Page 65 of Best Friends, Tennessee

She frowned at me, still squinting in the sunlight. “I really thought you were a shoo-in for that little art museum, too,” she said.

I ran my fingers through my hair. “Who gets rejected from volunteering?” I asked. “I wanted to do free work for them. I used to get paid well for doing harder things at my last job.”

Danielle shifted. “Don’t a lot of people get rejected from volunteer positions at galleries and museums?”

I pulled in a long breath. I could smell cinnamon in the air emanating from the diner, and I knew Thomas was making a fresh batch.

“Yeah,” I told Dani. “A lot of people get rejected. There aren’t that many spots. But I have an art history degree and almost three years of work experience. I thought… I just thought I’d get it.”

“I did too.”

“And I thought it would make being in Tennessee just alittlebit easier.”

My chest was tight.

“I have to get back in,” Dani said. “Dad’s on milkshake duty, and you know how that goes. But you’re going to be okay, Ori. You’ll find something.”

I nodded. “Go ahead. Thank you, Dani. I’ll be in soon.”

She disappeared inside and I pulled out my phone again. I had a new text from Finn, and again I felt a little uncomfortable with how much better it made me feel.

I couldn’t rely on that feeling.

One day, I’d be moving out of Bestens again, Finn would be married to some great woman, and this little blip in time would be another distant memory. I wanted to enjoy his cute texts—and hisattention—without ever starting to expect it from him.

I opened it up to find a photo.

It was of the progress he was making on a new rose bush he was planting in the backyard this morning, on his day off.

Buthewas also pictured in front of the rose bush.

Shirtless. And sweaty. And looking very proud of the gardening work he’d done.

Heat rippled through my body. I had no clue if Finn knew what he was doing or not. Truthfully, he’d always worked outside shirtless. Even when we were teenagers, he’d sometimes go out in my parents’ backyard and do push-ups and high-knees and whatever the hell else football players did in their spare time.

Since when did I give a damn about muscles this much?

Maybe I only gave a damn when they were his.

And when I knew how fucking good they felt when he was pinning me against a wall.

>>Ori: Pretty flowers, Cumshot King.

I’d been using that nickname every now and then for him, and I liked the way it made him squirm just a little every time I said it.

I wanted to… play it cool, almost.

Like I was the one remindingmyselfto be casual.

I waited outside another few minutes, willing my cock to go back down. Thinking about the apartment and the art museum position helped make it go away pretty damn quick, though, and once I got inside the diner, I was swept into a very busy afternoon shift. A ravenous group of firefighters came in after a shift, followed by a seemingly endless stream of high school kids wanting lattes, milkshakes, and afternoon waffles.

It was another two hours before I got to talk to Dani a little more, while both of us were in the back washing dishes.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Danielle said.

“Go for it.”

“You aresomuch better at handling rushes than Mom and Dad.”

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