Page 43 of Play the Last Track
I frown at my screen, quiet with no reply, and shake my head.
“Get a grip,” I whisper to myself, and I throw it underneath the bar and into my bag.
“Are you talking to yourself now? You know they say it’s one of the first signs of madness,” a deep voice says, amusement laced in his words.
I look up. Flynn Reed, with his bright eyes and bulging muscles, stands in front of me. He is so devastatingly handsome, it hurts. Blond hair, a greeny-blue mix swirling in his eyes. I would never admit it to him, but I could stare at him all day.
I suck in a breath and try to control the smile that is threatening to break out. “Hi.”
“Hey.” He lifts a hand in an awkward wave as he comes over to the bar. He shrugs off his coat and leans down, resting his forearms on the bartop. My gaze follows the deep lines his veins create along the muscle, and I swallow.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I knew he was flying home today, but I expected to see him at home. Or tomorrow, depending on whether I stay late to play music tonight.
He shrugs. “We ended up leaving later than we thought, and I was getting a ride with Scott. When you said you were working, I thought I’d come keep you company.”
“Oh, I …” I look around for his game bag. “Where’s your stuff if you came straight from the airport?”
“Okay, so I went home first.”
“Uh-huh?”
“I wanted to see you. Sue me.” I roll my eyes, but my stomach is doing somersaults, and my heart is skipping every other beat. Since when did I start losing my cool around this man?
Since he kissed me, probably.
“You’ve seen me. I’m working, like I told you I was. You can go now.”
He just smiles and takes a seat at the bar. “No. We need to talk.”
“I’m busy,” I say, gesturing around me.
Flynn raises a brow. “There isn’t anyone here. You’re dead quiet.”
“I have lots of paperwork to do before tonight. There’s a game on, and we’re doing a two-for-one on steak. It’s going to be busy.”
“So talk to me now. While you’re not busy.”
“I—” I try to think of some other excuse to give him, but I fail.
“Please, Katie? I think we really need to talk.”
My heart sinks at his expression. He looks like a lost puppy, and it pulls at my emotions more than I’d like it to. “Fine, we can talk,” I agree. “Do you want a drink at least?”
“Nah. You’re good.” He shakes his head.
I settle in front of him, my hands clasped together on the bartop, inches from his. He leans further forward. “I’m sorry for kissing you last week.”
My face immediately heats up at the memory. The kiss.
Kissing Flynn had felt like getting rain after months and months of drought. Like I had remembered what it had been like, but my mind had dampened the reality over time. His lips were soft, urgent, molding to mine so perfectly, I thought I might kiss him forever. Yet I could tell he held back.
I look up at him through my lashes. “Oh?”
“Judging by the way you ignored and avoided me all week, you didn’t want me to.”
“No, I—” I take a deep breath and raise my chin. “It’s not that. I just … I just don’t think us getting involved is a good idea.”
He stares at me, his eyes flickering over my face. When his gaze settles back on mine, and we spend a minute just staring at each other, he finally lets out a breath. “Do you regret it?”
