Tee It Up: A Wilder Brothers Romance

by Megan Hetherington

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been listening to this guy on a podcast and he’ll fly anywhere in the country to help someone like me focus on my game.”

  “No, I mean, is that how you feel about me?”

  “Yes.” I stare steadfast into her eyes. Watching the pupils dilate and shrink as she tries to latch onto mine.

  “I’m not sure Johnson. This is all quite out of character for me. I haven’t had a date for a long time. And even if we’re not a doctor and patient, I’m not sure if it can work between us.” She studies her glass, twisting her finger and thumb on the stem before looking up at me through curled lashes. “I won’t deny, I am attracted to you Johnson, but I’ll be honest, it’s thrown me because I didn’t see you as my type.”

  That’s not a full rebuttal, so I carry on carefully.

  “What is your usual type?”

  “I always imagined growing up I would fall for a knight in shining armor. Someone who would save me from my boring life and sweep me off my feet.” She shakes her head and laughs, “and now, I suppose I’d settle for honest, caring, reliable.”

  “I will not tell you I can be all those things because any fool can do that. What I would like to do is to show you. If I promise not to hit on you until I prove to you I am all of those things will you at least let me try?”

  She drops her gaze to the table and slowly shakes her head.

  “I don’t know Johnson, right now, you need to focus on your game. You’ve told me this competition is important to you and fantasizing about you and me is distracting.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. This is massively important to my career. But I can’t have a career if there’s no-one significant to share the rewards with. You highlighted that.”

  “I didn’t mean that I should be the one.”

  “Yes, I know and my mind is several steps ahead but you’re the one I can’t stop thinking of.” I put both hands up, showing her my palms. “Look, I don’t want to push anything on you, if you don’t feel the same way as I do, I’ll back off.”

  She takes another sip of her wine, places the glass on the table and then slowly brings her gaze back up to me.

  “I’m not sure how I feel Johnson. Although I’d be lying if I said I felt nothing for you.”

  There’s a shaft of light and that’s all I need.

  “How about I focus on the golf this week and you go back to New York to think on it? Then if there’s still something here.” I motion with my hand between us. “Then will you at least consider spending time with me?”

  She screws up her mouth.

  “And I don’t mean in bed, I’m talking about a date. Nothing more. Just time to get to know each other more.”

  She blows out a breath, but still doesn’t say no.

  “If you agree now, it will be the biggest incentive I’ve had in a long time to do well in this golf tournament.”

  She laughs in a delicate female way. “You’re not playing fair Johnson Wilder.”

  “I know but that’s why I’m a winner. I won’t take no for an answer if I know it’s the right thing to do. And you are the right thing.”

  Finally, after another sip of wine she says. “Okay, I’m not committing to anything right now. If you do well tomorrow, I’ll get the next flight home so you can focus on the tournament. Then, if you still consider there’s something missing from your life and regaining your golfing prowess isn’t enough then call me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Meredith

  Johnson did fine on the opening day at Augusta, so I heeded his request and flew back to New York. I’m keeping a close eye on the golf results, hoping he doesn’t crash and burn at any point, because I want him to do well.

  For his sake and possibly ours.

  His decision to sever our doctor and patient relationship was exactly what I wanted. As soon as he said it, it felt right. My heart told me by thumping erratically in my chest and my head agreed if only to save myself from professional harm.

  But I’m less sure whether I want to have a relationship with him. Last week after a few glasses of wine, and his strong, handsome body on my sofa, I would have succumbed to whatever charms he dare use to have his wicked way with me. But hanging out, signifies something more serious and requires me to consider his reputation and the potential scarring of my heart. I’m not as black and white about his gigolo nature as I was right at the beginning but the gray in between is less clear.

  I go straight to the office from the airport to give Hector an update.

  “I’ve had to sign for this, this morning.” Hector comes in to my office and wafts a white envelope in front of my face. “What happened?”

  “I’m guessing that’s from Johnson Wilder?”

  “Yes, I mean…” he opens the envelope and pulls out the letter, unfolding it to A4 size before skimming through the lines. “He says everything is fine and the counselling you provided was exemplary. It seems odd that he would end it so soon. I thought you’d be in Augusta for the whole week?”

  “Apparently not. He’s happy with his progress.”

  “Is this anything to do with your admission last week he had feelings for you? Has anything untoward happened?”

  I shake my head and perch my backside on my desk.

  “No, Hector. Nothing has happened since.”

  “Okay.” He pauses, taking in the look on my face, which must give nothing away as he continues. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. One of your patients has been getting quite agitated about having his appointment re-scheduled to next week. I’ve emailed you his details.”

  “No problem, I’ll look, and then I’ll go pick my cat up.”

  “Yes, that would be good. Nancy believes she’s developed an allergy, must be the pregnancy hormones.”

  Hector leaves and I move around to my desk chair. Sitting down I take my laptop from my travel bag and plug it into the power lead secured to the desk. I place my elbows on the desk and drum my fingers together in front of my face. I should be feeling good about not continuing to counsel Johnson. I didn’t even want to do it in the first place and now with all this talk about quicksand. I’m confused.

