Page 15 of Kissing Flynn

I don’t wait five minutes when Max gets up and leaves the dining room. I’m out of my seat and following behind her within thirty seconds, and when I get to the second floor, I see her unlocking her bedroom door. She glances over to see me approaching, offers me a small nod, and steps inside, leaving the door open behind her.

“Hey,” I say softly when I step inside to find her waiting.

“Close the door,” she says, and I can’t stop my heartrate from speeding up at the thought of us being alone in her bedroom.

Clenching my teeth, I force the feeling of excitement away. No chance did she invite me here for something romantic. But if that’s true, then why am I here?

“I have a proposition for you,” she says, shifting her weight from foot to foot as I walk closer.

“A proposition?”

“Yes. I wanted to talk to you about maybe working together as an alliance, of sorts.”

“Like on those competition reality shows?” I ask, one corner of my mouth shooting upward.

“Exactly,” she says, humor lighting up her amber eyes.

We used to watch shows like that together…with Milo, of course. Survivor. Big Brother. The Amazing Race. Max was always big into analyzing alliances and predicting if they’d make it to the end together, or not.

“If we work together and watch each other’s backs, we can be the last two standing in this thing. I know we can,” she goes on.

“Okay,” I say, my voice quiet as my mind churns with the possible ramifications of doing this.

For one, we could finally put the past and that night behind us. Even though I may not see her again after this week, it would be nice to have the weight of anger and disappointment lifted from my shoulders. And I wouldn’t have to live in dread of possibly seeing her when I get together with Milo. We could be…pleasant acquaintances. Maybe even friends.

Looking back up at her, I see hope etched into her expression. Nodding, I repeat, “Okay.”

“Great,” she says. “Let’s start with today’s interviews. I think if Barnard asks us our opinions on the other writers, we should be complimentary. We don’t want to look bitter or vindictive, and it would make us look unprofessional if we put down another person’s work. But if he asks me about you, or you about me…”

“We should be a little extra complimentary,” I finish for her, and she grins.

“Exactly.”

I honestly couldn’t come up with a single negative thing to say about Max’s abilities as a writer if I wanted to. She’s amazing at what she does.

“In the interest of watching each other’s backs,” I say, my mind going back to that little scene at the table earlier, “I feel like I should warn you about Lars Klein.”

“Oh, you mean that he’s a misogynistic man-whore?” she asks without missing a beat. “Yeah. I read his book, and he’s not exactly subtle.”

“I ran into him last night on the veranda, and he said you were hot and wondered if you might need a good ‘dicking,’” I say, flinching on that last word.

Max’s eyebrows shoot up as she says on a laugh, “Wow.”

My mouth curves upward, and we stand there smiling at each other for several beats. It feels like old times.

Shaking myself out of the trancelike state, I say, “Well, I should go.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

I turn to leave, then spin back, asking, “Hey, so, what are your plans for the rest of the morning?”

She seems a bit startled by the question, then lets out a chuckle. “Oh, I think I’m going to go hang out by the pool. Catch some rays and maybe overhear some conversations.”

“Eavesdrop, you mean,” I accuse playfully, and she shoots me a devilish grin.

“Why, I would never,” she says in a dramatic southern belle accent, making me laugh.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask before my brain catches up with my mouth, and her smile drops.

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