Page 21 of Kissing Flynn

If she hadn’t gotten drunk and decided to fuck with Milo by climbing all over me and kissing me, I don’t think I’d have ever known what her lips felt like against mine. I wouldn’t now know what I’m missing, and the craving for it wouldn’t torment me so badly.

It was bearable after a few months of being away from her. Like a memory that has faded along the edges, making its bitter bite duller than before.

But now? Being this close to her? That memory has blipped back into sharp focus, slicing at my insides as I fight to regain my self-control. God, it was so much easier when I pretended to hate her. I did such a good job, I almost had myself believing it.

But I never hated her. I hated what she did, sure, because it hurt far worse than I’d ever admit to anyone. But I didn’t hate Max. I couldn’t. Not really.

By the time the movie ends, we’ve finished the popcorn and our drinks. Lunch is being served, but neither of us is all that hungry right now, so we snag a couple of wrapped sandwiches from the lunch buffet table and head upstairs.

“I’ll see you later, I guess,” I say, feeling awkward as we prepare to part ways in the hallway outside our rooms.

Max smiles, and it’s so bright and genuine, my heart stutters in my chest,

“I had fun today,” she says, and I nod.

“Me, too.”

“See ya,” she whispers, and I mimic her with my response.

She smiles again and heads into her room, closing the door softly behind her. Heaving a deep breath, I unlock my own door and stroll inside just in time to see her side of our connecting doors close gently before the lock engages.

I consider closing and locking my side, but in the end, I just walk right past, leaving it wide open. If Max wants to see me or talk to me for any reason, I don’t want anything discouraging her.

If she opens her door and finds me walking around naked in here, so be it.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Thoughts like that will bring nothing but trouble. Moving forward, I push the door on my side almost all the way closed, leaving it open just a crack. That way, she has the option to knock so I can make myself decent should the need arise.

God, I’m putting way too much thought and energy into this. My meeting with Barnard is in just a couple of hours, and I should be focused on that. I need to be perfect. I need to keep my head in the game and ace this interview.

No more distractions.

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Right.

Fifteen

Max

I’ve got ants in my pants.

That’s what Mom would say if she could see me now. I started out pacing the length of my room, and the circuit has slowly shortened, leaving me pacing the same three steps back and forth in front of the door that connects my room to Flynn’s. And I’ve spent the last several minutes talking myself out of opening that door…literally and metaphorically speaking.

Today really felt like old times, hanging out with Flynn and actually having a little fun. And that moment when our hands touched in the popcorn bowl? So cheesy and cliché, yet my heart just about jumped out of my chest as electric currents shot through my hand and up my arm.

And now? Now, I’m confused and a little bit turned on, a combination that could be lethal to my psyche.

So, what if Flynn told Milo kissing me was the worst mistake he’d ever made and that it would never––ever––happen again? That was years ago. Neither of us are the same people we were back then. Though we were both technically adults at the time, we were basically dumb kids when it came to the emotional and mental stuff. If we started something now, it would be completely different.

“Stop it, Max,” I hiss through my teeth and force myself away from the door.

I’m rationalizing and rewriting history because spending time with Flynn has made me nostalgic. I can’t forget the after and only remember the before. Life doesn’t work that way, and Flynn did, in fact, hurt me with his brutal rejection.

Besides, this is neither the time nor the place to be distracted by him or any other man. I’m here for a reason, and I need to focus on that. Flynn and I may be teamed up to make it to the end, but once we’re the last two standing, all bets are off.

“Focus,” I breathe as I walk into my bathroom and pull the pins from my hair to release the bun I’d arranged it into after my shower.

The red tresses are still damp, so I use a round brush and my blow dryer to style it into fat waves. Afterward, I brush my teeth and reapply my deodorant before heading back out into the room to dig through the pockets of my suitcase. Pulling out a bottle of cherry red nail polish, a bottle of clear coat, and a tub of acetone polish remover wipes, I plop down on the floor and remove my old mauve polish before carefully painting on a fresh coat of the red.

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