Chapter Thirteen
I should never have agreed to this.
Never.
Not in a million years.
Here I thought it was going to be a few dates, maybe even a double with Ivy and Scott, and some appearances at the games.
A kiss here and there for the paps. I thought I would get some space from my parents, my past, my future choices, and only have to play pretend at home games.
If I knew when I agreed that a ball—a proper, long gown and black tie ball—was going to be involved, I never would’ve said yes.
“Oh my god.” I tug at the fabric around my stomach again, cursing at the way it hugs my figure.
The dress I chose was on a whim. Ivy and I went to the mall last weekend, after Flynn dropped the whole ‘we have to go to a charity ball’ on me.
He was incredibly generous and handed me his credit card as I walked out the door.
I took it, only because I knew nothing I could afford would likely measure up to the kind of gowns the women who go to these things would be wearing.
We went to every store. I must have tried on over fifty dresses. I hated them all.
This one, I hated less.
Today, I hate it.
“Urgh.” I groan again, trying to pull the dress up.
It’s a baby blue, strapless satin gown. It hugs my chest and makes my boobs look incredible, but it also hugs my waist and my hips.
I have lived in my work clothes for the last few months, and now I am expected to step out in a dress that hugs every single curve I’ve been trying to hide?
I know I did this to myself, but still.
I stare at myself in the mirror, touching my hair and wriggling my toes.
The shoes are five inches—at least—peep-toe strappy heels.
I put on fake tan for the first time in years two days ago, and my skin is subtly glowing.
There’s a slit in the skirt, showing off my long legs.
I am loving my hair, though. The hairdresser styled my natural wavy hair into some Hollywood curls.
They fall freely down my back, the blonde bright against the blue of the dress and the tan on my skin.
Maybe if I hadn’t spent four years with a man who never complimented my appearance, I wouldn’t be having such a hard time right now. I adjust my boobs once more and turn back to my bed. I borrowed a small gold clutch from Ivy that isn’t even big enough to fit my phone.
I place my lipstick, a powder brush, and a small, travel-size perfume into it. Holding that in one hand and my phone in the other, I stare at it for a moment.
I’ll just ask Flynn to hold my phone. Men have pockets in suits; it’ll make him useful.
I take one last glance at my appearance in the mirror, send up one last wish that when I get downstairs, he’ll tell me it’s been canceled and we can spend the evening at home … maybe on the couch, watching a movie again.
I pause on the top step, the memories of waking up just over a week ago in his arms, on the couch, flooding me.
Our legs were so tangled, my face was warm from being pressed against his chest, and my hand, well, it was doing just fine copping a feel of the infamous Flynn Reed’s dick.
Thank god I woke up first and managed to slip it out of his shorts before he noticed.
The thing is, I don’t know if I have ever slept better. Maybe the night in Italy, where, again, I slept in his arms.
Once is a fluke. Twice is a pattern. I think?
I shake my head. I can’t think about that now. I promised myself that day that I would be better at drawing the line with him. I imagine us on a beach, standing across from one another. Then, I imagine taking a giant stick and drawing a long, deep line in the sand.
Friends. We’re friends.
The line is drawn.
I just need to be stronger at sticking to it.
Flynn is playful and cheeky. He’s a flirt. I just can’t let myself get confused over what’s real and what’s not. He’s my friend, so we laugh and have a good time, but we aren’t together, and we shouldn’t be.
Right?
I groan again, but this time the noise echoes down the staircase. I hear a deep chuckle carry back up to me before Flynn appears.
I have to grab a hold of the railing because, goddamn.
He wears a black tuxedo with a crisp white button-down and a black bow tie. His hair, which is getting longer now, is styled to perfection. It looks as if it’s had just the right amount of fingers run through, and there is one curl that falls over his forehead.
I take the stairs one step at a time, careful to hold on to the railing because the last thing I need is to fall down, embarrass myself in front of this man, and ruin the very expensive gown I purchased with his money.
When I get to the last few steps, Flynn holds out his hand, and I let go of the railing, taking it instead.
His hands are rough from playing football, calloused and uneven. But, they’re also warm. So warm, I get the urge to have him run them all over my body just to warm me up.
