled.
“It’s yours.” As soon as Josephine hopped off the stool, she tapped the screen to answer and held the phone to her ear, venturing into a slightly less populated section of the bar. “You’re alive! I was starting to think you’d succumbed to frostbite or an angry walrus attack.”
“The day is young.” Tallulah sighed lustily. “It sounds like you’re in a bar. I remember those. Vaguely. Are you on a date, Miss Doyle?”
“A friendly one, maybe. I’m in San Antonio at the Texas Open.”
“And no one was shocked.”
“Tallulah, you’re not going to believe this.” She hopped in a tiny circle. “I’m caddying for Wells Whitaker.”
“Yeeeessss, Josephine.” Her best friend drew the word out, clearly not believing her. “And I’ve joined the penguin colony. I’m their illustrious new leader.”
Josephine gasped. “That’s amazing. Do you get benefits?”
“Only the best. Dental and everything.” Tallulah made a halting sound. “I miss you so much. I love what I’m doing, but they put me on assignment with three scientists who don’t grasp the concept of sarcasm. When I leave the research center and tell them I’m going for a swim, they take me seriously. I mean, if I dipped in a toe, I would probably die.”
“Have you tested that theory just to be sure?”
“I love you. Come to Antarctica. We have porpoises.”
“I would, but I have to wash my hair?”
“And caddie for Wells Whitaker, of course,” she said, in a very wink-wink-nudge-nudge tone. “What is he like one-on-one? And by he, I mean his derriere, obviously.”
“Juicy as ever. You can’t spell khaki without the ‘a’ and the ‘h.’ As in ahhhhh, there’s that tight bubble butt.”
“Oh yes.” Her friend’s muffled laughter made a smile bloom on Josephine’s face. “That old slogan.”
“It’s a classic.” She stepped aside to let someone pass on their way to the bathroom, her back bumping into something hard. “Sorry,” she said, half turning, but failing to look at who was behind her. “Unfortunately, the butt doesn’t make up for his temper. Or his lack of manners and inability to take helpful suggestions. Or his—”
The phone was plucked out of her hand.
Josephine whirled around, her gaze connecting with an unshaven jaw, before traveling upward to meet an unreadable pair of brown eyes.
Wells.
Was standing in front of her.
How much of her phone call had he overheard?
“I don’t know what my caddie was going to say next, but I’m guessing it was something like, ‘Or his tentative backswing.’ She loves to give me shit about that.”
Josephine could only gape.
“I might disagree with a few of her points, but everything she said about my ass is true. It’s world-class.” He ended the call and handed the phone back to Josephine. “Up to bed. I don’t want you hungover in the morning.”
Shock washed over her like an icy waterfall, followed by anger spouting like a geyser in her middle and shooting acid up into her throat. “My best friend was calling me from Antarctica, you donkey. I haven’t talked to her in three weeks.” If that was an instant flash of regret that moved in his face, she didn’t care to acknowledge it. “And it doesn’t matter if I’m hungover or chipper as a bluebird, I might as well be talking to a brick wall out there!”