Fangirl Down: A Novel (Big Shots Book 1)

Wells stood outside the bag room Friday morning, arms crossed, index finger tapping against his opposite elbow. Josephine was in there and he needed a word before day two got underway.

Well. Technically, he didn’t need a word. He didn’t owe anyone explanations.

So . . . what. After last night and the way she’d called him out in an eerily accurate manner, he wanted Josephine to understand him better?

That didn’t make a lick of goddamn sense, either.

Except that if she understood him better, there was a chance their golfer-caddie relationship could become stronger. He’d never given a second thought to that kind of thing in the past. Wells played how he wanted. He didn’t need a second opinion when it came to hitting a ball into a hole. He just got it done. Except that he wasn’t getting it done anymore.

And that suddenly mattered a lot, because when he lost, so did Josephine.

Of course, that had been the same deal with caddies in the past, but he’d never taken anyone on exclusively. His caddies of tournaments past were well established and had financial security. Other options. This was different.

The other not-so-tiny detail that set Josephine apart from his former golf partners was that he wanted to fuck her so bad, he’d woken up growling her name and thrusting in his closed fist. Imagining her auburn hair spread out on his pillow, her nails scraping down his back, her tits bare and bouncing. Damn, he’d come as hard as a bullet train. And truth be told, he’d felt guilty as sin about it afterward, especially considering he was her boss, for all intents and purposes.

But doubly so, because he’d ruined her night.

Hung up on her best friend.

Even now, thinking about what he’d done—and her devastated reaction—made his chest feel like a hollow cavity. He’d spent three hours last night tracking down an email for Tallulah at the research facility and God himself couldn’t keep Wells from making up for that mistake. No matter how long it took. Otherwise, he’d be haunted by the memory of Josephine’s unshed tears until the day he died.

A totally normal way for a golfer to feel about his caddie.

Wells dragged a hand down his unshaven face. One more minute of waiting and he was going in there to get her. Why was it taking her so long to collect his bag?

Finally, the door opened and there was Josephine, ducking beneath the arm of the man who was holding it open for her. Same guy she’d been sitting with at the bar last night.

Was something going on there?

His vision turned an alarming shade of gray, heat prickling his scalp beneath his cap.

“Oh.” Josephine’s gait halted when she saw him waiting. “Wells.”

The other caddie split a look between them. “I’ll see you down there.” He stuck his hand out to Wells. “Good luck today.”

Wells wasn’t sure how he felt about this dude yet, but Josephine was watching him, her frown increasing with every second he hesitated. “Yeah,” Wells muttered, shaking the young man’s hand. “You too.”

As soon as the other caddie was out of earshot, she goaded him. “Being civil wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Actually, I’m crumbling inside.”

“Poor gargoyle.” With a shake of her head, she started toward the course and Wells followed. He trailed behind on purpose, taking plastic rolls of glucose tabs out of his pockets, carefully unzipping various compartments on the golf bag, and stuffing the plastic tubes inside. Grape flavor. “I’m glad you’re early. Some practice swings would be—”

“Is something romantic happening there?” Wells interrupted.

She blinked back at him over her shoulder, but thankfully he was done stocking the bag with sugar reinforcements, as Josephine’s mother had suggested. “Is there something romantic happening where?”

Wells drew even beside her. “Between you and that kid.”

“First of all, his name is Ricky and he’s Tagaloa’s caddie. We spent the entire day with them yesterday. Ringing any bells?”

“Barely.”

She rolled her eyes. “Second, no. He has a girlfriend. Two of them, actually. Both of whom come second to his Komodo dragon, Slash.”

“Good,” Wells grumbled, the world comprised of colors again.

Josephine’s cheeks deepened with a blush, ever so slightly. “Not for the second girl, I’m guessing.” They walked in silence for several yards. “Was there something else you wanted to speak to me about?”

“Yes.”

They continued walking.

Wells knew what he wanted to express, but he had no clue how to verbalize it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to take suggestions out there, Josephine. I’m not that fucking stubborn.” That last part left her looking skeptical, which was fair, but he pressed on. “It’s like . . . once my round becomes a dumpster fire, I just want to hurry up and burn it all down.”

“You’re self-destructive.”

Despite that glowing sentiment, he really liked how Josephine just jumped into the deep end of the conversation with him, without any pomp and circumstance. “That sounds way worse than what I said.”

Josephine stopped walking and backed off the path, so the pairs behind them could pass. Setting his bag down in front of her, she tightened her ponytail. In the . . . God, the cutest way. Why was everything she did so endearing? “Why do you want to burn it all down?”

“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to go any deeper with this explanation.” His neck was getting hot. “Can we just leave it at dumpster fire?”

“Afraid not.”

Wells cursed. He picked up his ballcap and dragged a handful of fingers through his hair before fitting it back on. “I’m only humoring you because I feel like a Batman villain after last night.”

“Well,” she said, without missing a beat. “You are the Bane of my existence.”

Oh. God. Now she was making Batman puns? His heart was sprinting at the speed of light. What the hell was he supposed to do about this?

“Funny,” he said, sounding somewhat strangled. “I . . . what were we talking about?”

“The fact that you’re self-destructive.”

“Still not a fan of that phrasing, but sure.” He shifted, moving both hands to his hips. He felt like he’d been mule kicked in the solar plexus. “I guess I self-sabotage out there because I want to prove I don’t care.”

“Do you care?”

Wells opened his mouth and nothing came out.

Josephine stood silently in front of him.

An itch started beneath his collar.

“Do you care, Wells?”

“Yes,” he said after several more beats.

“I guess a better question,” she started quietly, “is why are you so reluctant to admit that you care whether you win or lose?”

Jesus. He’d only meant to explain to her that he wasn’t a brick wall, as she’d described him last night. That he would do his best to try to listen, incorporate her suggestions. He didn’t sign up for a therapy session. But with Josephine’s clear, green eyes focused on him, he found the truth wanting to unravel in his throat. “I don’t want to give anything that power over me. To make me . . .” Out with it. You’re in this deep, might as well keep swimming. “If golf is going to make or break me, I’d rather break it first.”

“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.”

“No, it’s not. And if I had been the one to propose this bet, I’d be at fault. But it was you, so I think we’re staying on the right side of decorum.”

“I’m shocked you even know the word ‘decorum.’”

“You’re the one suggesting a pantsless picture in your caddie uniform.”

Her mouth fell open. “Who said anything about pantsless?”

“Sorry, the crowd noise is . . .” Wells tapped his ear. “The cheering really swallowed up what you were saying exactly.”

Josephine smirked—and he knew. She was going to call his bluff. And his dick was definitely going to land the stunt double role. “Actually, I said pantsless and braless.” She batted her eyelashes once. Twice. “You need to work on your listening skills.”

His saliva evaporated into dust. “Hand me my driver.”