Page 28 of Forever Wild

He laughs. “Who doesn’t? It’s why swag exists. No one needs another branded ChapStick, but we sure as shit are all going to take it when offered.”

He grows serious again. “But thanks, Bryn. It means a lot to me to hear you say that. You’re not wrong; it hasn’t always been easy to know who is in it for the wrong reasons.” He starts walking again, grabbing my hand to pull me along with him.

We wander through the streets of LA, not trying particularly hard to find an ice cream place, and, in fact, deciding to continue on past a few of them under the guise of “walking off dinner.”

While strolling through town is a good way to burn off the ribeye I took down at dinner, I, at least, am not in it for the extra steps. The feel of his large, strong hand in mine is everything I never knew I wanted, so I do my fair share of turning down the shops as we get to them, intent on stretching out our time together for as long as I can.

Finally, Jameson lets out a loud, impossible-to-ignore yawn.

I laugh. “Next shop. We’re definitely going in.”

We walk a few more minutes before begrudgingly—at least on my part—entering the next ice cream store we come to. It’s one we passed an hour earlier—turns out we had been walking in a large circle the entire time, but neither of us is acknowledging that fact or what it could mean.

As we finish our ice cream, a woman checks out, and as she turns to leave, she does a double take. She gazes at Jameson for a moment longer before finally making her way toward us. I watch her confident steps—something I could never pull off in the four-inch heels and pencil skirt she has on—unsure how to handle this. Jameson’s back is to her, so he has no idea she’s approaching.

“Jameson, hi.”

He swings his head around at the sound of her voice, glancing at me with wide eyes before standing up to give her a hug.

“Erica. How’s my favorite publicist?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Last I heard, you were hunkered down in Colorado.” She pointedly looks at me. “What brings you to California?”

“Oh, um.” He turns to look at me. “This is Bryn.”

“Hi, Bryn,” she says, her tone almost frigid.

“Hi.” I offer a small wave.

“Well, this is…cute. Jameson, you and I will need to discuss some things later, but I had better get going.” She shoots Jameson a look that I’ve only seen on my mom’s face before and pushes through the doors into the California air.

“Erica is my publicist.”

“I gathered that,” I say, tucking back into my ice cream.

“I just want you to know she’s not someone…else.”

“Duly noted. You might owe her an apology, though. She had a you’re-in-trouble look on her face.”

“Yeah.” He lets out a heavy breath. “I’m sure I’ll be getting some texts shortly.”

I do feel bad he’s in trouble. Judging by her face, it feels like I might be the cause of it.

“I’m sorry if I had something to do with it.”

“Ehh. Normal professional golfer stuff.”

“Oh, dear.” I put on my best Mrs. Doubtfire voice. “Not professional golfer stuff. How positively brutal.”

“You’re a dork,” he jokes.

“True.”

We finish our ice cream, and after about five more yawns from Jameson, we both call Ubers to take us back to our respective hotels. My driver arrives before his—five-star Uber rating for the win!—and with the click of a button on his phone, he jumps in with me, claiming it’s unsafe for me to ride home without him.

Pleased with a chance to extend the night just a bit longer, I latch on to the excuse, sharing a conspiratorial wink with Gemini, the petite twentysomething in the driver’s seat. As we ride along, Jameson reaches over and takes my hand again, unaware of the way it makes my heart beat double time in my chest.

We arrive at my hotel much quicker than I would’ve liked, and I begrudgingly wish Jameson good night. He squeezes my hand, thanking me again for dinner. We both sit there awkwardly for a moment before Gemini clears her throat in the front, breaking me out of my trance.

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