Page 18 of Kissing Flynn

Something inside me shattered that day, yet here I am, pretending like it never happened and like touching Maxine Nolan is no big deal. I need to remember what this really is. And what it isn’t.

I take a deep breath and hold it for several long beats before exhaling slowly. I’ve got this. I’m more mature than I was back then. I can handle this. I can keep my baser instincts at bay and focus on the job at hand.

With that in mind, I look around the pool. Lars Klein is in the shallow end, standing next to the novelist, Penelope Sheridan. They have their heads together as they speak quietly, making me wonder if they’re up to the same game Max and I are playing––working together to beat the rest.

Clearing my throat to gain Max’s attention, I nod discreetly toward the pair. I see her head turn in their direction in my peripheral vision, then she sits up and stands, murmuring, “On it.”

She shakes out her long red tresses, and I watch as her fingers slip beneath the hem of her bottoms, tugging them down to fully cover her butt cheeks, and damn. My own fingers are jealous.

No. Stop it, Flynn.

Max walks around the pool, her face turned upward like she’s enjoying the sun on her cheeks and not paying any attention at all to the pair standing in the shallow end of the pool. She walks toward the stairs that lead down into the water.

I refocus on the pair in the pool as Max dips a toe in. Lars and Penelope break apart the instant they notice her. Penelope mutters something under her breath as she stomps up the steps past Max, but my gaze is riveted on Lars as he smiles up at my partner in crime. I have to fight the urge to get up and go knock his ass out for looking at her the way he is.

They speak for only a moment, then Max gives him a flirty wave before sashaying back over to her seat.

I fight to keep the rage out of my voice as I ask, “What did he say?”

Her head jerks back slightly, and I groan internally. I guess I wasn’t as successful as I’d hoped to be at hiding my…what? Jealousy? Ah, hell.

“I was just thanking him for the lunch invitation and flirting a little,” she says with a shrug. “It can’t hurt to keep him dangling. Maybe I’ll even share a drink with him. Booze tends to loosen people up.”

Images of the night from hell flash through my mind, and I forcibly push them away.

“I don’t know if it’s worth the risk,” I grump.

“What risk?” Max asks, lifting her sunglasses to the top of her head so she can meet my eyes directly. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” I say, relenting with a sigh. “Lars just seems like a person with no moral compass. You know that biography he wrote? I heard he broke into the family’s home and stole the starlet’s diaries.”

“I heard that, too,” Max says with a shake of her head. “But it was never proven, and the daughter didn’t file a police report, so I think we can assume it’s just a rumor.”

“That may be,” I say, digging in my heels, “but he told me last night it was too bad the blogger got booted because she has a nice rack. And let’s not forget what he said about you.”

“That I need a good dicking,” she says, nodding slowly with a thoughtful expression like she’s considering the idea.

I narrow my gaze, and she breaks, laughter bubbling out of her as she lowers her sunglasses back to her face and lays her head back against her chair.

“Relax, Flynn. I know what I’m doing.”

I move my gaze from her back to Lars, who’s still in the pool and still staring in her direction. He’s got his bottom lip pinched between his teeth as he stares, and even from here, I can see his eyes roaming all over her body. I can’t stop myself from grunting, causing Max to turn her attention back to me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say automatically, then sigh. “I just don’t like the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re a piece of meat he wants to take a bite out of.”

Max sits up and pulls her glasses off to stare at me with wide eyes. “Flynn Nightingale, are you jealous?”

The sparkle in her golden gaze tells me she’s teasing, but her accusation hits a little too close to home, making me even grumpier.

“What? No. Of course, not.”

“Wow,” she says sarcastically. “Way to make a girl feel special.”

“Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean––”

“Relax,” she cuts in with a chuckle. “I was just messing with you.”

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