Page 15 of Spotlight
“You have to be kidding me,” I say under my breath but loud enough that Sabrina hears.
A wrinkle forms between her brows as she looks from me to Flynn and back. “You two have already met?”
“Flynn was crashing at our place that night we watched Greer,” Archer reminds her.
“Oh, right.”
“That’s not it,” I say, then shake my head and look directly at Flynn as I say, “I mean, no, we haven’t met.”
Flynn pulls his hand back, that playful smirk returning, like he’s amused at me pretending not to remember him. Oh, I remember him, but we haven’t met. At least not officially.
Flynn Holland is the guy from New York. Correction, he’s theassholefrom New York.
4
FLYNN
I can’t take my eyes off her.Olivia.Holy shit. It’s really her.
I take a step forward and her body stiffens. So many things rattle around in my brain. I don’t know where to start. Questions I want to ask her, things I want to say.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.”
Long, blonde hair. Big, blue eyes. I’ve pictured her face a million times since New York, but staring at her now, my memory didn’t do her justice.
Those bright blue eyes glint like cut sapphires as her gaze goes from confused to shocked – possibly pissed. At me? I’m not sure.
“Am I missing something?” Archer asks, dark brows raised. Without speaking, he signs,What the hell?
“We have met,” I say to her. “Maybe you don’t recognize me in the dim lighting.”
If she doesn’t want to tell everyone about the night we spent together, that’s fine by me. All I care about is seeing her here.Now.
Instead of dignifying my comment with a reply, she attempts a weak smile at Sabrina. Unfortunately for her, no one is letting the awkward moment drop.
“In any case, nice to meet you.” I extend my hand toward her.
Her stunning blue eyes flick to my palm and up. “Flynn, is it? You look more like a Richard or aDick.”
Claws out.Meow.
I’m grinning at her and she’s looking back at me like I am the spawn of Satan.
Silence stretches out around us. Hendrick is the first to break it, laughing nervously and then covering it with a cough.
“Who wants champagne?” Sabrina asks.
“Love some,” I say without looking away from Olivia.
Her gaze narrows, but she doesn’t break my stare. Everyone else politely moves toward the bar, leaving us as close to alone as we’re going to get in this crowded place.
“I can’t believe it’s you. Didn’t I say I’d seen you before?” I ask, shaking my head with disbelief. “And you said?—”
“Maybe in another life,” she finishes the statement for me and for a second, her angry demeanor softens.
“I need another drink,” she says, staring off into the distance like she’s in a haze.
I walk with her to an open section of the bar. Filled champagne flutes sit on the bartop and she takes one, brings it to her lips, and takes a long gulp, then side-eyes me like she can’t quite believe I’m really here either.
