Page 41 of Play the Last Track
“Is that what you want?” he asks in a quiet voice.
I don’t answer. I can’t answer. I’m torn in half. Part of me knows this is a bad idea, that I set ground rules, and I should keep them. But the other half, the one that’s horny and remembers what it feels like to have Flynn Reed’s mouth on mine in great detail, begs me to just lean forward.
I shake my head, the tiniest bit, and he takes it as an invitation. His lips meet mine, and I sink into him. He tastes just as good as he did months ago.
Chapter Eleven
Katie
Grant.
His name flashes across my screen for the fifth time today. I ignore it. I’ve been ignoring a lot of things lately. Grant’s calls. My mother’s calls. Flynn. After our kiss in the living room over a week ago, I have been avoiding him like my life depends on it. On Monday, I snuck out of the house and hid at the bar. Then he went back to training after their bye week, and I swapped my day shifts at the bar for nights. I’ve posted four new videos this week on the channel simply because I didn’t want to go home.
Kissing him was … unexpected.
The alcohol helped, but I wanted him, too. The moment he started talking about his parents and his mom’s affair, I had the overwhelming urge to hold him, to comfort him. I moved closer. I put myself right next to him. I wanted him to kiss me, and I let him do it.
It was the after that was the problem. I broke the rules. I told myself we could never go there again. I made a promise to myself when I moved into his house and agreed to be his fake girlfriend that I was just using the opportunity to get some space from my family and my past, and figure things out. I was supposed to be using him just like he was using me to get a contract, to re-sign and help his reputation.
Except, I’m not even sure that’s his reason anymore. Maybe they weren’t his at all to begin with. He wants to be friends. He takes me bowling for a laugh and lets me choose the takeout we eat each night. He even watches my stupid renovation shows.
But, he’s also a playboy. A flirt.
It’s confusing and I hate it.
How am I supposed to figure out what I want with my life when I can’t even figure out an open book like Flynn Reed?
Not to mention, my son of a bitch ex-boyfriend won’t stop blowing up my phone. I should just block his number. But, if I do that, I’m scared he’ll turn up on my doorstep. Or worse, he’ll turn up on Flynn’s.
I wish that when he’d gone radio silent after the game where Flynn and I hard-launched, he would’ve stayed there. Grant is making this so complicated. My finger hovers over the decline button, but there’s no need to press it. It stops ringing, and I let out a breath.
Maybe I should tell someone about what actually happened between Grant and I. Every time my phone rings, it’s like he’s coming back to haunt me, reminding me that I haven’t dealt with him, that I haven’t really closed that chapter in my life. I preached therapy and healing to Ivy for so long, yet I can’t take my own advice.
Why can’t I just take my own advice?
My phone vibrates against the bartop, and I glance down at it, dread filling my stomach. Grant was never one to text me before. He preferred a phone call, even for the little things. It was annoying as fuck. He would get so pissed off when I didn’t pick up.
My heart skips when I see the name on my screen.
Flynn:Are you going to come home tonight, or are you still hiding out at the bar?
Instinctively, I look up and around the bar like I’m expecting him to be sitting in a booth in the corner, watching me. He’s not. Am I disappointed? Maybe.
Me:I have a shift.
Flynn:Yeah, yeah. You’re avoiding me. I get it.
Me:I’m working. Not everything is about you, Reed.
I groan and drop my head on the bar. I’m a liar. I’m such a liar.
Flynn:We’re playing in Texas Sunday, so I’ll be flying out tomorrow and will be back on Monday.
Flynn:You can safely return home as I won’t be there.
Me:I’m not avoiding you.
Flynn:You’re making yourself a liar. You good with that?
