6. Jameson
Chapter six
Jameson
I’ve been trying to fall back asleep for the last hour after being unceremoniously awoken by what could only be described as jungle noises. I swear a pack of hyenas was chasing after Pumba out there. Once fully awake, though, I recognized the sounds for what they truly were: feminine giggles and a few snorts. Not noises commonly heard on golf courses, particularly not the high-end country clubs I tend to frequent.
My mind quickly placed the blame on the sisters from earlier in the night. Clearly, Bryn and her friends were getting into some late-night shenanigans on the putting green.
It wasn’t until I was pulling out my portable sound machine, the little box I take with me everywhere, that I remembered Bryn mentioning about the possibility of someone “streaking outside my window.” I had to force myself to climb back in bed rather than open the window for a peek, mentally chastising myself for the image I couldn’t seem to shake: Bryn running across the putting green, nothing on but a baseball cap.
I’m not sure why the cap was still on, but damn, her smile peeking out from under it was almost as distracting as her bouncing tits as she ran across my mind. Since then, I’ve tried all the breathing exercises I know, watched two reruns of Friends , and scrolled social media. I still can’t sleep.
Finally giving it up for a lost cause, I let out a frustrated sigh and decide to hit the driving range. The moon is still high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the golf course. As I walk, the cool night air washes over me, clearing my head.
I’m so lost in thought that I almost don’t notice her. Bryn, still in her golf attire from the day, has her back to me, practicing with one of her irons.
I stand there, stuck in place by the round curve of her ass, the smooth flow of her backswing.
As she turns her head to follow her shot, I notice the glint of white AirPods sticking out of her ears. No wonder she didn’t hear my clubs rattling as I climbed up the slight hill to the practice area.
Unsure what to do, I awkwardly stand there watching as she tees up another ball. She bends over to place it on the tee, and I can’t help but feel a zing of attraction.
Suddenly, she stiffens, then whips around to stare at me.
“Oh my God.” She waves her hand around, gesturing in my direction. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry,” I say, cringing at being caught staring. “Can’t sleep.”
“Yeah?” she asks, a faint smile on her lips. “You too?”
I nod. “I may have been woken up by what I can only assume was the aftermath of a drunk driving game.”
She grimaces. “We really should get a better name for it. For the record, I don’t think drunk driving is a laughing matter. My college roommate’s parents were killed in a drunk driving accident. It’s just”—she looks at the starry sky like it might provide her with the answer—“alliteration, I guess.”
I continue to stare at her, not sure what the appropriate response is.
“Anyway,” she continues, clearly picking up that I’m not going to bail her out, “I’m sorry about the noise earlier. There were a lot of shots involved, and we got a bit overly rowdy.”
“It’s all right,” I say, clearing my throat to hide the excitement in my voice at the chance to talk to her. “I needed to get out and clear my head anyway.” I don’t mention that she’s part of the reason I need to clear my head. Despite having committed to being off women, this one intrigues me. She’s witty, even when she shouldn’t be. She is kind to waiters to the point where they stand up for her. She is clearly close with her sisters, a trait that I’d never considered before but now seems important to me. And she apologized before she even knew who I was. She’s snarky and fun but has a good heart.
And for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about her.
She nods, turning back to face the range. “Yeah, same here. Golf is always my go-to for that.”
I take the spot on the range a couple down from her, watching as she lines up her next shot. “You’re pretty good,” I say, trying to start a conversation. “Did you play in college?”
She shrugs, taking her swing. “No. I thought about it, but I had a full-ride academic scholarship, and golf requires a ton of time off campus. But it’s not like I’m telling you anything you don’t know.”
I chuckle. “I do know a thing or two about how much time golf can take up. But a full-ride academic scholarship—that’s pretty impressive. What do you do now?”
“I’m the director of technology at Hungry Guy.” She pulls out her phone as she says it, almost like it’s reminding her of all the work she still needs to get done.
“I fucking love Hungry Guy. They have the best bacon burgers.” I don’t mention that before I came to Wild Bluffs, I rarely treated myself to eating out. Before I started my spiral, I was on a strict diet from my nutritionist. I know a lot of people consider golf a “hobby sport,” but diet and exercise are now key parts of almost all professional golfers’ routines.
She rolls her eyes. “Obviously. But…” She leans in a bit. “The insider secret is the truffle fries. I would give up my dog for those.”
I laugh. “I’ll have to try them next time. So, director of technology—that sounds pretty important. What does that entail, exactly?”
Bryn takes a deep breath, clearly ready to give her elevator pitch. “Basically, I oversee all the tech aspects, from the in-store purchasing systems to the app to the website to the databases. My team and I work to make sure everything is running smoothly and efficiently, and that we’re constantly innovating and improving.”
