Page 12 of Forever Wild

I’ve been trying to fall back asleep for the last hour after being unceremoniously awoken by what could only be described as jungle noises. I swear a pack of hyenas was chasing after Pumba out there. Once fully awake, though, I recognized the sounds for what they truly were: feminine giggles and a few snorts. Not noises commonly heard on golf courses, particularly not the high-end country clubs I tend to frequent.

My mind quickly placed the blame on the sisters from earlier in the night. Clearly, Bryn and her friends were getting into some late-night shenanigans on the putting green.

It wasn’t until I was pulling out my portable sound machine, the little box I take with me everywhere, that I remembered Bryn mentioning about the possibility of someone “streaking outside my window.” I had to force myself to climb back in bed rather than open the window for a peek, mentally chastising myself for the image I couldn’t seem to shake: Bryn running across the putting green, nothing on but a baseball cap.

I’m not sure why the cap was still on, but damn, her smile peeking out from under it was almost as distracting as her bouncing tits as she ran across my mind. Since then, I’ve tried all the breathing exercises I know, watched two reruns of Friends, and scrolled social media. I still can’t sleep.

Finally giving it up for a lost cause, I let out a frustrated sigh and decide to hit the driving range. The moon is still high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the golf course. As I walk, the cool night air washes over me, clearing my head.

I’m so lost in thought that I almost don’t notice her. Bryn, still in her golf attire from the day, has her back to me, practicing with one of her irons.

I stand there, stuck in place by the round curve of her ass, the smooth flow of her backswing.

As she turns her head to follow her shot, I notice the glint of white AirPods sticking out of her ears. No wonder she didn’t hear my clubs rattling as I climbed up the slight hill to the practice area.

Unsure what to do, I awkwardly stand there watching as she tees up another ball. She bends over to place it on the tee, and I can’t help but feel a zing of attraction.

Suddenly, she stiffens, then whips around to stare at me.

“Oh my God.” She waves her hand around, gesturing in my direction. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry,” I say, cringing at being caught staring. “Can’t sleep.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a faint smile on her lips. “You too?”

I nod. “I may have been woken up by what I can only assume was the aftermath of a drunk driving game.”

She grimaces. “We really should get a better name for it. For the record, I don’t think drunk driving is a laughing matter. My college roommate’s parents were killed in a drunk driving accident. It’s just”—she looks at the starry sky like it might provide her with the answer—“alliteration, I guess.”

I continue to stare at her, not sure what the appropriate response is.

“Anyway,” she continues, clearly picking up that I’m not going to bail her out, “I’m sorry about the noise earlier. There were a lot of shots involved, and we got a bit overly rowdy.”

“It’s all right,” I say, clearing my throat to hide the excitement in my voice at the chance to talk to her. “I needed to get out and clear my head anyway.” I don’t mention that she’s part of the reason I need to clear my head. Despite having committed to being off women, this one intrigues me. She’s witty, even when she shouldn’t be. She is kind to waiters to the point where they stand up for her. She is clearly close with her sisters, a trait that I’d never considered before but now seems important to me. And she apologized before she even knew who I was. She’s snarky and fun but has a good heart.

And for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about her.

She nods, turning back to face the range. “Yeah, same here. Golf is always my go-to for that.”

I take the spot on the range a couple down from her, watching as she lines up her next shot. “You’re pretty good,” I say, trying to start a conversation. “Did you play in college?”

She shrugs, taking her swing. “No. I thought about it, but I had a full-ride academic scholarship, and golf requires a ton of time off campus. But it’s not like I’m telling you anything you don’t know.”

I chuckle. “I do know a thing or two about how much time golf can take up. But a full-ride academic scholarship—that’s pretty impressive. What do you do now?”

“I’m the director of technology at Hungry Guy.” She pulls out her phone as she says it, almost like it’s reminding her of all the work she still needs to get done.

“I fucking love Hungry Guy. They have the best bacon burgers.” I don’t mention that before I came to Wild Bluffs, I rarely treated myself to eating out. Before I started my spiral, I was on a strict diet from my nutritionist. I know a lot of people consider golf a “hobby sport,” but diet and exercise are now key parts of almost all professional golfers’ routines.

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously. But…” She leans in a bit. “The insider secret is the truffle fries. I would give up my dog for those.”

I laugh. “I’ll have to try them next time. So, director of technology—that sounds pretty important. What does that entail, exactly?”

Bryn takes a deep breath, clearly ready to give her elevator pitch. “Basically, I oversee all the tech aspects, from the in-store purchasing systems to the app to the website to the databases. My team and I work to make sure everything is running smoothly and efficiently, and that we’re constantly innovating and improving.”

Impressed, I nod. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

“It is, but I love it. Plus, it allows me to travel and live the digital nomad lifestyle, exploring new places both for fun and to visit restaurants or specific team locations.”

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