Birdie (40s, Love, and Romance #3)

Chapter One

Wren

Before

“… i n case you were wondering, yes, I did just roll my eyes. Shoot , and now I smeared mascara all over my face thanks to you .”

A tiny growl emanated from my chest as I said the last part.

While I grabbed a Q-tip, my phone still rested precariously on top of my tissue box, the camera focused on me. Like I’d done a million times, I popped the swab into my mouth, wet it, and proceeded to clean off the black smudge from underneath my eye.

“You know I can see you, right? We’re on FaceTime, and I’m watching you practically lick your face clean. Like a cat…which is gross.”

“Meow…”

My best friend kept talking. “I’m rolling my eyes—it’s my turn. After seeing that grossness, you’re going out with me.”

“Sella, I don’t want to go to some dumb drinking-slash-golf game. I want to go out to a civilized place, have a couple of cocktails, and go to bed. I’m boring. You know this about me.”

“Who are you, my grandma? Or you could be cool like Catwoman with that sexy meow.”

I snatched my phone and plopped down on my bed, staring into the camera. Sella looked directly back at me, her blond hair running wild in beach waves, face perfectly done, wearing an eggplant purple satin tank sliding off one arm. “Is that what people are wearing to golf these days?” I raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not golf, Wren. It’s Topmost Golf. You know, a good time? It’s a bunch of golf lanes, like bowling, but you hit golf balls onto the turf…for points? Have you had one of those lately?”

“A golf ball onto the turf? Can’t say I’ve had one…” Thankfully I spoke Sella , meaning I could follow her jumbled thoughts.

“No. A good freaking time? A fun time where you are smiling and laughing, Catwoman.”

“I’m not a Catwoman. It’s not even up for debate. And no, I haven’t had fun in… ever . I’m at school…to be a doctor. My parents created a robot.”

“I know, I know. You’re gonna be a boss medical babe who has zero blemishes on her record.”

This made me laugh because I was far from a boss babe. “Anything but a boss babe. I think that expression went out a decade ago.”

“Listen, save the world tomorrow, but tonight you’re going to the Alphas’ golf event with me. I need a wingwoman, and you’re mine. We made pinky promises to stay by one another’s side.”

I directed my camera down toward my oversized Dopey’s Pizza T-shirt and asked, “Is this okay to wear?”

“I’m on my way over” was all she said before I watched her walk out of her apartment and stand in front of my door.

“It’s pretend golf,” I said into the phone, despite her being on the other side of my door.

She disconnected the FaceTime without any rebuttal. Oh, and she didn’t wait for me to open the door, rather walked right in, catching me standing there in only my Dopey’s T-shirt and bare feet.

“You need to lock your door,” she said, making her way toward my bedroom. Mine was on the right, and my absentee roommate, Kimberlie— with an ie, and not Kimmy or Kim —was on the left.

“Why? So you have to bang it down? How would you get your oat milk for your coffee?”

“Truth. Now,” she commented as she flung open my small closet and started tearing through clothes, “we need to find you something to wear. It’s not every day we get to have fun.”

Sella and I grew up together. She was the yin to my yang. She always had her eyes on a good time, and I let loose about once every six weeks. Even when I was eight, I barely allowed myself a sliver of fun. Quite frankly, I wasn’t sure why Sella kept me as her best friend. Lately all I cared about was getting into medical school, and Sella was busy partying, and currently looking for a husband.

“I love you, but you need new jeans. Skinny jeans with a hole or two in the knees.”

“I have one pair.” I shoved her out of the way and stood on tiptoes to reach the shelf at the top of the closet, yanking down the jeans in question.

She snatched them out of my hands and held them out in front of her. “Perfect,” she stated. “Put ’em on, girlie.”

I started to slide them up my legs.

“Wait a minute, missy.” She snapped and said what I’d feared she might. “Let me see your underwear. Up you go.” She snapped her fingers again, signaling for me to lift my Dopey’s shirt.

Shaking my head, I continued to put on the jeans. “No need to see.”