  The laptop powers on, so I click to my e-mails and scroll down the list to Hector’s.

  Mr. Simmons. Okay that’s fine, his case is complex and it will be good for me to throw myself into it.

  I sneak a look at the golf results and see Johnson’s name above the cut line. That’s good. I shoot him a text.

  Me: Good going Johnson. Keep it up.

  The next hour flies by, then I go pick up Tabby from Hector’s and take her back home. I have a text back from Johnson when I get out of the car which is a little brief but friendly all the same. I shrug it off and let myself into my apartment, keen to have a cozy night in.

  Because yeah, a cozy night in, is an activity I never get to enjoy.

  My shoulders heave with the sigh this thought results in.

  If I at least give Johnson a chance, then I may get to do something different of an evening.

  I change into a new velour lounge suit, put cat food from a pouch into Tabby’s bowl and stand over her while my equally unappetizing pouch of food heats in the microwave.

  It’s been me and Tabby for so long now, I’m overdue a little dating action. It’s only I didn’t imagine it would be with the likes of Johnson Wilder. I’m sure by this age in my life I would be in a relationship with another fellow professional. Although I don’t know why I thought that might be the case as it was always the jocks I hooked up with at college. They always seemed more fun.

  I open a new bottle of wine. Promising myself I’ll not drink it all tonight, but knowing the way my mind is I probably will.

  The microwave dings and I pour the contents of the pouch into a bowl from my new matching dinner set and take it though to my little dining table near the window.

  Did I presume I would grow out of my attraction to the athletic type? And is it because I’ve not been near
any guys like that for so long I didn’t realize I still was?

  I load my fork with the tomato and herb quinoa and stare out of the window at the building opposite through the rustling branches of trees.

  Now I’ve been exposed to Johnson Wilder, it seems my womanly desires have been re-ignited. But he will have to prove he’s left his womanizing ways behind, because as much as I am physically attracted to him and as much as I need some fun, if it will ever be anything more he will have to prove he is special. I’m single, independent and self-sufficient and I’ll take a good deal of convincing to let him into my life.

  The phone vibrating on the table, makes me jump in my skin. I finish my mouthful before answering the call from the man responsible for lighting the furnace within.

  “Hey. How’s it going?”

  “Yeah, fantastic. I’ve made the cut, so on to the next round. There’s a big gap in the leaders’ board to make up. But it’s doable.”

  “That’s great Johnson. I’m so pleased for you.”

  “How has your day been; everything okay with the flight?”

  “Sure. I popped into the office and I’m back home now.”

  “Great. I assume Hector got my letter.”

  “Yes, he was a little unsure, but he’s glad it worked out for you.”

  “Good. Look, I thought we should put a date in the diary. I don’t want to miss an opening in your social calendar.”

  I snort. “Fat chance of that.”

  “I’ll be back for the weekend, no matter what happens here, so I wondered if we could hang out on Saturday.”

  “I thought you would focus on your golf this week and we’d talk when you got back?”

  “I know. But I’m finding it hard now I’m back in my room to think of anything but you.”

  My heart misses a beat at his frankness and I know what he means because I feel it too.

  I crisscross the quinoa with my fork while I deliberate, and as I can’t find a reason to decline. I agree. “Yes, okay. Just hanging out, yeah?”

  “Yeah, just hanging out. I’ll pick you up mid-morning, say ten am.”

  ✽✽✽

  As the rest of the week crawls by, Johnson keeps in regular contact. Updating me on his game and his impending flight home. He even asks if he can take me to dinner when he lands on Friday evening. With all the willpower I can muster I decline and insist he sticks to his original plan of a date during the day. One where I’ve got no plans to drink alcohol and let my guard slip. I’m looking forward to seeing how Johnson plays it during these slow steps he’s promised.

  I’m awake early and take a lot more time than usual to ready myself for the date.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, when I answer the apartment door to him. He relaxes forward tantalizingly close to my face, his hands holding his weight on the doorjamb above the door entrance.

  “Somewhere I’ve never been before. Possibly you have. And then somewhere I’ve been before. Potentially you have.” A broad smile erupting across his face at the conundrum.

  “What? That’s not a great way to describe anything. Especially if you want me to look forward to it.”

  He chuckles. Irritatingly.

  My leather jacket is hanging on the coat stand, ready for me to put on.

  “Oh, we’re walking there.”

  “Okayyy.” I open the closet and swap the jacket for my coat, popping my leather gloves in the pockets just in case. “You’re in an upbeat mood.”

  “So I should be. I’m spending the day with you,” he says, with not one ounce of sarcasm.

  I bend my head while I shuffle my sweater sleeves down to my hands, under my jacket and allow myself a secret smile.

  “Ready.” I put my head through the strap of my purse and pop the keys into it. Johnson takes hold of the door handle and closes the door, the lock clicking shut.

  “Don’t you have a key for the bottom lock?”

  “Yes, but it’s stiff, I only use the cylinder one.”

  “That’s not safe. I’ll get that sorted for you.”

