Page 66 of Strictly the Worst

“Europe and North America. I make it two.” I hit my ball easily into the hole and Myles groans.

We’ve all been playing golf since we were kids. It’s our dad’s favorite sport, and the one thing he knew how to do when it was his custody time. Golf, dinner, then back to our respective moms. All those Saturdays made us experts.

Or some of us, at least.

“So how was Paris?” Myles asks when he finally pots his ball.

“Busy. Tiring. I feel like I’m in a plane more than I’m on the ground.” And I didn’t sleep a fucking wink. Which isn’t like me.

Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to Paris. I know Tessa was pissed that I left her alone at the last minute. But if Roman tells me to jump, I fucking leap. So I flew to Paris, schmoozed some journalists and our client, then flew straight here to Vegas for Holden’s bachelor party. We’re playing golf today and tonight more of his friends arrive for a private dinner in the casino followed by a private gambling room.

No strippers at all. Because I’m a good brother.

“I forgot you were in the Bahamas before Paris. How did it go?” Myles picks his ball up and dusts it off.

“Good.” My reply is short. Because I don’t want to talk about the Bahamas.

“What were you there for again?”

Okay, so we’re talking about the Bahamas. Great. “A presentation,” I say. “Gold Leisure.”

“James Gold?” Myles asks.

“Yep. He wanted us to go to Exuma to experience the place for real.”

“It’s a hard life,” Myles says dryly. “Wait, who’s us? Did Roman go?”

I wince at the thought of it. “No, a colleague.”

And now I’m thinking about Tessa again. Not Carmichael. I’ve started to divide them in my mind. Tessa is Bahamas. All floaty dresses and sun-kissed skin. Carmichael is the haughty co-worker who hates my guts in New York.

“I slept with her,” I tell Myles. He stops walking and turns to look at me.

“What?”

“My co-worker. We had sex.”

Myles eyes scan my face. “And why are you telling me this?”

Because I need to talk to somebody. Somebody who’ll actually listen. Maybe even understand.

And yeah, Myles and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye but he’s my oldest brother. He’s fucking wise beyond his years. He loves me, I know that.

And I love him.

“Because I messed everything up,” I say. “I left her a week ago in Exuma and I haven’t called her.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Because I’m an asshole.

“Of course you are,” Myles says smoothly. He’s cheered up immensely now that the focus is on me and my fuck ups and not his terrible golf technique. “Get in the golf cart, you can tell me all about it.”

So I do. Sitting next to my brother while he peels a banana and eats it in the slowest, most excruciating way, I tell him all about Tessa, including that she’s a divorced mom, and our week together leading up to the way we ended in bed.

“And that’s it?” he asks, swallowing down a mouthful of banana.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

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