Page 3 of Forever Wild

Goodness, I’m tearing up a little bit, which I most definitely do not want to do.

Unluckily for me, Becca isn’t done. “It’s not a good enough reason to go without S. E. X. for”—she drops her voice to a whisper—“three whole years.”

“I promise it has nothing to do with asshole Peter. Have you met the men who are on dating apps these days? None of them have been worth a second date, let alone actually sleeping with. Plus, there is no need to worry, Beccs. I can take care of myself, if you know what I mean?” I say with a wink, hoping I can get out of sharing that it has been a hell of a lot longer than three years—twenty-eight, to be exact.

True to Becca form, she turns bright red and starts giggling. She’s been this way forever. She so badly does not want to be a prude, but she most definitely is, at least at heart.

Not that I have a leg to stand on, of course.

Becca turns and starts toward the fire, muttering something about needing some damn s’mores in her life if she isn’t going to be getting any action, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

My sister Izzy hangs back, the only one who knows about my unpopped cherry. “You could tell them, you know. I don’t think they’d make you being a twenty-eight-year-old virgin into as big of a deal as you seem to think they would.”

“But they would make it into a deal. Which is the exact opposite of what I want. You know I don’t care about being a virgin. If I did, I wouldn’t be one. It just hasn’t happened. And it’s not like I’m lying to them.”

Izzy gives my shoulder a squeeze, prompting me to continue before she offers me sympathy I most certainly do not want. “They’ve literally never asked me if I’ve had sex with someone. Plus, all the men I’ve gone out with in the last three years have been complete skeazeballs. I wouldn’t have slept with them even if it weren’t my first time.”

“While it was pretty obvious from the fact that you were best friends with all the guys in high school that you were a virgin then, we all assumed you and Peter had sex. You dated for three years and never once complained that he was the one holding out.”

“Meh. The effort of fighting him on a decree from his mother did not seem to be worth the reward.”

She grimaces. “It’s like he gets worse every time I hear about him.”

“You know, he wasn’t a bad guy. He was actually a good boyfriend the majority of the time. He just had mommy issues.”

“And, apparently, performance issues.”

“I want to deny it, but in hindsight, it does feel like there could’ve been a bit more spark.”

“A lot more spark, Sis. A lot more spark,” Izzy says as we make our way after our friends.

Chapter two

Jameson

After I finish the back nine, I head to the weight room for my second workout of the day.

Yes, I may have gained a few too many pounds in the last year. Yes, it may have been equally due to stress eating chocolate chip cookies and sad beer drinking.

After a month of two-a-days in the gym and walking at least thirty-six holes a day, I’m finally back in shape. Okay, fine, it probably doesn’t hurt that I’ve also cut back to a few beers a week rather than the few beers an hour I was consuming before.

But it’s mostly the extra workouts.

I finish the final set of my core round, wishing I were back home in my gym with extra fans and air-conditioning rather than sweating my ass off in this little one the course keeps open for nonlocals like me who stay the night in their guesthouses and hotel rooms.

As I start the short trip back to my hotel room in the building just next to the putting green, I notice a group of women sitting around the fire. They’re cute, but as one catches my eye, I quickly turn my face away, hoping she doesn’t recognize me.

The girl from this afternoon wasn’t with them. Maybe she went home? Why do I feel a little sad about that? I mentally shake my head. I’ve learned my lesson about getting involved with women like her.

After closing the door to my room behind me, I lie down on my bed, letting the air-conditioning cool my sweat. The extra endorphins from my workout didn’t even last all two minutes of my walk back, and the scorecard sitting on my desk sapped what little joy remained in me as I walked in.

I bury my face in my pillow and let out a deep sigh.

Ugh. I suck at golf.

My phone rings, and I barely register it’s Erica, the head of the public relations team handling my downhill spiral, before I answer it.

“Hi, Erica.”

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