Page 32 of Play the Last Track
Grant is a dick. I know that now, and I never should have let him manipulate me into thinking music was only for people with extreme talent. He just couldn’t understand why I didn’t bother trying to take it more seriously or take lessons.
Truth is, I don’t want a record deal. I don’t want to be a famous musician.
I simply like playing.
Eventually, I stopped playing when Grant was around. Then, when other people were around. Now, I just hide it away and retreat to the makeshift studio at the bar. My new, away-from-the-world safe space.
I lean forward, focusing while carefully threading the gold hoops through my ears. I glance down at my outfit. Loose jeans, a T-shirt tucked in, and a belt tying them together. I’ll take a jacket, but Flynn told me that wherever he is taking me is indoors, so I don’t have to worry too much about the elements. It’s a rare weekend night off. He flies out for Colorado tomorrow for a Monday night game, and normally, it being a Saturday, I would have to work, but he requested I make myself free. After the week I’ve had, I didn’t have the fight in me to refuse him.
I sit on the edge of my bed to pull my white sneakers on just as a gentle knock sounds at my door.
“Come in,” I call out, focusing on the laces of my shoes more than a normal person probably would. Halloween was two weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to get the way that kiss felt out of my head. The way his hands trailed over my body, or the way I lovedthe sensation of his hot breath against my ear as he demanded I call him a friend.
Flynn Reed is getting under my skin, and I am not even sure I mind all that much.
Although, as I have reminded myself for the last few weeks, I should mind. We went there. We did the thing. He’s a flirt and a playboy.
I don’t want a flirt and a playboy.
I don’t want Flynn Reed. My brain knows this, logic knows this.
My body, however, needs time to catch up.
“You look good,” he says. I suppress a blush as the words practically fall down my spine, warm and inviting.
“Thank you.” I stand, grab my handbag from the bed, and turn to face him. My eyes glance over at him; jeans, T-shirt, button-up flannel thrown over the top, kept open. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and his hair sits effortlessly touseled and perfect on his head. Goddammit.
“And me?” He smiles, waving a hand down his own body and turning around as if showing off his outfit.
I roll my eyes. “You look good, too. I guess.”
“TheI guesswas unnecessary.”
“Someone needs to keep your ego in check. I am happy to take one for the team on that one.” I throw a hand over my heart and nod seriously.
“Good. Scott’s been holding down that job for far too long,” he says, moving to the side to let me pass as I step out of my room. I smile gently and make my way downstairs. “He’s gotten very slack ever since he became obsessed with Ivy.”
“So he’s the one who allowed you to become so over-inflated with confidence?” I turn to look at him, following me down thestairs over my shoulder. There is something I don’t recognize in his features, but when his eyes meet mine, it disappears. I shake it off. “So, where are we going?”
“Hollie told me we have to be photographed more in public,” he grumbles, sitting on the bench by the door to slip on his shoes.
“I figured this would be afake datingthing.” I nod, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”
I raise a brow. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“You’ll see, Rockstar,” Flynn says as he swipes his keys from the bowl by the door and ushers me out.
Something I’m learning about Flynn is that he’s been raised a gentleman. He may be a flirt and a playboy, but he’s the kind that will open a woman’s door for them. And, he has. Every damn time.
Since I started living with him, if I’m with him and there is a door to be opened, or a jar that I can’t pop without struggling just the slightest bit, or an item too high up in a cupboard to reach, his first reaction is to always step in.
It’s not in an obnoxious way or in a way that would attract attention. It’s calm and subtle. He will take the jar from my hands gently, opening it up, and then he places it right back in my hand. He will lean over me, his chest pressed against my back for a moment, reaching for the item I’m trying to get before he delivers it into my outstretched hand.
And he will step in front of me, quickening his pace just a little so that by the time we reach the truck parked in the driveway, he is already there, gripping the door handle, poised to open it up for me. Like right now. I make my way down the front steps, leaving him to lock the front door and follow me, but before I can get morethan halfway to the truck, he’s already in front of me. It makes my chest tighten, and I say a quiet, “Thank you.”
Flynn Reed is a lot of things, and a gentleman is one of them.
