Me: Looks like a box.
Poppy: Did you order this??
Me: I don’t know. Maybe…
Poppy: Brookes! These things are like a thousand bucks!
That brand specifically, in that model, having it shipped same day cost me almost four grand. But I won’t tell her that. She’s tooadorably clueless.
Me: Maybe you should just quit bitching and use it.
Poppy: Brookes, this is way too much!
“Amazing comeback today, Brookes!”
I snap my head up from my phone, taken aback to see all eyes in the room focused on me, remembering that I’m currently in the middle of a press conference after coming back from the bottom of the board and finishing equal second. And I’d love to say that I’m justthatgood, but it would be a blatant lie; my comeback has nothing to do with my golfing ability and everything to do with the way Poppy’s presence instantly calmed me out there today.
Clearing my throat, I move closer to my designated microphone. “Thanks.”
“We saw a sudden shift in the back nine,” another reporter says, glancing down at his notepad before continuing. “Is this the comeback you were hoping for?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I mean, yeah. This is infinitely better than my performance at Hilton Head, but I still have a long way to go. Anything could happen this weekend. That’s what makes this sport so exciting.”
“You almost lost your cool on that left-side shank on the par three,” someone says. “Does the pretty brunette have anything to do with the new cool, calm, and collected Brookes Devereaux?”
I look from that reporter to a few others, glancing at the tour PR reps standing off to the side because what kind of questioning is this? Refraining from rolling my eyes, I shift in my chair and heave a sigh. “I’ve been doing a lot of work on my anger and how I handle stress with my team. But, yeah… mygirlfriend, Poppy, helps center me.” It’s only after the words leave my lips that I realize how true they are.
“Awww….” someone coos from the back of the room, and a few others chuckle.
My jaw clenches, because what the fuck is this?
Beside me, Jackson Taylor snorts, and I snap my head to the side, glaring at him and his stupid-ass smirk.
“Jackson, how do you feel after falling three spots during the last four holes?”
Jackson looks at me then, and with a menacing glimmer in his eyes, he shrugs a shoulder and looks back out over the sea of the reporters. “What can I say? Brookes’ girlfriend was more than a little…distracting.”
A few people snicker around the room. Someone sucks in an audible gasp. Another clears his throat. And I see fucking red. This motherfucker, sitting here, grinning like a smug asshole, commenting onmyfucking girlfriend. Fake or not, that’s crossing a line and he knows it. Plus, he’s married. What a fucking creep. I wrap my fist around my mic stand, squeezing it so damn hard my hand trembles. I know he’s goading me, and fuck him because it’s working, the darkness at the edge of my vision causing everything around me to fade.
But then, just when I’m about to jump up from my seat, flip this goddamn table and launch myself at the skinny prick, I’m stopped by my cell vibrating against my thigh. Blinking hard, I look down and see Poppy’s name on the screen with a new text message.
Poppy: Thanks Brookes. For everything x
And just like that, the rage inside of me simmers to a low boil, and I manage to catch a breath. Leaning into my microphone, I flash Jackson a casual grin I know doesn’t meet my eyes before turning and looking out over the press.
“Well, you better get used to seeing her out there,Jackson,” I say with a cocky certainty. “She’s my lucky charm, and she ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
When I make it back to the hotel, I walk into the suite, stopping in my tracks at the sight of Poppy sitting on the floor in the living room, her lower half encased in the compression suit I ordered for her, a room service picnic laid out all around her while a movie plays on the TV.
She turns, her eyes wide when they spot me, and I notice a flush in her cheeks as she looks down at herself before back at me. “I… thought you’d be back later.”
“Don’t let me interrupt.” I chuckle, tossing my keys onto the table. Stepping down into the sunken living area, I take a seat on the sofa, looking at her.
“How is it?” I nod my chin at the suit, hopeful because I remember just how swollen her legs were after walking the entire back nine with me today. I felt so bad. Again.
Poppy rakes her teeth over her bottom lip, looking down at the controller next to her. But then, peering back up at me, her smile is infectious. “Brookes, if I could marry this suit, I would.”
Rubbing my jaw, I laugh. “That good, huh?”
