Throb (Life on Stage 1)
I want your tomorrow, not your yesterday.
Feelings change, people change.
Take my hand, let me lead your way.
The crowd goes crazy as the last note fades. Then the band picks back up with a song that has the mesmerized crowd grinding with heightened sexual appetites. I finish my drink and stand, but the sky begins to spin and my feet grow unsteady.
Flynn catches me as I wobble. “Woo … you okay?”
“I’m great.” I fling my arms around his neck.
He smiles.
“I liked your song.”
“I’m glad.”
“It was sexy.”
He chuckles, amused.
“Just like you.” I push up on my tippy toes and lean into him, pressing my lips to his. He doesn’t kiss me back.
“You’re drunk,” Flynn says when he pulls his head back.
“So? If Jessica tried to kiss you when she was drunk, I bet you wouldn’t say no.”
“That’s because Jessica would kiss me when she’s sober.”
A little while later, I fall asleep in the SUV on the ride back to Sugar Rose, my head resting on Flynn’s lap. He helps me out of the car and into my room.
The door closing behind us is the last thing I remember in the morning when I wake with a pounding in my head. I’m snuggled into Flynn, his arms tight around me.
“Morning,” he says with a broad smile.
I’m quiet for a moment as I wrack my brain trying to remember what happened after we came into my bedroom. But my mind is completely blank. “Did we?” Too embarrassed to say the words, I motion between the two of us.
He responds with a devilish glint in his eye. “Did we what?”
“You know.”
“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”
I roll my eyes. It’s enough movement to cause my headache to worsen.
“Sweetheart, trust me, if we did, you’d remember it.” He kisses my forehead and hops from the bed.
“Well, then, thank you. For … being a gentleman.”
“Better look under the sheets before you call me a gentleman,” he says sheepishly.
My eyes go wide and, hesitantly, I lift the sheet and look down. I’m wearing a t-shirt and underwear. I look up at Flynn and he shrugs and smiles.
“I might have helped you change.” He winks and disappears.
Chapter thirty-seven
Kate
“How you feeling?” Flynn asks with a knowing smirk on his face after he returns from an hour-long beach run.
“Like death,” I groan. I’m lying in a lounge chair near the water’s edge, oversized sunglasses blocking the rays of light that cause the pain in my head to worsen. It’s nearly five o’clock, yet I feel as queasy now as when I woke up this morning.
“How can you run after last night?”
He shrugs and takes off his shirt. “I’m better at partying than you.”
“My idea of partying is drinking two glasses of wine in sweatpants after studying for four hours.”
“Wild woman.” He balls up his shirt and tosses it at me. “Come on. I need to walk to cool down.” He extends both of his hands.
“The last time I took those hands, I wound up in the water against my will.”
“You’re safe with me today. I’ve had my share of hangovers. I feel your pain. I won’t add to it. Just a walk.”
He’s sincere, so I take the hand he’s offering. The first fifteen minutes we’re both quiet, but I’m uneasy. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“About what?”
“Kissing you.”
“I’m not.”
“But you didn’t kiss me back.”
“Only because you were too drunk.” He halts. “You wanna try it again now, sober? See if I hold back?”
I smile and take his hand, tugging him forward. “Underneath that tattooed bad-boy exterior, you’re really a good guy.”
We walk some more in silence, hand in hand. Finally Flynn asks, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did I do something to turn you off?”
“What? No. What makes you say that?”
“When the show first started, I thought we had a connection. And then I kissed you and I felt it. I could swear you did too. But then things changed. We still had the connection, but you keep me in friend territory.”
I sigh audibly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. If it’s not there, it’s not there for you. I just wondered where we went wrong.”
“We didn’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There was someone else in the room with us whenever we were together. Not physically. But I couldn’t really be with you, when my heart was involved with someone else.”
“Was involved. Not is involved?” He’s astute.
“It’s over now. I’m sorry. It should have never happened to begin with. What you felt when we first met … when we first kissed … you weren’t alone. I felt it too. Then things got complicated and I could never move forward after that.”
“And now? Are you available now?”
“Technically, yes. Honestly, you’re a great guy. But my heart’s broken. I wish we’d met under different circumstances at another time.”
“Why don’t we start over?” he says, taking my other hand and turning to walk backwards.