Page 58 of Wildly Inappropriate

JT

“Morning, Pipsqueak,” I whisper,kissing Lila gently on her cheek. She’s asleep, one hand on my chest, her head in the crook of my shoulder. I grab her hand and stroke my thumb down the inside of her palm, watching her eyes flutter as the tickling sensation starts to pull her back to consciousness. I hate waking people up, but Lila needs my vehicle, so she has to drop me off. I feel bad I have to wake her up, but I have a practice round in Detroit this afternoon with my caddie. Instead of flying out yesterday like I normally would’ve, I insisted Sam schedule my flight early this morning so I could get in one more night with Lila. I know we set the three-week time limit on this thing between us for a good reason, and I’m not about to suggest we lengthen it, but I also am damn sure going to take advantage of every second.

I need to ask Lila about coming with me to the Ferguson Tournament event. I know it’s technically at the very end of our three weeks together, but I really hope she says yes. Things between us have been so amazing this week that I haven’t wanted to risk messing it up by inviting her on this very public date with me. And, really, it isn’t so much a date as her saving me from going with someone who makes me want to shove golf tees through my eardrums.

The problem is that the more time Lila and I spend together, the more it feels like it will be a real date—like I’m asking my girlfriend to come to this important thing with me where she will meet my parents and spend the night on my arm as I introduce her to everyone I know.

I don’t hate it. And that’s the real reason why I haven’t asked her. I’m worriedI’llstart to think it’s real.

But I also can’t leave her for the next five days with it hanging over my head and any conversation I might have with her. So I kiss her again, lightly brushing my lips over hers. As she starts to wake up, she moves her knee from where it has been resting on my thigh and brushes it against my very awake morning wood.

She smirks, her eyes still closed. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I say again.

“Not talking to you,” she whispers, barely opening her one visible eye against the stream of light coming through the window.

I chuckle and my dick jumps, excited she’s choosing him over me this morning. Unfortunately, I know I need to ask her about Vegas before we do anything else. “Ah, well, he’d like to say good morning to you as well, but I need to ask you about something first.”

“Oh.” She tries to sit up, her eyebrows pulled together in concern, but I tug her tightly into my arms.

“It’s not like that.” I kiss the top of her head, the black strands catching the sun and entrancing me as I work through what to say next.

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to come to the Ferguson Tournament reception event with me in a couple of weeks.”

“A reception? As like, your date?” she asks, pulling her lower lip into her mouth and chewing on the corner.

“Yeah. The Ferguson brothers are hosting this huge golf tournament, and there is an event associated with it that is a big deal to my parents. I may have, before all…this, told my mom you were going to be my date.”

She chuckles. “Before all this? Were you trying to punish yourself with my company?”

“My mom suggested I take this other woman I’ve gone out with before”—Lila tenses in my arms, and I don’t hate knowing she’s jealous, even if she has absolutely no reason to be—“who isawful, and I could hear you moving around, so somehow your name just came out.”

“When is it?”

“It’s that weekend before Bryn and Jameo come back.”

“So our last weekend doing…whatever this is.”

“Yeah,” I say, a sad tone to my voice. “And, I haven’t confirmed this, but I’m guessing Jameo and Bryn will actually be in Vegas, since it’s a major new tournament with a huge purse for Jameo, coupled with it being Bryn’s company.”

I can feel her nodding, taking it all in. “Vegas, huh?”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” I ask, and I genuinely want to know. We haven’t talked about our past together at all. There’s too much to unpack there for a three-week roommates-with-benefits situation, so I’ve avoided it like the plague. Plus, I’m not sure howIfeel about the couple of times we hooked up last year. It was amazing, and it was torture. I’m haunted by the memories, but at the same time, I wouldn’t give them up for anything in the entire world. And, somehow, that party before Thanksgiving, the one that all of our animosity stems from, seems like an even more insurmountable conversation.

“I mean, who doesn’t love Vegas,” she jokes before growing serious. “I don’t know, JT. It’s pretty complicated, and I try not to think about what happened in Vegas, particularly what happened the next morning, most of the time.”

“The next morning?” I ask, confused, but my question is lost to the sound of my phone ringing. My dad’s name flashes across the screen. I know I shouldn’t answer it, but I can’t help but reach out and grab my phone, the need to answer any time my dad calls ingrained into my very being at this point.

I answer the call and slip out of bed, heading out to the kitchen to start my coffee. I’ve got to keep moving if I’m going to make it to the airport by the time I told the pilots I’d be there. There is a lot of flexibility in private air travel, but I hate making people wait for me. Jack wanders out of Jameo’s room as I listen to my father talk, and I make sure to feed him a little extra, just because.

Unsurprisingly, my dad called to make sure I know how important the tournament is this weekend. I’ve already talked to my entire team about this, from my agent to my PR team to Sam, but no, apparently my dad needs to remind me, the professional golfer, how important it is that I play well. I remind myself that he has positive intentions, but somehow I can’t help but imagine how different this conversation would be if it were Jameson talking to his dad or one of the Harper sisters talking to Ken. Neither of those men would’ve spent the entire time lecturing their kids on how important it is to perform well and win more money. They would’ve been supportive, maybe even tried to distract their offspring from the stress with jokes or funny anecdotes about their siblings.

My dad ends the lecture with a cryptic comment about “needing that money.” I consider asking about the big investment opportunity they’re working on that’s so timely, but instead I’m distracted by Lila slipping out of our room, fully clothed and ready for her day at work.

“Dang it,” I sigh as I hang up, pulling her into a hug and leaning in to smell her freshly washed hair. “I was hoping to catch you before you got out of the shower.”

She chuckles, but it sounds off to me somehow. “Well, you snooze, you lose. We’ve got to get you to the airport for your big return to the game of golf. I heard viewership has been down since they lost the twenty-five percent of viewers who are female and tune in solely to watch your ass as you play.”

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