Page 44 of Forever Wild

I can see the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth before she finally gives in and lets it spread into a full grin. And, fuck, she’s so beautiful. I discreetly stick my other hand in my pocket, rearranging myself to hide the effect of her smile, her willingness to hear me out, to forgive me for being a dick.

I am officially dating the most amazing woman on the planet.

Chapter twenty-one

Bryn

I’m finishing up a Taylor Swift–themed Peloton cycling class at my hotel in Vegas, thankful the gym in my hotel is empty at six in the morning because I am belting out the lyrics to “Blank Space” as Ally Love kicks my ass.

I’ve been in Las Vegas this week for a tech conference, which happens to align with Jameson’s first tournament back this weekend, also in Sin City. A happy coincidence—or at least, that’s what I told Jameson as we sat on Kelsey’s back porch last weekend after our fight. In reality, it had taken some finagling on my part to get a last-minute ticket to this conference. One of my work friends ended up letting me take her spot, with the requirement that I bring her along to one of Jameson’s tournaments in the future.

I’d told Jameson that I wouldn’t be able to make his first day of play, both because I hadn’t decided if I wanted to skip the conference to watch his first round, and because it felt like I might be a distraction. And Lord knows Jameson has had enough girlfriend-based drama impacting his golf game to last him a lifetime.

After working through Jameson’s insecurities last Friday, we hung out all weekend, watching TV, playing a few rounds of golf, and eating essentially every meal together. We never spent the night with each other, but the days inevitably ended with a long make-out session and some light dry humping. I mean, the man is freaking hot, and his kisses make me feel like my body is on fire. There was no way I was going to be able to resist grinding against his seemingly ever-present erection, especially when his hands would wander under my shirt to play with my nipples.

And…now I’m getting turned on in the gym, which is so much worse than singing.

I unclip from the bike and grab my water bottle, then head to my room to shower before leaving for the day.

I throw on a pair of cute but classic black golf shorts and a royal-blue collared shirt before heading out to the course. Jameson’s tee time is at 9:40 this morning, and I still have to pick up the VIP pass he held for me at Will Call. I offered to pay for my own tickets, especially since I wasn’t sure if I could make it today, but Jameo insisted. He actually seemed so genuinely excited about me coming to watch him that it made me want to go over to Alexis’s apartment, knock on the door, and when she opens it, wham! I’ll cunt punch her. When she’s crying “why?” I’ll say “you know why!”

Okay, I’m not Lake Bell in What Happens in Vegas, but I am in Vegas, and Alexis deserves it. She really did a number on the guy’s self-confidence, and I think she deserves to be punished for that, though maybe losing him is punishment enough.

When it turned out I could make it today, I decided not to tell him I would be watching. I really don’t want to fuck with his head by being there, but I do want to support him. So I’m going to spend my morning following his group and then let him know when we meet up for dinner that my schedule changed, so I was there.

Vegas traffic is at least somewhat manageable in the mornings, the denizens of the Strip still sleeping off their hangovers from the night before, so I opt to Uber to the course rather than taking the shuttle. When I arrive, I’m pleasantly surprised with how busy the course is for a Thursday. From watching golf with my dad growing up, I know the first day of play typically has far fewer spectators than the final rounds on Saturday and Sunday.

I pick up my pass from Will Call and head into the course, searching for some much-needed coffee. Caffeine in hand, I make my way to the number 1 tee box to wait for Jameson’s group. I’m here a bit early, so I get to see the two groups in front of him tee off as well.

While I wait, the crowd grows noticeably larger. Almost all the conversations around me have turned into speculation around Jameson Walker’s return. The man and his wife next to me are currently discussing what a terrible season Jameson had last year. The husband, a real finance-bro type, thinks Jameson is done—can’t bounce back from a year like that. The wife, a petite blonde rocking a golf dress, is totally on Jameson’s side. The husband claims she is biased because she is “swayed by his rugged good looks.” I both want to laugh and to casually mention that he’s dating someone, a surprising urge to claim him as my man.

I do neither, the conversations around me stopping as Jameson walks out with the rest of his group. He looks good. The royal-blue polo with the Titleist logo on the front pulls against his broad shoulders, highlighting his toned arms. I glance down at my own and am somewhat embarrassed to realize we match. His dark hair peeks out from under his black cap with a Nike swoosh, both of his main sponsors having ultimately decided against suspending his contracts.

Jameo is the second to tee off, smacking a drive straight down the fairway at least thirty yards farther than the others in his group. Apparently, the majority of the crowd is here to see Jameson’s group, because we move as a herd down the fairway, leaving behind just a few stragglers to watch the next group tee off.

***

As Jameson taps a five-foot putt in on hole thirteen, the petite, dark-haired woman who joined our group last hole starts clapping louder than everyone else. She’s not clapping loud enough to get kicked out, but it is distracting enough that she could definitely draw Jameson’s attention.

Curious, I slow down a bit as we walk to the next tee box, letting her catch up to me. As she passes, I smile at her good-naturedly and ask, “Big fan of Jameson Walker, huh?”

“The biggest.” She smiles back. “I’m so glad that he’s finally back on the Tour again, though I’m not sure I can handle another year like the last one he had.”

I chuckle. “It was not a great year to be a Jameson Walker fan. At least his friend JT Johnson did pretty well. Are you a fan of JT too?”

She cuts her dark green eyes to me. “No. Definitely not a JT fan.”

“Oh.” I really have no idea what to say in response. I wasn’t aware people felt so strongly about golfers. “Okay.”

We walk in companionable silence next to each other for the rest of the hole, the only two women in the entire group of thirty following Jameo who don’t seem to be here with our boyfriends or husbands. I know I should be jealous of this cute, twentysomething girl who I could fit in my pocket, but for some reason, I’m not. After he shared the shit Alexis put him through, I’m confident this woman could throw herself at him and he still wouldn’t cheat on me. Plus, she hasn’t checked out his ass once—a feat for any hot-blooded individual with an interest in men—so he might not be her type either.

As the players and their caddies analyze the green, she sticks her hand out. “I’m Lila.”

I stare at her for a second before it clicks. She’s Lila. No wonder there isn’t one ounce of interest when she looks at Jameson—they are related.

“You’re Jameo’s sister.”

She looks me up and down. “And you are a superfan who not only knows his sister’s name but also casually calls him Jameo. I am usually better at spotting you all.”

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