“Why?”
“Because then it’s on my terms. I control what the sport does to me. If I’m going down the tubes, I’m going on my own raft.”
“Your raft has holes in it,” she said, patiently.
“I know, Josephine,” he snapped. “That’s why I gave you a chance to quit.”
She threw up her hands. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You played terrible yesterday to needle me into quitting.”
“Not at first. But as long as I was setting shit on fire anyway, I guess I wanted to give you an excuse to give up on me, so I don’t have to wait around for it.” Good lord, there was a band around his chest that wouldn’t stop tightening. “I brought you here with good intentions. I want to win for you. But hope is a fucking monster, belle, especially when that hope is pinned on me.”
“No, it’s not,” she fired back.
“Buck had high hopes for me, right? As soon as I started stumbling, I lit a match and tossed it on everything.” He stopped just short of bringing up his parents. Couldn’t make himself dig quite that deep. “I fail people and they leave. I fail at this game, and it deserts me. It’s easier to check out first.”
“Is it? Is it easier or have you just gotten comfortable in a bad pattern?” Josephine stepped closer and flattened a palm on his chest. “Be brave, Wells. Let yourself care again.”
Wells felt himself being pulled in two directions. Standing at a crossroads with a familiar wind pushing him down the path he knew. Where he could be alone, no one counting on him. That direction wasn’t pretty. But it was comfortable. On the other path, there was . . . hope. Tempting, but dangerous. Especially when the possibility of not succeeding meant letting down this woman.
The sound of a golf cart buzzing closer interrupted his thoughts.
“Mr. Whitaker,” one of the course officials said. “You’re ten minutes to tee time.”
“Thank you,” Josephine informed him, with a strained smile. “We’re coming.”
The cart made a K-turn and zipped back in the other direction, leaving them in relative silence. Josephine stooped down and positioned his bag on her shoulder. He wanted to throw the damn thing on the ground, pick her up into his arms, and carry her to his room. He just wanted to bury his body and soul into her and delay playing the game that made him feel like a failure.
He wouldn’t fail at making her moan. He’d be the fucking master at that.
“Wells.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop looking at my boobs.” She moved back onto the path, her feet eating up the distance to the course. “There is nothing sexy about this caddie uniform.”
Wells followed, shocked to find he was . . . lighter. Despite the heavy baggage they’d spent the last five minutes wading through, he swore there was less tension in his neck. Even his legs were looser, to say nothing of his mind. Christ, was he open to . . . caring again, like Josephine had asked of him? “You’re wearing a uniform with my name on it, belle. There is nothing hotter.”
She pretended to gag. “How about this? If you eagle the first hole, you can . . .” Her mouth snapped shut, flames scaling the sides of her face. “Never mind.”
His pulse picked up. “Oh, I’m going to need to hear the rest of that sentence.”
“It’s unprofessional. I was just . . .”
“Flirting with me?”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “I wouldn’t flirt with my boss.”
If he wasn’t careful, this whole exchange was going to make his dick hard and they were going to be on live television in the next couple of minutes. Unless his cock was auditioning for the role of stunt double to his nine iron, they needed to cool it. Although he didn’t want to completely shut down the opportunity to talk about the nature of their relationship. What was allowed, what wasn’t. Just to make everything really, super clear. “We need to have a conversation about this later, Josephine.”
“No, we don’t. It won’t happen again.”
“What won’t happen again?” Masochist. “I don’t even know what you were going to propose.”
“It was silly. If you eagled the first hole, I was just going to offer to pose for a picture in my caddie uniform.” Pink was rushing upward toward her hairline. “Since you think it’s so hot.”
His kingdom for that single picture. “You’re on.”
“I . . . no,” she sputtered. “No, that’s definitely not appropriate boss-employee behavior.”