Page 18 of Play the Last Track
“You know your woods, Murphy. That surprises me.”
I shrug. “Ivy watchesReal Housewives, I watch renovation shows.”
There’s a beat of silence, and like I can feel him before he moves, I look down just in time to see Flynn lift his hand, his fingers inches from brushing along my arm. I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth and step away from him.
“Ivy told me you’re in trouble with the team.”
If he’s shocked, or surprised, or put off by my sudden movement and change of subject, he doesn’t show it. Flynn simply turns hisbody, facing me even as I move around him and into the center of the room, and leans against the countertop.
“I am.”
“Because you punched someone outside my bar?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me why you punched someone outside my bar?”
“No.”
I narrow my gaze. “You won’t tell me why, but you’re asking for my help?”
“You came to me, Rockstar. I haven’t asked you a thing.” My heart skips a beat at the nickname and, to avoid looking directly at him, I spin on my heel and take in the room’s décor a bit more. Oh, how I hate the smug tone he uses and the smug look on his face and the smugness he probably feels just knowing exactly what the nickname does to me.
A giant, C-shaped couch. A fireplace with a TV mounted on the wall above it. An eight-seater dining set. Artwork on the walls with lighting fixtures illuminating each one. There’s a plant in the corner, and a buffet set along one wall that houses a stack of what I can only guess are playbooks from Flynn’s years playing football. It’s all so …him,but in the most unexpected way.
“I hope you realize that a fake girlfriend is a terrible idea and only works in romance novels. There is a high chance they won’t believe us for a single minute,” I say gently when I feel strong enough to turn and face him again.
“I told Hollie this, but she’s insisting.” He runs a hand through his hair, green eyes flashing down my body for a moment. “Does this mean you’re considering it?”
“Ivy told me. Begged me to help you. For the record, I think it’s a terrible idea.”
“I do, too. But Hollie knows her stuff. I trust her enough to try.”
“Flynn,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. His eyes track every single one of my movements. “What do you want?”
I can see the misunderstanding of my question fall over his eyes the second I ask it. He’s searching my face, and his hands dive into his pockets. This man—this football god—stumbles to find the right words. “I, well, we—I mean, after Italy, I didn’t think you—”
“No.” I shake my head, stopping his stuttering. “I mean, what do you want from this plan? What do I need to do? If I agree to be yourfake girlfriend,” I say, lifting my hands to quote around the fake girlfriend part. It makes me cringe.
This really, really isn’t a good idea. I knew it when Ivy told me about it. I knew it when she begged me to help. I knew it when I was tossing and turning last night before I slipped my finger down the front of my sleep shorts and got myself off to the memories of Flynn Reed.
Fucking hell.
“Hollie said the games, a couple of dinners, some organized paparazzi shots of you coming and going from the house. Maybe a few of us, you know, being a couple …” He trails off.
“Being a couple?” I ask.
“You know, kissing and stuff.”
“Kissing and stuff?What are you, twelve?” I laugh, and for some reason, the sound feels like it’s the pin that bursts the tension bubble we’re stuck in.
“Okay, smartass. Listen, we just need to look like a couple. You can move in here, and—” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Or not. Whateveryou want.”
It only takes me a moment before I break. Moving to the couch, I round the edge and take a seat on the end. Flynn follows me and sits across from me. “Listen, I need to get out of my parents’ house. After Grant—well, I just need some space to figure out what I want. Being at home with my Irish father and my Italian mother, it’s hard to do that. I have zero privacy.”
“Sounds like a loud household.” He smirks, leaning down to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Louder than it should be with just four of us.” I shake my head.
