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Scott lands his drive with good distance, but his ball lands too close to the edge of a bunker. That’ll be a tough shot to make.
Levi’s drive goes the distance, but it slices too much to the right. He’s still on the fairway, but it’s not the most favorable spot. I can see his displeasure in the pinched look on his face. He purses his lips and hands his driver to the caddie, starting his walk to the next shot.
“He’s got this. As long as he avoids those bunkers, he’s good,” Bryan says.
I follow Mike’s actions and grab a champagne glass myself, downing a few gulps.
He’s got this.
Scott manages to take an impressive shot by the bunker, landing on the green. He could sink it in three shots.
The camera focuses on Levi and his concentrated green gaze. He blows out a breath and takes the swing. I hold my own breath and press a hand over my chest. The ball flies over the bunkers and lands a foot shy of the hole.
I exhale and grin over at the coaches. They all clink their glasses, and I join in with my champagne. “He did it,” Alan says.
“He fucking did it,” Bryan agrees.
My face hurts from smiling so much.
Mike interjects, “He still needs to tap it in.”
We all scoff at him and roll our eyes.
As if Levi would mess that up.
Scott sinks his ball into the hole and Levi follows, not even hesitating his shot. The crowd cheers and the cameras focus in on him and his victory smile. He looks boyish and bashful. He looks happy.
I bite my lip and wish that I could run out there and hug him. Kiss him. Maybe one day.
For now, we still need to get through the closing ceremonies and our flight back home. Then there’s the pro-am. But in between, there’s the thing I’m looking forward to the most—going home with Levi.
It’s close to midnight by the time we arrive back in Hartford. A driver drops us off at the front door, and Levi carries both our suitcases inside. I’m dying to touch him. We were surrounded by the rest of his team the whole time, and besides a very chaste hug after he got off the course, I haven’t had the chance to congratulate him.
“So, how do you feel now that you’ve won Shinnecock?” I ask, closing the door and locking it behind me.
Levi laughs. “Sleepy,” he says, sliding down the suitcase handle and walking towards me.
I meet him in the middle and wrap my arms around his waist. His hands sink into my hair and he rests his chin on the top of my head. I’m still wearing my citrus-themed sundress, and my shoulders are a tiny bit cold, but the warmth of his body envelops me.
“I’ve missed you,” he says in a droopy voice.
I squeeze him harder and laugh. “Missed me? I’ve been with you the whole time.”
He shakes his head, swaying us both from side to side. “Not the whole time. I wanted more.”
His admission makes me smile against his chest, pressing a kiss on his collarbone, on the sliver of skin exposed by his open collar. He’s wearing a white button-down and slacks, having dressed up for one of the celebrations. “I wanted more too. But you were working, and so was I.”
“About that,” he says, pulling back. His green eyes meet mine in a mischievous glint. “You officially don’t work for me anymore.”
There’s a swirl of feelings that comes with the reminder. I’ve had a lot of fun working with his team, and I’ll be sad to no longer be a part of those meetings, but working for him has also kept us from doing anything physical.
“What about the pro-am?” I ask, frowning. We said we’d cross that bridge when we got there, and, well…here we are. Would people talk if they knew we were dating and he chose me for the pro-am?
“Are you worried about it?”
“Only that people might get the wrong idea if they know we’re dating,” I admit, biting my lip in thought.
Levi’s thumb runs over my lip, releasing it. “Don’t tell me you want to wait until after the pro-am for our date,” he groans, nose scrunching in displeasure.
