Izzy
“No,no,no,”Isay as I back away from the driving range, almost tripping as I move toward the path back to the restaurant and hotel at Wild Bluffs Country Club. “I can’t do another round. Bryn, you can’t possibly want to do another round of the drunk driving game.”
We’ve been on the driving range playing for almost two hours, and even with a group this size, there have been a lot of shots consumed.
My sister laughs. “I’m game for another round if Jameo is,” Bryn says, blatantly staring at her soon-to-be husband’s ass as he hits a driver off the tee a few spaces down from ours. “Still feeling pretty good since I haven’t had to drink very much. Turns out, I’m a lot better than you, Iz.”
Yeah, no surprise there. With basically everything in life, from school to sports to work, if one of my sisters isn’t better than I am at it, the other one surely is. Bryn doesn’t have to be so open about it, though.
“You also didn’t start drinking hard seltzers like water this afternoon out on the course,” Jameo replies, giving me a sympathetic smile.
“Yeah, well, all you assholes wouldn’t shut up about a certain someone and how he’s actually a great guy. And how maybe I should consider forgiving him.”
And I don’t know what to do about that. I also don’t want to make Bryn and Jameson’s joint bachelor/bachelorette party about me, so I’m choosing to ignore everything—with the help of some alcohol.
Now though, I can confidently say I’m past tipsy and well into the drunk phase of my evening. Unfortunately, instead of helping me tune out all the happy couples around me, drunk Izzy can’t seem to focus on anything but the sweet looks Carter sends Kelsey or the way Jameson ogles Bryn anytime she does anything golf related.
It’d be gross if it wasn’t so freaking adorable.
Tears have threatened to fall multiple times today, but I’ve shoved those feelings aside for my sister. I love Bryn, and I’m not going to ruin her fun to have a pity party for myself.
Particularly when I realize my two biggest problems are that I’m single and that a famous musician wants to be my friend. Which are only problems if you’re me.
“We’ll do teams of two this time,” Bryn says. “Everyone can just pair up with their significant other.” She looks around. “And we’ll do a group of three for our singles.”
I grit my teeth, trying not to be annoyed with the way she said it.
“I think this might be my sign to call it a night,” Sam, JT’s assistant, says, walking down the hill. “I saw a cute bartender that I’m going to go chat up.”
I shoot Becca a look, and she nods. “We’re out too,” I say. “You all have fun.”
It’s a quiet walk back, and I’ve never been more thankful for my best friend. She rescheduled a visit to her grandma so she could be here with me, and I can’t imagine what I’d be doing right now if she’d decided not to come. Probably playing on my own team up there, trying to be a good sport while secretly pretending each golf ball I hit was one of the couples doing lovey-dovey, cute things.
Not that I’m jealous or anything.
“Let’s hang out by the firepit for a bit,” Becca suggests.
I nod. “But not the one by the bar. I can’t explain to Sam one more time why I can’t become best friends with Jaxon again and start flying him around to all the famous people’s parties.”
“To be fair to him,” Becca starts, and I shoot her a glare—we’re not being fair to Sam. “You never explained anything about your past to Sam. You just said Jaxon’s gross. Which is pretty ridiculous when you think about it. Jaxon’s not only tall, dark, and handsome, but he has a voice like whiskey. He’s the kind of guy everyone with a pulse wants at their dinner party.”
I can feel my left nostril twitching. “A voice like whiskey? Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t give me that look, Iz. You know it’s true. The whole world knows it’s true. The man is objectively a good singer. And good-looking.”
I drop into one of the chairs surrounding the fire, the weight of everything pulling me down. “Gross. You know I never felt that way about him. We were just friends. I barely noticed he was a guy. More like my brother than anything.”
“I do know that. I always believed that you two really were just friends—even if half the school was convinced differently,” Becca says, and I feel a swell of appreciation for my friend who stuck with me. The one who didn’t ever walk away.
I shrug. “So, there you go.”
Becca raises her eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t find him attractivenow? Because I’ve seen you check him out multiple times—don’t even try to deny it.”
Staring at the dancing flames in the fire, I consider the question.Do I find him attractive?
“I mean, yeah,” I finally concede. “The friend veil is gone, so I guess I can see how good-looking he is. But, that’s neither here nor there.”
“Because you’re still avoiding him at every turn?”
