Page 44 of Kissing Flynn

Peter strides in without comment, rounding the table and slumping into the chair next to Flynn. I watch him rub the sleep from his eyes, then tense when I feel Lars lean toward me.

“You look hot this morning, Max,” he whispers, and revulsion slams through me as I turn my attention to him.

“Personal space, Lars.”

“Damn, I was trying to give you a compliment,” he grumbles, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

Before I can react, Flynn’s palms slam onto the table, rattling the empty place settings. He starts to push himself up out of his chair as his eyes eviscerate the scumbag next to me, but he freezes when Barnard walks into the room with a loud greeting.

Flynn’s dark stare remains on Lars as Barnard takes his seat, asking, “How is everyone doing this morning?”

“Fine,” Peter calls out when no one else answers, his voice cracking on the word.

Flynn finally looks away from Lars to face Barnard, giving him a stiff nod in greeting. If Barnard notices the thick tension in the room, he ignores it as he picks up the newspaper folded neatly next to his plate.

Bethany pushes a buffet cart into the room laden with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fruit, and oatmeal, and Barnard invites us to help ourselves while he skims his paper. I feel nervous as I stand, my little altercation with Lars forgotten as I wonder why Barnard gathered us so early for breakfast this morning.

Will he stay true to form and eliminate one of us? Who will it be?

God, I hope it’s Lars.

Flynn settles beside me at the buffet, and when I look up at him, he offers me a look of encouragement. One that screams he believes in me. In us.

And just like that my nerves fizzle and die. How does he do that? Calm me with just a single look? It’s like he knows me better than anyone else. Knows exactly what I need in any given situation and gives it to me without pause.

As the four of us retake our seats, Barnard refolds his paper and sets it back on the table. Leaning back in his chair, he eyes each of us for a long moment, then motions for us to begin eating. Bethany and another staff member walk into the room with carafes of coffee and juice, serving Barnard first, and he sips from his cup as we begin to eat.

The vibe is weird, and I can feel my nervous energy building back up. I wish Barnard would fill his own plate and eat rather than just sitting there watching us with that pensive expression.

As if he sensed my thoughts, Barnard’s eyes land on me. I try not to squirm as he watches me for several long beats. Then he seems to nod to himself before turning that hawk-eyed gaze on Flynn. He doesn’t react, just takes a sip of his own coffee like nothing bothers him.

Barnard seems to come to some decision, then clears his throat. Once all eyes are on him, he sets his coffee cup back on its saucer and stands.

“Mr. Edgewater, Mr. Klein, you are dismissed. There’s a plane waiting on the landing strip to take you back to the mainland airport so you can catch your flights home. You’ll find fully paid tickets in your room when you return there to pack.”

I look over at Flynn with wide eyes, and he stares right back at me with the same expression. Peter mumbles a few words, thanking Barnard for his hospitality before excusing himself and leaving. Lars, however, remains in his seat, staring at our host with an incredulous look on his face.

“Are you serious?” he spits, and my spine stiffens.

“Quite,” Barnard says, picking up his empty plate and heading for the buffet cart.

“You’re making a mistake, old man,” Lars says, his voice deep and filled with menace.

Barnard spins around, gives Lars a patronizing smile, then nods toward the doorway. I look back in time to see two burly men in staff uniforms barrel into the room. Lars leaps to his feet and holds up his palms.

“Touch me, and I’ll sue, mother fuckers.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Klein,” Barnard calls out, his voice firm and demanding.

With a sneer, Lars stomps from the room without assistance. The two men follow him out, obviously intent on watching him to make sure he packs up and leaves without incident. The room, itself, seems to breathe a sigh of relief once he’s gone, and Barnard returns to the table with a plate piled with food. He spreads his napkin over his lap and rubs his palms together with glee before digging in and acting like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

I meet Flynn’s gaze, and he’s smiling back at me. The realization that we did it, that we’re the last two standing, hits me hard and fills me with excitement and accomplishment. The feeling quickly fades, however, when I think about the flip-side of that lucky coin.

Flynn is now my only competition for the job.

This was the plan all along, but now that we’re together? Romantically? This situation suddenly feels extremely complicated.

I look at Barnard, who’s wearing a smug smile as he eats. I get the feeling he knows how close Flynn and I have gotten and picked us for the final two just to see how it will all play out. Like it’s all a game to him.

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