Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Damn,” Ricky said, coming up beside her. “And I thought we had a bad round.”
Simultaneously, they looked over at Ricky’s golfer, Manny Tagaloa. He was standing just off the green, utterly still, with a towel draped over his head.
“At least you finished even,” Josephine muttered, throwing her bag up onto her shoulder. “We’re going into tomorrow three over par.”
“Drinks after we clean up?”
“The stiffer the better.”
An hour and a half later, Josephine slumped onto her stool beside Ricky at the hotel’s lobby bar. They were lucky to find seats, with sunburned and half-drunk golf spectators taking up every inch of real estate. When the bartender finally found a moment to take their orders, Ricky asked for a pint of lager and a lemon drop martini for Josephine. Normally, she would avoid something so sweet, but her blood sugar was flagging after walking all day and she desperately needed the boost.
“How did you get hooked up with Tagaloa?” she asked, after sighing into her first sip.
“He’s a friend of my brother’s from college, actually,” Ricky answered. “We met at a bachelor party. Vegas. We were paired up for a round and something clicked. He got his tour card a week later. Right place, right time, I guess.”
“Love that for you.”
“Me too.” The other caddie laughed quietly to himself. “What about you and Whitaker? How did that happen?”
“Well.” She drew out the word. “I used to be a fan. Like, that’s an understatement. I was a sideline warrior. Wore his merch to tournaments and cheered him on.”
Ricky’s eyes widened during her explanation. “Back when he was winning?”
“No, as recently as a month ago.”
“Wow.” He took a pull of his beer. “That’s . . . admirable.”
“Thanks. That’s how we met, anyway. Then he quit.” She peered down into the yellowish-white depths of her drink. “When the hurricane hit Palm Beach, he happened to be in the neighborhood and came to check on me. It kind of just . . . went from there.”
Ricky blinked a couple of times. “He happened to be in the neighborhood?”
“That’s right.”
Another pause. “Doesn’t he live in Miami?”
“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—”