Page 40 of Forever Wild

“The problem is, if Kyle wins, he’ll do worse. I can’t lose.”

Jameson shrugs. “So don’t lose.”

“I’m not planning on it. But I’m going to have to work my ass off on this new campaign for delivery orders that is being rolled out as a joint marketing and technology project. It’s releasing early next year, and, since Kyle and I are both on it, it will no doubt be the main data point they use to decide who gets the promotion.”

“Sounds tough. But, also, you’re amazing. I’m sure you’ve got it in the bag.”

“I appreciate that. I also just want to make sure you know that this means I’m going to be even busier than before. I mean nights, weekends, the whole shebang.”

“It’s okay, Bryn. Trust me. I understand what it takes to get to the top. I’d never try to get in the way of that. I will take whatever time you have to give me and love every second of it, but I’m not going to get upset about you being dedicated to something. I’m sure I will be just as busy, if not busier than you are, during that time.”

Well, the man talks a damn good game. And it’s seemed to be true so far. Maybe, just maybe, he actually means it.

We switch to small talk as we wait for our drinks, chatting about my flight and his golf rounds today. JT ended up staying in California rather than flying back to Colorado, so Jameson’s been on his own again at the course.

Our waitress brings out our beverages, and I take a deep drink of my cider before asking Jameson, “So, how are you feeling about the tournament next weekend?”

He shrugs, the fabric of his button-up pulling across his broad shoulders and distracting me from the beginning of his response. “...but yeah, my game hasn’t felt this good in a long time. I’m ready. I’m not saying I will win this weekend, but I sure as hell could, which is more confidence than I’ve felt in a while.”

“That’s really great, I’m not sure if I can be your official casual girlfriend if you play like you did last year. I have standards, Jameson,” I tease.

He coughs, the whiskey he had been attempting to drink running into a surprised chuckle on the way out. I watch his throat work as he clears it before asking, “So…you won’t go out with me again unless I win?”

Oh no. I know this is sensitive territory for him. I still don’t know the whole story, but I do know he is very worried about being wanted just for his status. Unfortunately, I am not good at sensitive territory, so I pause, trying to take my time before responding.

“Well…” I tilt my head, pretending to consider it. “I definitely don’t care if you win or if you lose. You could be the manager at the public course in town, for all I care about that side of it. It’s the triple bogeys that I can’t be associated with. Snowmen are an embarrassment that I cannot, in any way, have connected with my name.”

This time his chuckle turns into a full laugh, and I blush, feeling the eyes in the room find us again.

Laughter subsiding, Jameson looks at me, his eyes turning a darker shade. “Somehow, that’s one of the nicest things I’ve ever been told.”

I give myself a mental high five for not completely messing things up with my response before turning my attention back to the handsome man in front of me. “I’m worried you might need better friends if that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever been told.”

He shakes his head noncommittally before digging back into his burger. Which is how the rest of the dinner goes. Laughter and conversation intermittently broken up by one or the other of us shoveling food into our mouths.

After a pretty perfect dinner, Jameson grabs the bill, shooting me a glare as I try to reach for it too. “You’re not paying for dinner again, Bryn. This has nothing to do with how much money either of us makes. It has nothing to do with feminism.” He shrugs, a smirk pulling at his lips. “It does have a little to do with making sure this town doesn’t think I’m a cheap ass who doesn’t pay for his date. But mostly, it has to do with me wanting to treat you. These past few weeks have been just what I needed, so let me buy you a cheeseburger and beer, okay?”

“Fine, but I’m buying ice cream.”

I mentally face-palm. Good gracious, could I be any worse at accepting it when people are nice to me?

Jameson chuckles again, clearly amused. “We’ll see, B. We’ll see.”

“B, huh? Are we doing nicknames now?”

“You’ve literally called me Jameo since the day I met you. You didn’t even know me and were calling me Jameo.”

“Wait, your name isn’t Jameo?” I ask, feigning confusion.

He shoots a glare at me as he calculates the tip before signing it with a flourish. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pain in the ass?”

“I can’t confirm nor deny, but most certainly cannot deny it.”

“Come on, B, let’s go get ice cream,” he says, standing.

He waits patiently as I extricate myself from the booth. Why do they make these benches this deep, anyway?

Jameson grabs my hand, and I blush as I take note of all the eyes that are glued to our intertwined fingers. As he leads me out of the restaurant, I notice two familiar faces and pull Jameo away from the stairs, nodding my head toward the bar.

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