Except her hand was faster than mine, and she yanked up my shirt, revealing my absolute fave day-of-the-week cotton panties. The problem being that today was Saturday, and I was wearing mint green panties covered in dark-green-colored Wednesdays . The day was written in cursive and had tiny shamrocks interspersed in between the curly font.

“I’m not taking them off,” I said with pride, buttoning the jeans and standing as tall as my five foot three would allow.

“You’ll live to eat those words.” Her face, with the combined scowl and raised eyebrow, suggested she meant this.

She shoved a clump of beachy waves behind her ear, her piercing green eyes squinting at me, and I did my best to mimic the move with my dark and thick brown curls and mahogany-colored eyes. Despite our physical appearances being equally as opposite as our temperaments, Sella never seemed ready to part with me. I might have teased about wanting her to move on from our friendship, but it was the furthest thing from the truth.

Daniel

“ D ude, this is going to be epic,” Eric Walters mostly screamed in my ear as we walked through campus.

“First, don’t ‘dude’ me. I’m from Scotland, not California. You know this. Second, stop yelling. I’m right here.”

He tried to keep pace with my long legs as I hurried to get back to my apartment. “It starts at seven, but maybe you’ll get there early? We could do a few photo ops, yeah?”

“Eric, man, listen, I agreed to do your fraternity bro thing. It’s not my regular thing. I’m bringing some teammates. We’ll get you the publicity you wanted. End of story, ’kay?”

“Our parties are rad. We could make you an honorary member. Dude—I mean man—girls would go crazy. Not like they don’t already go crazy for you.”

Running my hand through my hair, I blew out a long breath. Eric was an acquaintance of mine from economics during freshman year. I wasn’t going to lie—I wouldn’t have passed the class without him. I’d made sure to sign up for the same sections as him ever since… So okay, perhaps he was more than an acquaintance. Eric was a friend. A friend I didn’t socialize with, but it was our senior year and the guy had done me so many favors, I owed him one.

“I don’t need any girls going crazy. I have enough problems with…that. I’m doing you a solid, like you Americans say, since you’ve done so many for me.”

“You’re going to play on the tour…this is going to be epic!”

“Shh,” I interrupted.

“Yeah, yeah, with all your blarney and Scottish superstition.”

“Blarney is Irish, but we can save the geography lesson for another day.”

I was going to the tour. I’d worked my arse off to get there, finishing in the very top of the tour’s qualifying school. My dad had paid a boatload for me to enter, and now the tour loomed like a cherry on top of a sundae. All I wanted was to dive in with my spoon, but I had to stay sharp like a knife and not let my stroke go to shit.

When we finally got to my apartment complex, I said, “See you at seven, dude ,” and walked in the front door without anything more.

If Mum knew I was helping with a fraternity event, she’d be pleased. Dad would not. He was constantly pushing for me to perform better. Being nice, getting involved with anything but golf, socializing, dating—it all got in the way of being the best golfer, according to him. I loved the sport and my dream was to play on the tour, but I wasn’t sure if it meant sacrificing a life. Mum wanted me to have it all. The tour, a wife, a brood of kids—the last part I wasn’t certain about.

Alas, helping Eric’s Alpha Asshole fraternity was about as good as it got for me lately. The closer I came to graduating, the crazier the chicks got (to borrow Eric’s expression). If I brought them home, they wanted to know if they could travel on the tour with me, if their dad could come with them, and when was I going to take them to see Scotland.

No , absolutely not , and never were my answers. This made them even clingier.

Now, graduation was close. One more school year and I would have a business degree and be on the tour, living my best life. Without a partner or a brood of kids. Hopefully, with my best companion…

“Come on, Brutus,” I called to my dog inside my apartment. He lifted his head off the dog bed, tail wagging, and licked his nose. “Come on, quick pee. I got to get ready to play golf tonight. Fake golf at Topmost. It’s not even a real driving range. But it’s for a good cause.” I talked to him like I always did, as if he understood.

He yawned.

I slapped my thigh and he got up. We went back down the elevator and outside, where I hoped Eric was gone. After Brutus lifted his leg and peed a river, we went back upstairs, like an old married couple. Maybe this was my destiny—life with a yellow Labrador.