Page 19 of Kissing Flynn

With that, she reaches over and slugs me on the arm before settling back in her chair. The move sends me rocketing into the past. How many times did she punch me in the arm like that when we were hanging out with Milo in college?

Back when we were best friends…

My anger and jealousy dissipates, and all I’m left with is sadness over everything we lost.

Thirteen

Max

I may be playing it cool, but I don’t like the way Lars is looking at me, either. I’ve got full-on heebie-jeebies.

I can definitely handle him if he tries something, sure, but I’d rather avoid that scenario altogether. There’s no telling how Barnard will react if I have to slap one of the other writers. Especially one as renowned as Lars Klein.

And I refuse to even acknowledge the tingle in my belly at Flynn’s mood. I don’t know if he’s actually jealous, but he definitely doesn’t like that fuckboy looking at me the way he is. Or that I flirted with the man to try to get intel. Flynn’s protective streak has been activated, and I don’t hate it. In fact, I’ve got a swarm of bees buzzing in my belly at the mere thought of him defending my honor like a knight of yore.

Shit, this is dangerous territory. We’ve called a truce, but I cannot allow myself to forget the past for even a moment. I need to keep my guard up. I refuse to let Flynn hurt or humiliate me again.

I try to shake off my suddenly dark mood as I look around the outdoor space. Lars has finally turned his attention away from me, opting to swim laps across the length of the large pool. Penelope has disappeared, altogether. Maybe she and Lars weren’t discussing strategy, after all. Maybe he was being a creep, and she took my arrival earlier as a chance to escape him. I make a mental note to find her later and check in with her, just to be sure.

The dark-haired woman I now know is Danica Black, a ghost writer of self-help books, is by herself, soaking up the sun on a lounger. The only other person present, one of the men I haven’t spoken to yet, is reading on a couch in the shade of the veranda.

There’s nothing really to see here, and it’s getting hot.

“I’m going to take a dip to cool off,” I say to Flynn, who nods as I stand up and adjust my suit to make sure all my bits are covered properly.

No need to give Lars any more encouragement, right?

As it turns out, Lars needs no encouragement. The second he spots me coming down the steps into the water, his mouth twists into a feral grin. Pushing his wet hair off his forehead with both arms––a move meant to highlight his arm and chest muscles, no doubt––he wades in my direction.

Before my fight or flight reflex can kick in, there’s splashing behind me. I whip around to see Flynn barreling into the water, a deep frown pointed in Lars’ general direction. When his gaze meets mine, that frown morphs into a wide, insincere smile.

“Do you want to race?” Flynn asks, the look in his eyes belying the carefree nature of his words.

His gaze darts over my shoulder, and I can only assume Lars is still headed my way, so I nod. Flynn’s relief is palpable. And though I don’t need his protection, especially when it comes to creeps like Lars Klein, I can’t deny there’s a tiny part of me squealing in excitement that Flynn cares enough to try.

Narrowing my gaze, I shoot him an impish grin before shouting, “ReadySetGo” while simultaneously diving forward and swimming as fast and as hard as I can for the opposite end of the pool. I hear Flynn shout something that sounds like “cheater,” but I ignore it and keep moving. It’s no use though. Within a few strokes, he glides right past me and reaches the other side three seconds before I do.

With a hand on the ledge and his legs kicking beneath the water, he turns toward me with a wide grin. When his gaze darts to the left, the smile drops. I look back to see Lars watching us, a deep frown etched across his features.

“We should go,” Flynn says, pulling my gaze back to his. “Nobody’s talking to each other out here, so there’s nothing to find out. Want to grab some drinks and check out the library or the media room?”

I nod, and relief floods his face. He’s doing that protector thing again, trying to get me out of here and away from unwanted attention. And again, I don’t hate it.

Rather than moving back to the shallow end––which would take us past Lars––Flynn plants his palms on the edge and pushes himself up and out of the water with total ease. Once he’s on his feet, he holds his hands toward me. I take them, ignoring the tingling in my arms at the touch, then gasp as he pulls me up and sets me on my feet beside him like I don’t weigh a thing.

I stare at him wide-eyed for a moment, then he must realize he’s still holding my hands, because he drops them so fast, you’d think I burned him.

As we gather our things and dry off, we agree to meet up in half an hour after we shower and change. We walk silently up to our rooms, only speaking when we part ways in the hall.

“See you in a bit,” he says.

“See you,” I reply, then head into my room and close the door firmly behind me before leaning back against it.

What is happening here? When Flynn and I decided to call a truce and work together, I imagined us feeling and acting more like coworkers than friends. But it seems we’ve bypassed the “friend” stage altogether and jumped right into that nervous, unsure phase people experience when they go on a first date, or something.

It’s ridiculous.

I obsess over everything that happened at the pool while I shower, and when I finish, I don’t feel any better about it. I cannot let myself even entertain the idea that something romantic might be brewing with Flynn. I was the worst mistake he ever made, right? And people always strive to not make the same mistake twice.

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