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 saysQUIET, 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.”
CHAPTER 21
BROOKES
Poppy: What the hell is this?
Inarrow my eyes to get a better look at the message on my screen, my phone hidden out of sight, beneath the shield of the tabletop. When I see the photo of the box almost as big as she is, sitting in the middle of our suite back at the hotel, I can’t help but bite back a grin.
