Page 63 of Play the Last Track
At least, I think it is. I hope it is. We’ve been dancing around talking about the whole fake dating thing for a while now. Flynn doesn’t believe in it, and truthfully, neither do I. Will I admit it aloud? No way. Do I sometimes throw it out there to gauge his reaction and see if he says anything? Yes. Does it ever work? No.
Both of us have obviously decided that bringing it up is too hard, that it’s better to just keep pretending. Like this date. He said it was a booking Hollie made, but all signs lead to him being the one to have booked it. I haven’t slept in my own bed for well over a month. I haven’t bothered denying it whenever Ivy accuses me of liking him; instead, I just shrug my shoulders and gently draw her attention elsewhere. We act like a couple, arealcouple.
Except my phone still rings every few days and reminds me that I still haven’t dealt with my past. And the notifications on my YouTube channel are still a reminder that I haven’t been totally honest with Flynn about what I want for my future, either.
In all honesty, I haven’t been totally honest with myself.
“Katie?” Flynn asks again, gently guiding my face to meet his with a finger beneath my chin.
“Huh?” I ask, confused and lost in my thoughts.
“Do you want dessert?” I blink at him and cock my head. What kind of dessert does he mean? I open my mouth, but, as if he can read my mind, he shakes his head and looks to the edge of ourbooth, where one of the wait staff is waiting. “The waiter wants to know.”
My gaze snaps around to them, and I blush. “Sorry. Lost in my own world. Uh—” I look back at Flynn. “Are you having any?”
Flynn studies me for a moment and then smiles. “I will if you will.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll get whatever you have that’s chocolate on the menu. Thank you.” The waiter nods and then looks at Flynn.
“Same for me. Thank you.” He smiles at the waiter and waits for him to leave before he untangles our fingers and snakes an arm over my shoulder, pulling me closer to him so our thighs press together. I shift, turning into him. He leans down, his free hand dipping beneath the table to grab my thigh. In one easy move, he lifts my legs so they’re draped over his under the table. I’m practically sitting in his lap.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a low voice, a smile playing on my lips as the hand draped over my shoulder begins to play with my hair.
“What were you thinking about? You were a million miles away,” he asks.
“You. And how you’ve gotten me addicted to sex.” He huffs at my words, looking offended, and I laugh. “You have. I think I’ve had more sex in the last month and a half than I ever have. Even in college.”
Flynn frowns. “Don’t talk to me about all the other guys you’ve slept with.”
“Why? Does it make you jealous?” I ask.
“Yes.” I laugh again, but he cuts me off with a kiss. He tastes like beer and peppercorn sauce. I smile against his lips. He tastes like home.
“Flynn?” I ask, pulling back from his mouth. He frowns a little again.
“Yes, Rockstar?”
“You know this whole—” I get cut off by my phone ringing in my clutch. Normally, I would ignore it and just call whoever it was back later, but the ringtone is the specific one I apply to all the guys who work for me at the bar. If they’re calling, it’s for a reason. “Sorry,” I say as I lean across the table a little and reach for my clutch. I fish out my phone and answer.
“Justin? Are you okay?”
“Hey, Katie. I’m really sorry to call,” my youngest bar staff says into the phone. He’s twenty years old. Old enough to work in the bar but not to drink. He’s a good kid, trying to save money to go back to school next year to study engineering.
“It’s okay. What happened?”
“It’s, uh—” He pauses, and I press the phone to my ear hard. I can hear something going on in the background. Someone is yelling, then someone else yells back. I flinch when I hear a glass shatter. “Grant is here. He’s kind of … Well, he’s drunk and he’s demanding we call you and get you to come and see him.”
“What?” I sit up straight, and the arm Flynn had around my shoulders falls down my back. He catches himself, and his hand presses into my hip as he sits up with me.
“What’s happened?” he asks from my other side, but I just shake my head.
“How drunk is he? Have you served him?” I ask, already sliding out of the booth. Flynn follows me, even with the confused look on his face.
“I don’t know. He turned up here, tried to order a beer, but we refused him service. He’s pretty messed up already,” Justin explainsdown the phone. “Then he just started demanding to see you. We tried to tell him you weren’t here, but he didn’t believe us.”
“Okay. It’s okay. Just tell him to calm down and drink some water. I’m on my way,” I say as I stand up. “If he breaks anything else, call the police.”
“Okay, thanks, Katie.”
