Page 24 of One Day

“Yeah, because Devon asked when I saw her at The Roast House, and I talked a big game about knowing all about art because I spend so much time with you, and I got flustered. This wouldn’t have happened if you were with me! You would have told me to shut the fuck up.” Her eyes go wide with panic, and her usually pale skin flushes with frustration. “This is your fault!”

“My bad,” I say, holding my hand to my chest mockingly. “I’m sorry I didn’t glue myself to your side to prevent this from happening.”

Her eyes narrow, and I realize the panic isn’t going to go away with a joke. She’s worked herself up so bad she’s actually freaking out. “Flynn, take a deep breath,” I tell her, resting my hands on her triceps while taking a slow breath in. She stares at me for a second before following, her muscles slowly loosening. “If you want to turn around and go home, we can. I’ll tell Devon that you aren’t feeling well, but you can do this.”

“I know nothing about art! I absolutely cannot do this!”

“You don’t need to know anything,” I tell her. I grew up surrounded by art, practically living in a gallery some days thanks to my mom, but that doesn’t mean I know a damn thing. “There is no reason to overcomplicate this by pretending you’re something you’re not. Just be honest with Devon.”

“And say I lied to her? No, thank you.”

“You got nervous. She’ll understand.”

“I still lied! I’m trying to get this girl to like me, and I’m not exactly off to a great start.”

A sigh falls from my lips, unsure of what else I can say to cool the fire burning brightly through her body. She’s blowing everything out of proportion. I know it’s just her nerves talking, but I don’t know how to help her get out of her own head. I can’t even get out of my own. Even now, a few days later, Sonya is pressed into every thought.

“Flynn, she already likes you.”

“Then I want her to want to date me!” Her hand comes down on my chest, her eyes even wider than before as her fingers curl into the fabric of my jacket. “Help me! You’re my expert. I need smart things to say.”

“You don’t need to pretend to have some deep knowledge about technique or guess what you think the artist is trying to get across. That will just lead to you getting caught up in your own web. Just talk about how the piece makes you feel,” I tell her, trying to make it as simple as can be.

“It can't be that easy.”

“You don’t need to know anything about art to feel emotion from a piece, Flynn. Just be honest about how it makes you feel, and you’re golden. I promise.”

Exhaling, she leans her head back. “Okay,” she says, reaching for my arm. “I feel better.”

“I’m going to be right here the whole time. If you need me to bail you out, just squeeze my hand,” I say, sliding my hand down into hers.

“Are you sure you’ll be at my side the whole night?” she asks, nodding to the right of us. I turn my head and spot Sonya making her way in with Bekah and Reid on either side of her. The smile resting on her lips makes me smile, and for a second, I wish we could go back to before. It’d make seeing her right now a lot less complicated.

“What happened?” Flynn asks, reading my face before I can conceal the emotion playing out in my eyes. Sonya hasn’t gone anywhere, but somehow, I miss her so bad my bones ache.

“Nothing.”

“Nope, not this time. Try again.”

“You can’t just say try again,” I argue, trying to buy myself more time. I didn’t tell her about the kiss because I knew she would make me analyze why I did it, and I’m not ready to.

“I can, and I did.”

“Flynn, I really…” I say with a sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “I just don’t want to talk about it. Is that okay? Can you let me have this one?”

Her expression softens, nodding her head. “Do you want to bail? It’s okay if you’re not ready to be around her yet.”

“No, let’s go inside and get you the girl,” I say, moving my now untangled hand over her back. “At least one of us should be getting laid.”

“You know…it could be both of us if you just changed your mind,” she says, poking me gently in the side as we head for the entrance.

“Ha.”

“I’m just saying,” she says, but it doesn’t matter because the second we walk inside, all I see is Sonya.

I can’t hear Flynn next to me or the soft jazz that plays over the speakers, filtering through the open space. I can’t even focus on the white gallery walls, brightened by the beautiful explosion of colors from the hanging art pieces. I don’t see any of it because even in a tight black dress, Sonya is the brightest thing here as her arms wrap around Everett’s neck.

I stand there, in the entrance, drinking her in from head to toe, from the mess of curls hanging around her shoulders to the long-sleeve mini dress that hugs her curves.

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