Impressed, I nod. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility.”
“It is, but I love it. Plus, it allows me to travel and live the digital nomad lifestyle, exploring new places both for fun and to visit restaurants or specific team locations.”
I can’t help but admire her passion for her job, and the way her eyes light up as she talks about it. It’s a trait I find incredibly attractive in a woman, since I’ve always been all-in on profession. Though, after the year I’ve had, I’ve lost some of the excitement I once had, and I worry I won’t be able to get it back.
“That’s really cool,” I say, genuinely enjoying our conversation. “You must have seen some amazing places.”
“I have. It’s actually pretty crazy when you consider the fact that I almost gave it all up a few years ago.”
“You did?” I ask, curious why she would give up something that seems to bring her so much joy. “Why?”
“Oh, normal life things,” she says, clearly avoiding giving me a real answer. “You know how it goes.”
I don’t know. But we also just met, so it doesn’t feel right to pry. We stand in silence for a moment, watching as the range lights dance across the grass. There’s a comfortable ease between us, a sense of mutual respect I haven’t felt with anyone in a long time. I want to take the opportunity to get to know her better, to find out what makes her tick.
“You know,” I say, breaking the silence, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I was a bit of a jerk earlier...”
Bryn waves me off, her expression thoughtful. “It’s all right,” she says finally. “I suppose someone as famous as you probably should assume the worst in people at first. And I’ve been known to rub people the wrong way.” Her mouth tenses at the sides as she says this final part.
Turning back to her tee box, she grabs another iron and starts hitting balls. Taking the hint, I do the same.
We fall into a comfortable silence, both of us hitting ball after ball. Every so often, I catch myself staring and have to physically force my head back down to the ball.
She does have a great swing.
And a great ass.
As the night wears on, I can feel the exhaustion setting in. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up with this, but I don’t want to leave Bryn just yet. It’s as if something is keeping us both here, refusing to let us part.
Finally, after what feels like hours, though a look at my Rolex informs me it has only been forty-five minutes, Bryn turns to me with a smile. “I think I’m ready to call it a night,” she says, lifting her cap and wiping the sweat from her forehead. “Thanks for the company.”
I nod, feeling a sudden pang of disappointment that our conversation has to end. I wonder if they’re leaving tomorrow. “Yeah, I should probably try to get some sleep too.”
As she starts to walk away, I consider asking her to join me for a round tomorrow but quickly shut that down. I may have been wrong about her this afternoon, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t stomp all over my heart and then ask me to pay to have her shoes cleaned before she leaves.
Dragging my hand down my face, I turn to follow her back in the direction of the clubhouse and rooms.
Bryn stops in her tracks, her back still turned to me. I can’t tell if she’s waiting for me or doing something on her phone.
Finally, she turns back around, biting the right side of her bottom lip between her teeth. “Any chance you want to get a quick nine in tomorrow morning? Our tee time isn’t until eleven oh eight, and I know I’ll be up well before that. We could probably play the back nine if we tee off at eight.”
Shocked, I stare at her face, trying to figure out what her angle is.
“You know what,” Bryn says awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with my silence, “that was silly of me to ask. Of course you want time to work on your game alone. I mean, why else would you be out in the middle of nowhere, and with your game as bad as it’s been lately—” She winces. “That’s not what I meant! I mean, I’m sure you know it hasn’t been great, but it definitely hasn’t been that bad, and who am I to talk, anyway? You’re still way better than me. Anyway. I’ll just…go.” She whirls around and hurries off.
Ouch. Not going to lie, hearing that rambling evaluation of my game stings. Even if it’s technically true. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I’d love to have some company out on the course, but I heard Erica loud and clear—no distractions. I also don’t know if my ego can take another round of feedback from this woman.
I take a deep breath, trying to get a handle on my emotions as she reaches the bottom of the hill.
“I’d love to play a quick nine with you,” I shout after her. She stops but doesn’t turn around. I hustle to catch up. “But just to be clear, I’m not looking for any kind of a relationship right now. I just want to play some golf and have a good time.”
Bryn turns to look at me quizzically, and I wonder if I said something wrong. Finally, her face relaxes into a smile. “Me too,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “Just some golf and company. That’s all I’m looking for.”
I nod, feeling a weight lifted off my chest. “Sounds perfect.”
We make plans to meet at the clubhouse at 7:30 the next morning, both of us eager to get some rest before our early tee time.
As we part ways, I can’t help but feel something fluttering to life inside of me. Unfortunately, I can’t tell if it’s my body telling me it’s excited or that I’m in danger and should be running as far as I can in the other direction.