Page 25 of Kissing Flynn

“Milo, I have to go,” I say, keeping my gaze locked on Flynn.

“Okay,” he says. “I love you, Sis.”

Tapping the screen, I end the call without responding. I drop my arm to my side, and the phone slips from my fingers, bouncing off the carpet with a soft thud. Flynn and I just stand there motionlessly, staring at each other with unblinking eyes as we internally digest everything we just learned.

Milo lied. To both of us.

Oh, my God.

Sixteen

Flynn

“Milo punched you,” Max says, finally breaking the silence between us.

“You didn’t kiss me just to irritate him,” I reply.

She takes a small step closer. “I wasn’t a mistake?”

I shake my head and take a step toward her. Reaching up, I tuck her hair behind one ear. Her palm lands on my chest, and I know she can feel the heavy pounding of my heart.

“Tell me something that was true about that night,” she whispers.

“The press of your lips against mine was a dream come true.”

“Why did you pull away?” she asks.

“I thought you were drunk. I didn’t want our first kiss to be ruined by extenuating circumstances. I wanted you to kiss me, for real.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” she says, then licks her lips. “Maybe tipsy, but just enough to override my fear of rejection.”

My chest hollows out with that. “And you thought I rejected you?”

She shrugs and nods.

“Never,” I vow as I shake my head. “I was going to suggest we wait until we were both more clearheaded and then move forward and see where things went.”

Max sniffs and shakes her own head. “Then Milo happened.”

I nod. “Then Milo happened.”

Max swallows visibly, then whispers, “He’s not here now.”

As if it has a mind of its own, my hand reaches up to slide beneath her hair and grip the back of her neck in a firm, yet gentle grip. “No, he’s not.”

“Is this a terrible idea?” she asks breathlessly even as her body sways toward mine.

I lean in, stopping just short of kissing her and say, “I honestly don’t give a damn.”

Her eyes flutter closed, and every one of my dreams is about to come true. I pause for a second, savoring the moment and committing it to memory, then a loud knock on Max’s door has us flying apart like a couple of guilty teenagers.

“Yes?” Max calls out, her voice weak and shaky as she presses a hand to her chest.

“Mr. Roxberry would like everyone to meet him in the front parlor immediately,” a male voice calls out from the hallway, and Max shoots me a wide-eyed look.

“Okay, I’ll be right down,” she calls out, then shoos me back into my room so I can answer when the valet knocks on my door.

I go even though every cell in my body demands I stay rooted to the spot and finish what we started. I answer my door when the valet knocks and assure him I’ll head down now. Stepping out into the hall, I see Max shoot me a nervous smile as she exits from her own door. The valet leads the way as we walk silently behind him. I’m bitter as hell about the interruption, and I silently chastise myself for it.

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