Page 41 of Wildly Inappropriate

“And is it someone from town, or…?” He trails off, but we both know exactly how he wanted to finish that question. Or is it Lila, the little sister of your best friend?

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to risk losing Jameson as a friend?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that question. Also, Jameson is not Luke. He’s not going to just dump you as a friend if you and his sister try dating and it doesn’t work.”

Maybe, maybe not, though. And I’m not going to risk losing my best friend. I also didn’t think our friend on the golf team would stop hanging out with me when I broke up with his cousin after dating for five months during my freshman year of college, but I was wrong about that.

“Why have I not fired you yet?” I ask, avoiding his comment.

“You need me far too much. You actually have no idea how to do anything without me.”

“I’d still know how to golf.”

“Yes, but I’d love to be a fly on the wall as you’re trying to get yourself to the golf course.”

“I could do it.”

“I sincerely have my doubts.”

We exchange a few more quips, finalize my schedule for my first tournament back after my “injury” in a few weeks, and hang up.

I let myself into the house, surprised when Jack runs over, tail wagging, excited to see me. He’s not an unfriendly dog, but he’s the dog version of shy for sure. Just as I’m sitting down to read a few more chapters of our pirate romance—I’m getting so close to the good part—my phone rings again. I glance at the screen and see my mom’s name.Elatedis maybe too strong of a word to use to describe my feelings, but my mom never reaches out to me after I’ve disappointed her. She either makes my dad call me and guilt-trip me into calling her, or she just waits me out until I finally miss her enough and feel guilty enough to call or visit her, usually with an expensive gift in tow. Maybe we’re turning over a new leaf.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, my excitement coming on a little too strong for my mom’s more restrained attitude.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, JT.” Her voice is as polished as ever, but there is a hint of warmth seeping through.

Well, that was not what I was expecting. “Didn’t have what in me?” I ask.

“Using a natural disaster to help you make inroads with the Fergusons? Brilliant. I don’t think I could’ve thought of anything better.”

“I’m not following. How do you know about the hailstorm?”

“Oh, please, JT. You don’t have to play innocent with me. You helping board up windows at the nursing home in Wild Bluffs is trending on social media. Not to mention donating additional funds ‘anonymously’ to help repair the important buildings in town? Your father and I are both so proud.”

I feel…dirty, and, frankly, pissed at Sam. I wasn’t out helping clean up around town because I wanted any sort of praise or recognition. It was the right thing to do. So was donating money so the real repairs could begin immediately rather than having to wait for insurance to come through. I told Sam those donations were supposed to be anonymous. I meant it.

My mom has told me she’s proud of me several times in my life: when I won my first junior championship, when I won my first major tournament, and when I signed my first big endorsement deal. Each of those times, it filled me with joy and pride knowing I finally was someone my parents could be proud of. That their sacrifices were worth it.

But this, this doesn’t feel that way. I’m proud of myself for helping because it’s something that a good person would do. So I’m proud of myself for being a good person, but I’m not proud of it becoming a publicity play to try to win favor with the Ferguson brothers. I hope Conrad and his brothers don’t think I was the one behind leaking it to the press, though I suppose my “people” were. Shit. I hope they think less of me for that. Not that I want them to think less of me, but I want them to be the types of men who see through that bullshit and lose a little bit of respect for someone who would use a town’s disaster to their own advantage.

“I didn’t realize Sam was publishing that,” I say.

“Well, that boy must have more brains in his head than I gave him credit for.”

Thatboywas about to have a considerable amount of wrath headed in his direction. Okay. I don’t actually do wrath well, but I am going to let him know I’m extremely disappointed. Well, disappointed. Though he was just doing his job. I’m sure he had my best interests at heart. So I guess I’ll need to call Sam and talk this through with him.

My mother continues her monologue about how smart it was to be seen taking an interest in the town for another five minutes, before changing tactics and grilling me about when I’ll be back to playing. Apparently, she and my dad are really excited about this new investment, and my inability to line up the cash they need is causing them a lot of problems. I apologize again, promising to focus on nothing but golf for the next two weeks so I can have the funds after my first tournament back.

Once I hang up with my mom, I consider calling Sam back but decide I’m better off just shooting him a quick text asking him to run any stories he’s releasing to the press by me first. I can’t have Sam getting upset with me and taking another job elsewhere.

Me

Next time, please run any stories you’re sending to the press by me first.

Sam

I didn’t leak this one. I posted the photo of you helping out on your socials but didn’t mention the donations anywhere.

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