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“Will they?”

“Yes. I trust them. They’re on my team for a reason. As are you,” he says sternly. Then, more softly, he adds, “Regardless of anything happening between us, your position on the team and the pro-am won’t change.”

My heart feels like it might jump out of my chest, and I press a palm against my sternum. Regardless of anything happening between us.

Did he want something to happen between us?

In the car?

In his simulator?

In his kitchen?

“I’ll fix it,” he says again, with more conviction.

“Good.” I nod and reach around him for the doorknob.

“Are you okay?” he asks, placing his hand gently on top of mine.

My breath stutters and I glance up into his eyes. A part of me wants to wipe away his concern, reassure him that everything is fine. But the other part of me is telling me it’s okay to be upset. He should have told me. He should have deleted that log.

“I will be, but I hate that their impression of me is now…this,” I admit, eyes glassy with tears. I don’t want to cry in front of him, especially not now, when it’s because of his actions.

Levi nods, jaw ticking when he sees the emotion on my face. “Let me talk to them. Why don’t you wait in the car and I’ll be right there?”

He hands me the keys, and I make my way to the parking lot, doing my best to keep the tears at bay.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Levi

I have to fix this. How could I forget about the camera in the simulator? I’m such an idiot. Even though I don’t think my team would judge Hazel, I can see why she thinks this is a poor first impression.

I blow out a breath and wrap my hand tightly around the door handle. Fix this. The projector screen is off when I enter, and my coaches are packing up their computers and notes. I close the door just a little too loudly.

All three of them stare at me with various expressions of disappointment (Murray), indifference (Alan), and approval (Bryan). I swallow and clear my throat.

“I want to make something clear.”

They look at me expectantly, but it takes me another moment to parse out what I’m trying to say. “There’s nothing going on between me and Hazel,” I say, gritting my teeth.

Murray frowns, but Bryan grins wolfishly. “Bullshit,” he says.

“Let me rephrase that, there’s nothing going on between us, but”—I cross my arms and look them each in the eye—"I’d like there to be.”

“That video sure looks like there already is,” Alan points out.

“I forgot about the damn camera being there.” I drop my hands. “Can we⁠—”

“It’s already deleted,” Murray says, tucking his laptop under his arm. “And for the record, I think getting involved with someone on your team is a bad idea.”

Bryan leans closer to Murray. “She’s not a permanent team addition,” he whispers loud enough for me to hear.

“It’s complicated. But Bryan is right. After this tour stop and the pro-am, she plans to go her own way,” I tell them. “She’s going to go pro; I won’t keep her stuck as my short game liaison.”

Murray narrows his sea blue eyes on me and ponders this. “Video is deleted. I won’t say a word to anyone. But if you want my two cents, I think you should wait until after the U.S. Open to pursue something with her.”

“He’s right,” Alan says. “You don’t need any distractions right now. You won’t hear a peep from me otherwise.”