19. Bryn
Chapter nineteen
Bryn
Despite what I said to Jameo in the pickup, it feels like a risk coming to dinner at The Cattlemens together. Not because of the national press or seeing my name in the gossip columns, but because this town is hard up for entertainment and this will be the biggest story of the fucking year. I meant it when I said this is not about Jameson. This is about me. These people are going to flip about me being on a date with anyone, let alone Jameson Walker. To be fair to them, I haven’t gone out in Wild Bluffs since my junior prom, but still. Get a life.
The two-story restaurant is the best place for dinner and also happens to contain the only bar in the town proper. The bar itself is on the second story of the old brick building on Main Street. The first floor is reserved for a medium-sized event space. They have concerts come through regularly, somehow managing to book fairly big-name bands as they are passing through on their way to larger cities.
It’s Friday night, and the place is packed with locals, just like I knew it would be. We walk up the wide staircase, and I only allow myself to stare at Jameson’s ass for the first half of the climb. I’d like to send whoever bought him those jeans a thank-you card. Truly, between his butt and his strong thighs, I’m not sure which looks better from this angle.
We reach the main part of the dining area, and like a scene out of the movies, every face turns toward us as we walk behind our waitress to our table. I suppress a strong eye roll as I wave good-naturedly at the people we pass. I’ve never been as popular with the town.
Luckily, once we get settled, people calm down and go back to dinner, though I know the flow of information has begun. In fact, I get an almost immediate text from Izzy telling me she’s already received two texts from her friends about me dating a professional golfer.
Small towns. You gotta love them, but damn are they a pain in the ass sometimes.
I show the text to Jameo, and he chuckles, his dark green eyes lighting up with humor.
“Damn, that’s more impressive than the gossip magazines, and they get paid to publish that shit.”
I hold my arms out wide. “Welcome to Wild Bluffs, Jameson Walker.”
We both order burgers, a staple at Cattlemens. I opt for a hard cider on ice, while Jameson orders a single whiskey.
“So tell me about this big news your boss dropped on you today,” Jameson says.
“Okay. Well, remember how I told you I’m trying to bulk up my portfolio at work so that when my boss, Tara, retires in, like, five years, I’ll be well-positioned for the promotion?”
He nods, hopefully remembering the conversation we had last week about my job.
“Well, turns out her husband recently had a health scare, and it was a wake-up call for them both. So she’s retiring. In May.”
“Wow. That’s big news for you.”
“Yep. And to make matters more intense, Tara pulled me aside to let me know that the decision is between me and freaking Kyle.”
“And Kyle is the guy from marketing that you hate, right?”
I could probably use a filter. “Um, hate is maybe a strong word. But definitely dislike.” I take a long sip of my drink. “Okay, definitely dislike so much, I can barely stand to be in the same company as the man, let alone on the same team, so, maybe hate? But whichever one of us gets the promotion, we’ll be the other one’s boss.”
“And you’ll spend your days plotting ways to make Kyle cry?”
“Yep. Like sending him notifications at five on a Friday that he has to change the entire scope of a marketing campaign before Monday morning.”
“You’ll make such a good boss,” he teases.
“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.
He looks confused for a second before recognition flashes across his face.
“Oh, hey, Izzy. Fancy seeing you here,” I drawl, stopping in front of my sister and our friend, who are attempting to look casual at the bar.
Izzy’s cheeks burn as she pulls an innocent smile. “Oh! Hey! Hi, Jameson. Good to see you. So funny running into you guys.”
He mirrors the little wave she gave him. “Hey, Izzy…and Becca, right?” Jameson waves awkwardly at Becca.
She, unexpectedly, returns his greeting with a glare. “Yup, Becca.”
Well, that was…cold. I look between the two of them, confused, but clearly neither has any plans to say anything else.
“Okaaaay. Well, just wanted to make sure you both got a behind-the-scenes look at our date, since it is certainly not a coincidence you’re here.”
Izzy tries to look confused but gives up. “I was getting play-by-play updates about it, anyway! At least now I’m here, my phone has stopped blowing up with details about what you’re wearing, what you ordered, and the town’s take on how interested each of you is in each other.”
Jameson seems to choke. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Ugh. This town.” I grab his hand and start pulling him away, but he stops me with ease, hauling us back toward my sister.
“What’s the verdict?” he asks her gruffly.
“Huh?” Iz and I both reply at the same time.
Jameo looks directly at my sister. “How interested is she in me?”
Izzy’s laugh booms across the bar, Becca’s lighter laugh joining hers as both women throw their heads back in glee. For Jameson’s sake, I hope this doesn’t work out between us. He will never, ever live that question down.
Unfortunately, Jameson doesn’t seem to find it as funny as the rest of us do. He’s growing noticeably more irritated as Izzy and Becca continue laughing, his hand growing tighter on mine.
After what feels like days, Izzy finally gets herself under control. “I can’t believe you asked that. You know normal people would just wonder about it but never actually ask, right?”
I’m going to kill my sister. I will murder her and bury her in the middle of a cow pasture where no one will ever find her body.
Jameson clenches his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’ve learned external people can sometimes have more clarity into this type of thing.”
I’m not sure how to feel about that. I mean, I’m not saying it’s untrue, but it feels like he’s really focusing on the wrong thing here. I told him the town would talk about us. Who cares what they think about our date? I mean, was he not having as good of a time as I was? He sure seemed like he was enjoying it.
Izzy looks back and forth between us, trying to figure out what to do. I just shrug my shoulders—she got herself into this mess.
Surprisingly, Becca breaks the silence by saying, “You really know how to make friends and win people over, don’t you, Jameson?”
I’m 100% asking him why Becca seems to hate him when we get outside. She rarely has one unkind thing to say to people, and she’s already been bitchy to him twice. It is basically unheard of for her.
He looks at her and shrugs, his dark eyebrow rising in challenge. Dick, the guy I met at the course, seems to be making an appearance for the first time since that fateful day.
I pull on his arm, trying to get him to leave with me as I say, “Okay, well, this has been…fucking awkward, but we’ve got to go—”
“No.” He looks at me. “I’d like to hear what this town thinks about us.”
I look up at him. At his expressionless face. How did our date turn into this? “Why? Why would you possibly care what the town thinks of us? Why would you want Izzy to tell you what these random people think instead of just asking me how I feel about you?” I glance back at my sister, silently promising death with my eyes.
He grunts out something that sounds a lot like “Just do” as his hand tightens on mine.
What an absolute dumpster fire.
I turn toward my sister, who is still watching us, though Becca has turned her attention to the TV above the bar.
“Okaaay. Can you tell him what they said, Iz?” I ask.
She looks back and forth between us again and finally just passes her phone to Jameson. “There are a couple group chats in there that capture most of it.”
He drops my hand to take her phone and scrolls through each of them. Yup. Still scrolling as I awkwardly stand there, feeling like everyone is talking about me, but I’m the only one who doesn’t get to know what they are saying.
As he reads, his shoulders relax, his face turning from the unfeeling mask he had been wearing back into a light smile.
He hands the phone back to Izzy, says a gruff “Thanks,” and reaches for my hand again.
We head for the exit, and I flip my sister off over my shoulder as I leave. Unfortunately, it does nothing to ease the uncertainty and hurt swirling in my chest.
What was that about?