Page 2 of Kissing Flynn

Leaning back and closing my eyes again, I allow the tortuous memories to engulf me.

The first day of freshman year, when my twin brother, Milo, introduced me to his new roommate. The way the three of us fell into an easy comradery. Studying in their room with cheap beer and junk food. Rips from a bong and the laughter that followed.

God, I wish I still smoked weed right now. I could use the floaty high that always seemed to make my troubles vanish.

Over the next three-and-a-half years, the three of us were inseparable. Sure, I had girlfriends. Women I’m still friends with to this day.

But me, Milo, and Flynn? We were the real deal.

Until we weren’t.

I think I knew Flynn for about ten minutes when the crush started to form. I kept it to myself, of course. We were buddies. Pals.

By the time we were seniors, I was irrevocably in love with him. And I’d somehow tricked myself into believing he had feelings for me, too. Feelings that were deeper than friendship.

So, one night, after a few shots of liquid courage, I waited for Milo to pass out beside us on the couch and finally, finally, made my move.

And that’s when everything went to shit.

It was a mistake I can never take back, and it nearly cost me everything.

I’ve never forgiven Flynn, and I don’t know if I ever will.

God, this is going to be a long week.

Two

Flynn

Maxine Nolan. You’ve got to be kidding me right now.

How is it possible she’s here, on this plane, sitting in the seat right next to me? My best friend’s twin sister and the object of all my nightmares?

Our friendship and the way it blew up rolls through my mind on repeat as I crowd the inner wall of the plane’s cabin, attempting to put as much distance between us as possible. I have to. I need the space to breathe.

That moment when our elbows touched earlier nearly did me in, sending ripples of tension through my body. Memories threatened to drown me––the closeness we shared, the laughter. The way Max, Milo, and I always had each other’s backs. Always there for each other as we waded through the victories and failures of college life. Late nights. Early mornings. Weekend trips.

The way Max’s lips felt against mine on that fateful night.

No. Stop it, dumbass.

I try to focus on this trip and the competition ahead, but of course, that leads me back to Max, as well. She’s here, obviously a contender for the job, which means scoring the gig won’t be the slam dunk I assumed it would be after checking out the rest of the competition.

The other six writers on the plane are talented, of course, or they wouldn’t be here. We’d introduced ourselves to each other as we waited to board the plane, and I’d recognized most of their names. A couple of novelists, a self-help book ghostwriter, and a blogger. The other two have actually published biographies I’ve read, and while they should be the frontrunners with that experience, I don’t think Mr. Roxberry will choose either of them. The marketing for the books they’ve written depended on sensationalism and promises of juicy secrets revealed. Marketing that enticed readers to purchase the books, then left them disappointed and unfulfilled.

In other words, they weren’t worth the hype, and the reviews on those books proved it. It makes me wonder why those two are even here. Mr. Roxberry has to know their names would ruin the credibility of the biography.

But Max Nolan? She’s the real deal.

I’ve known that since the first journalism class we shared our freshman year. She’s talented as hell, and her work since college has proven that. She may work for Personality Magazine, but her columns are thorough, insightful, and entertaining.

My position as a columnist at the L.A. Journal and my experience in writing may give me a slight edge…on paper. When compared to a magazine, an established and long-lasting newspaper seems more prestigious, right? But Personality definitely holds more trust and respect than the cheap, glossy wastes of time you can find in the grocery store checkout line. It’s the most popular print magazine and website for celebrity news, and every issue contains at least one insightful, emotional column about real people. Usually written by none other than the woman seated next to me.

Yeah. I read it. Every fucking week. For educational purposes, of course. It has nothing to do with me being a glutton for punishment. Or wanting to keep tabs on Max.

But, hell. None of that matters. I can’t afford to lose. I need this job.

And I know Max wants it just as bad. She’s tenacious and hard-working, not to mention competitive as hell. Beating her out for this job isn’t going to be easy. She’ll fight tooth and nail to come out on top. It’ll be a no-holds-barred fight to the death.

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