  “It’s fine, I only need WD-40 to spray on it.” I know he’s trying to impress but I can sort my domestic issues out.

  We head out into the cold air and I immediately retrieve my gloves from my pockets. Even though the sun shines brightly through the branches of the budding trees, it isn’t enough to counter the bitter wind.

  Johnson’s strides are long and I’m exerting myself to keep up with him.

  “What’s the rush?” I pant.

  “Oh sorry, I’m not used to…”

  “Walking with a woman in heels?” I ask, wishing I’d swapped my leather boots for a pair of flats.

  He chuckles. “Yeah, pretty much.” He slows to a more reasonable pace for the rest of the walk.

  “Ah, the Met.” I acknowledge when we reach the bottom of the sweeping stone stairs. “So, this is the place you haven’t been to?”

  “What makes you suppose that?”

  “You said you didn’t like art.”

  “I said I preferred sport.” He climbs the stairs two at a time.

  “What, you’ve been here? Was it on a school trip?” I call up to him.

  I see him shake his head and hear his rich chuckle as I follow him up the stairs.

  “You have got a dim view of me, haven’t you?” he asks when I reach the top.

  “No, I like winding you up.”

  The entrance foyer is noisy with people entering and exiting and finding their way around.

  I unbutton my coat, push my gloves back into my pocket and look up at the domed inner ceiling, taking in the grandeur while Johnson goes to the ticket office.

  “Where first?” I ask, when he returns brandishing two admission slips.

  He waves a folded paper map in front of my face. “You choose.”

  “So, I was correct, you’ve not been here before.” I unfold the map, turning it around so I can get my bearings.

  We wander through the halls and corridors, stopping now and then to look at paintings and artifacts, before coming to a stop in front of a marble sculpture. The inscription reads “Ugolino and His Sons” by Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux.

  Johnson stills directly in front of it and it’s at that point I discern he has been here before. He doesn’t let his gaze flit around the statue or read the inscription, like I’m doing now. He stands and stares with a steely gaze into Ugolino’s eyes.

  The inscription doesn’t make great reading, showing the father and his four sons on the brink of death, and my psychologists mind doesn’t take long to work out why this holds so much importance to Johnson. We’ve never picked up on the discussion again about his father and the effect it had on him. He stands in reverence in front of the artwork.

  “Come on.” He smiles and takes my hand as we walk off toward the renaissance paintings. His hand is warm and large against mine, and as much as I want to pull away from it in an act of independence, I don’t because it is so welcome.

  After an hour of meandering through the artifacts, he stops once again. This time it’s as we enter a room opposite a huge renaissance painting. Unlike the last time he stopped in this way, his face isn’t somber. I continue passed him to inspect the painting.

  “That’s you and me,” he whispers into my ear.

  “What?” I gasp, staring at the nude Venus, whose blonde hair is piled up on top of her head and her arm outstretched as she attempts to hold Adonis back from his fated last hunt.

  “You believe you’re Adonis?” I splutter.

  “No, but you’re Venus.” He walks off, leaving me agape.

  “Where next?” I ask, as I catch up with him.

  He smiles over at me. “Looking at all those naked women has made me hungry.”

  “Me too,” I say absentmindedly.

  “Really?” He eyebrows lift toward his hairline.

  I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “I have an image.” He laughs.

  “No, Johnson, wipe th
at image from your mind.”

  “Okay.” He chuckles, “I’ll replace it with Venus again.”

  I gasp.

  We venture out into the cold air and walk off hand in hand down the street toward Central Park.

  “Hot dog?” He loiters near a cart.

  “Sure.”

  Johnson orders two hotdogs and we eat them as we amble toward the Park.

  “Are we going to the zoo?” I ask, hoping that to be the case.

  “No. This.” He points his napkin toward the ice rink.

  “Oh.”

  “So, you don’t skate?” He asks with a glint in his eye.

  “Nope, never even tried it,” I say, with a glum voice, imagining Johnson will be fantastic and I will end up on my butt every five minutes.

  “No, neither have I.” He walks off to the ticket kiosk.

  “Really?” I say under my breath.

  We put on our skates and tiptoe out onto the ice. I clutch onto the railing around the edge of the rink until Johnson offers out his hand and I half-run, half-fall over to him until I can grasp onto his fingertips. He pulls me toward him and we grab hold of each other’s forearms. Just as we think we’re stable, another skater whooshes by causing Johnson to leans backward. He tries to right himself but the jerky action results in his feet scooting out from underneath him and the front of my skates stick in the ice.

  He takes the impact of our fall on his back, and, with a little scream, I land on top of him. We both lie still for a few seconds winded from our fall before I regain my senses and sense the vapor of our breaths swirling back and forth in the inch gap between our mouths.

  I’m bewitched by his eyes; convinced his pupils have dilated as if to suck me in.

  My heart thumps in rhythm with his.

  Moments later, our co-joined state is interrupted by a rink assistant pulling on my arm in an attempt to help me up.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I reply, still staring into Johnson’s eyes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Johnson

  When I finally pull into my driveway, it’s passed midnight and I’m shattered and bruised from all the falls I took on the ice.