Chapter 20
POPPY
Unknown: Hey Poppy, this is Max, Brookes’ caddy. He… needs you.
My eyebrows knit together as I read the text message on my phone. Glancing up at the television screen that’s playing a live feed of Brookes’ round, I watch the camera pan out from where Brookes is currently walking with his head down, shoulders bunched tightly under his dark gray polo shirt.
Me: I was told to stay here.
My task for today was simple. Stay put in the designated tent with all the other VIPs and wait for Brookes to finish, after which I’m to join him like the quintessential golf girlfriend and smile pretty for whatever camera catches us.
Unknown: Yeah, Brookes wants you here. With him.
I gape at the screen, reading the message a few times.
Brookes wants me there. With him. On the course.
I snap my head up, looking around for what I don’t know. Is that even permitted? Am I allowed to be out there on the course? I’m not a golfer. I’m definitely not a caddy.
Me: Max, I don’t think I’m allowed out there.
Unknown: Technically you’re not. But Brookes kind of does what he wants. There’s a cart on its way to you.
Unknown: He said to tell you… Megalodon.
At that, I jump up from my chair because he must really need me. Megalodon. Our safe word from the other night. Brookes is teetering on the edge, and if he needs me to keep him from toppling over, then screw the rules.
Looping my VIP lanyard over my head, I pull on my ball cap and tug my ponytail through to make sure it stays put. Then, tossing back the last few mouthfuls of my Diet Coke, I turn and hurry out of the tent in search of my chauffeur-driven golf cart.
I’m escorted through a sea of golf spectators, the security guard being rather pushy while keeping me tucked close as he shoulders his way through the throng.
The rope is lifted and I duck underneath, finding Brookes standing a few feet away with his back to me while he leans on his driver, watching the other guy tee off.
Max spots me first, lifting his chin as I approach him. He taps Brookes on his shoulder, and Brookes turns then, his eyes immediately meeting mine before doing a slow, steady assessment of me from head to toe and back again.
During my time working at Vista Palms, I got a good feel for what the golf girlfriends wear when they’re forced to tag along to watch their guys play, so today, I decided on a white pleated golf skirt and a pale pink polo shirt from Brookes’ brand, Big Swing.
Judging by the hint of the smile that tugs at Brookes’ lips, he approves of my outfit, and I close the distance between us, feeling awkward as hell with every set of eyes on us.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Are you okay?”
Surprising me, Brookes wraps his arms around my middle, pulling me flush against him, burying his face into my neck with a murmured, “I’m about to kill this fucking guy.”
“Who is he?” I ask quietly, running my hands over the muscular plains of Brookes’ back, feeling him relax a little beneath my touch.
“A fucking asshole.”
We’re interrupted by the loud clearing of a throat, and I pull out of Brookes’ hold to see a marshal standing behind me, holding a white vest with the tournament logo printed across the front. “Ma’am, if you intend on staying on the course, you’ll need to wear this.”
“Don’t ma’am her.” Brookes steps in between us. “Her name is Poppy, and she’s my girlfriend.”
I place a hand on Brookes’ tense forearm, giving him a gentle squeeze. He glances at me and I shake my head just once, silently telling him to calm down.
“I’m sorry,” the marshal says, completely unapologetically. “Poppy, if you intend on staying on the course, you will need to wear this.”
Brookes snatches the vest from the man, and then, unexpectedly, he carefully places it over my head, tying the sides for me before running his hands up my arms and leaning in, pressing a tender kiss to my cheek.
My skin feels like it’s on fire, but I try so hard to play it cool, swallowing around the lump of nerves lodged in my throat.
Reaching up, I cup Brookes’ stubbled jaw, staring deep into those crystal-blue eyes, steadying him with a knowing look. “Take a breath. Calm your heart. You’ve got this,” I remind him. “And I am right here.”
“Brookes, you’re up,” Max hisses under his breath from beside me, motioning to the left.
Brookes tears his gaze from mine, looking at the tee where his opponent is grinning at him all smug, his driver resting on his shoulder.
“I didn’t realize it was ladies’ hour.” The blond chuckles, his gaze raking up and down my body.
“That explains your presence,” Brookes mutters.
The blond’s smile falls.
I narrow my eyes at him, my top lip curling up into a sneer of disgust. “Who’s the chode?”
Max snorts, ducking his chin to hide his laughter. “That’s Jackson Taylor. Current world number eight and Brookes’ oldest rival. I don’t know the murky details but they’ve got a past, and the guy somehow manages to get under Brookes’ skin.”
I nod slowly, looking from Jackson to Brookes, watching as he lines himself up at the tee.
After last night, I have a newfound sense of protectiveness over this man.
On the outside Brookes is a slightly intimidating, six foot two, tattooed, mountain of muscle; you’d think he can take care of himself.
But, on the inside, he’s just a little boy scared of the ocean, who was brought up to believe he was never going to be good enough, no matter how hard he fought to be the best.
My heart ached when I went to bed last night.
And it ached still this morning when I woke up.
So, I made a vow to myself that no matter what, no matter when, no matter how, I’ll be here for Brookes whenever he needs me, because he’s been let down by those he trusted way too many times in the past. I’m not going to be another name on the list of people who have let him down.
I know all too well how lonely it is when it feels like no one is on your side.
“Come on, baby,” I say loud enough for Brookes to hear, clapping my hands together.
He glances at me over his shoulder, a smirk ghosting his lips.
“Shhhh!”
I turn to see a woman holding a sign in the air that says QUIET, a finger pressed to her lips, accompanied by a chastising glower.
“Oh…” I smile ruefully, looking around to take note of everyone watching on silently, whispering, “Sorry.”
Max chuckles next to me, and I meet his smiling eyes, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment because it seems I have a bit to learn if I’m going to be the perfect little golf girlfriend.
After a moment of intense silence, Brookes swings, the driver making a whooshing sound as it slices through the air before connecting with the ball.
Behind me someone gasps, someone whoops, and someone cheers before the crowd erupts in a round of ruckus, very un-golf-like applause.
I crane my neck to try to see what the big deal is, but it’s pointless.
I have no idea. Although I can tell whatever just happened is good because of the way Brookes turns and holds a hand up, waving and nodding to the crowd.
“What happened?” I ask Max as he hitches the big black golf bag up onto his shoulder.
Max gapes at me, his eyes unnaturally wide. “He just hit the green from the tee on a par five.”
I blink. “In English?”
Max just chuckles. “Brookes fucking Devereaux is back.”
I trail Max as he hurries to Brookes, taking the driver with one hand, giving him a high five with the other. And when Brookes turns to me, he flashes me a quick grin, holding his hand out for me. I take it, and together we follow the marshals down the fairway.
“That was good?” I look up at him, quirking a brow.
Staring straight ahead, his grin lingering, Brookes nods once. “Yeah, Pops. That was really fucking good.”
“Truth or dare?”
He side-eyes me, one eyebrow arching. “Really?”
“You know the rules…” I giggle.
Shaking his head, Brookes huffs a laugh. “Dare.”
When he looks down at me, I flash him a broad smile. “I dare you to do that again.”
He squeezes my hand, looking back out over the fairway as we continue to the green. “You’re on, baby.”