No.
No, Katie. I cannot think like this. I need to be strong.
Friends. We’re friends.
“Thanks,” I say, allowing him to guide me down the last steps. In heels, my five-foot-seven is more of a six-foot-something, making me closer to him. He normally towers over me, but now I could just lift up on my toes and press a kiss to his lips.
I won’t.
But I could.
“You look …” He trails off. “Gorgeous. You look really, really gorgeous.”
I watch as his eyes roam over my body, and I heat under his gaze. I flex my fingers over my phone and mentally shake myself out of it. I cannot let myself get distracted by the way this man looks at me.
“Thank you.” I do a small courtesy on a whim, and I feel my face go bright red. “You don’t scrub up half bad yourself.”
Flynn grins at me, taking my cue and bowing a little. Instantly, his actions put me at ease, and I relax. I even feel a smile tugging at my lips. “I knew I’d have the prettiest girl on my arm tonight, so I needed to make an effort.”
“You’re flattering me.” I roll my eyes. “You’re trying to get me to forgive you for inviting me to this charade.”
“Is it working?”
“A little,” I admit.
Flynn laughs and holds out his arm. “Shall we?”
I take his arm. There is a town car waiting outside. Hollie must have organized it for us because inside, there is a bottle of champagne and a note that says not to forget to smile and look like we’re having a good time.
Flynn just shakes his head and pops the cork on the champagne, pouring it into two glasses. No Uber I’ve ever ordered had this kind of service.
“A girl could get used to this,” I say as I raise the glass to my lips. Flynn just smiles and sips at his champagne. “So, have you been to this before?”
He nods. “A few years back, the team bought a table, but many of the boys couldn’t show during the holiday.
They all spend it with their families if we aren’t playing a game on the day, and if we are, then they definitely don’t want to spend the rest of the weekend at a ball in the city.
So, I volunteer. My parents barely ever make it out this way. ”
I ignore the comment about his parents. I don’t want to bring his mood down, and after what he shared, I feel like talking about his mom is a sore spot for him. “What’s it like?”
“Boring. So, so boring.” He takes a sip of his champagne.
“A lot of small talk and then they dance for a while before some socialite eventually gets too drunk, makes a scene with whatever boy she managed to come with, and then everyone starts to leave. There is never really an end time; you just know when it’s time to go. ”
“How strange.” I pause, holding the burning question on my tongue before I can’t any longer. “Were you the one who took the drunk socialite a few years ago?”
Flynn winks at me and grins. “Yes, but I only took her because I knew she would cause some sort of scene, and Hollie would be furious, then she would never make me go again. I’ve had three years off because of Heather Myer. Bless her.”
“Heather Myer? As in the influencer who went on Love Island?”
“The very same.”
“Hm.” I take another sip of my glass. Heather is … very pretty. She just isn’t someone I imagined Flynn would go for. She’s got short brown hair, is stick thin, and her social media presence is dubious at best. She’s been canceled for things she’s said on Instagram many times now.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.
I glance up at him over my glass. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“That she isn’t my type.” I mash my lips together, staying silent, annoyed that he knows me well enough to guess right. “You’re an open book.”
He lifts a hand and tucks a stray curl behind my ear. “I am?”
“Tonight, you are.”
“I’m not always?” I ask quietly.
“Not all the time. Sometimes you can be really hard to read, and there isn’t a chance in hell that I’d know what you were thinking. But, tonight …” Flynn runs a gentle finger down my bare arm, and I suppress a shiver. “Tonight, you’re giving me everything.”
His tone is deep. The words come out in a husky rasp, leaning closer to me as he says them. The shiver I tried to suppress rolls through me anyway, and I feel myself leaning in too.
It feels as if we stare at each other for an eternity. The air thickens, the silence engulfing us. I forget that we’re in a car. I forget that we are headed for a charity event with a few hundred other people. I forget it all as I stare at Flynn Reed, the man who said he can read me.
You’re so closed off. I never know what you want. You’re emotionless unless it’s a sarcastic comment.
Grant’s words swirl around my head, over and over.