Chapter 41
“Can I help you with anything?”
I whirl left, smiling awkwardly at Cammie. “Oh, no. I’m all set. Thanks.”
Standing outside the hotel for twenty minutes was bound to draw attention from the staff at some point.
I’ve been debating if I take the car or order a ride for far too long.
Flynn drove us from Manhattan, and while I doubt he’ll care if I use his vehicle, doing so feels strange.
I’m so tired of constant uncertainty, of the boundary lines of real and fake being so blurry, and I’m about to make it that much worse.
But that’s what I do. I follow through. I commit. That’s why Flynn asked me to do this, rather than one of the many other women who would have happily volunteered to be his fake girlfriend. Including the one standing in front of me.
After returning to the hotel last night, I noticed all the exchanged glances when we ran into a woman whom Flynn had obviously slept with.
Logic is no help in this circumstance. Because I know that Flynn could—and did—do whatever he wanted before we agreed to this arrangement.
Even now, him “cheating” would technically be a smaller betrayal than what Carson did.
But it wouldn’t feel smaller. It would feel catastrophic.
I know because seeing Cammie smile at Flynn with obvious familiarity stung more than watching that video.
I pretended to be asleep when he came to bed after using the bathroom, barely slept, and snuck out of our room while he was still unconscious.
“Are you sure?” Cammie is studying me more closely than I’m comfortable with, considering I’m on the verge of tears.
I hardly know her. We’ve only met once. Yet she’s someone Flynn chose—same as Molly, his ex from Boston.
They’re women he was with voluntarily, with no ultimatum from his father.
Last night, he said he was attracted to me before we began this charade.
But he never once made a move. He’s known me since we were in elementary school.
It wasn’t for lack of opportunity. Lili was right when she said we would have met even if he hadn’t become Kit’s best friend.
But the romantic way she framed it has an opposite vantage.
We were constantly around each other. He never flirted.
Never asked me out. Never kissed me. And I know Flynn has no issue doing any of those things.
He’s not shy or insecure or inexperienced.
So … it’s me. I’m missing something that Cammie and Molly and all the other women he pursued had, and I need to accept that.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Cammie turns back toward the hotel, then back around again to face me, completing the circle. “Rory, I—Cap—I mean, Sawyer—said you’re dating Flynn?”
I stiffen. Nod.
“I’m sorry about last night. If I—I haven’t seen him in years. Nothing at all has happened between us recently. Since you guys got together, I mean.”
Cammie thinks I think he cheated on me with her. Because I’m the girl who gets cheated on. Because Carson’s infidelity has followed me here and will follow me into my next real relationship, if it ever exists.
“Thanks, Cammie,” I force out. “Nice to see you.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile, then heads back inside.
I continue toward the parking lot, unlocking Flynn’s fancy car and climbing inside. I lock it again once the door is shut, inhaling deep breaths. It smells like him in here.
More tears prick my eyes. I miss the time when I thought that his sole objective for receiving his trust fund was being able to buy another overpriced vehicle.
He’s trying to set up a foundation in honor of his friend who died.
And he needs the money from his father to do it.
I’m sure Kit offered funds, and I also understand why Flynn would want to do it himself.
It’s the same reason I stayed later in the library than anyone else and applied to every available internship and tutored any classmate who asked for help.
Flynn and I aren’t as dissimilar as I always thought. We’re the same in the ways that matter most.
I blink a few times, then snap on the seat belt and reverse out of the spot.
One of the biggest upsides to visiting the Hamptons this time of year?
No traffic. I drive aimlessly, not having to stop once.
I keep moving. I always keep moving. There’s always some objective or goal ahead.
I just need to decide on a new one, assuming my bar results next month are what I think they are and I become a fully licensed attorney.
I’ll be able to take on more responsibility at work.
I could text Clay Hardmann; I have his number from working on law review together.
Or Knox. But both men are tainted by Flynn.
They’ll ask questions about our relationship—how it ended, why it ended, if I’m really over him—that I don’t want to answer.
I can’t ask Flynn for the dating advice he originally promised, not now.
Naomi will also ask questions since she saw us together at Bowery Line.
How the hell did fake dating Flynn Parks for three months manage to infiltrate every fucking corner of my life? I was with Carson for four years, and cutting him out was a painless process, aside from the public humiliation.
You weren’t in love with Carson.
Meaning I am in love with Flynn. Which is probably true and absolutely awful.
He calls me while I’m parked by the spot Wren brought me bluffing.
I let it go to voicemail, then drive to Scarlett and Crew’s house.
If he asks later, I’ll say I was already here, helping set up for the brunch.
But when I get to the house, I don’t head straight inside.
I sit in the driveway, staring into space, until a knock on the passenger window gives me a mini heart attack.
Bash waves, grinning, and I unlock the doors.
“Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat. “Sorry. Thought you were Flynn. Isn’t this his car?”
“Uh, yeah. We drove out here together, so I’m … borrowing it.”
“Oh. Right. Still getting used to the you guys are dating thing.”
I nod.
Bash studies me. “You okay?”
“Great.” I muster a smile. “Just tired. I woke up before Flynn and thought I’d come see if I could help.”
“Mom and Dad have it pretty under control. Collins and Kit are already here since Dylan’s been up for a while and they didn’t want him to wake the whole hotel, but you beat everyone else.”
My stomach sinks. I don’t want to see Kit. Don’t want him noticing I’m upset and asking Flynn about it. That will ruin everything.
“Oh. Okay. Well then, I guess I’ll head back to the hotel and pick up Flynn. I was thinking he’d get a ride over with Kit and Collins, but if they’re already here …”
My phone begins buzzing again. Him again.
Bash glances at it. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
He smiles. “You’re too smart to play dumb, Rory.”
“I’m fine, Bash. Just tired. It’s been a busy weekend.”
“Okay, I’ll go first. I came all this way for Lili’s wedding, obviously.
But also because I thought it’d be a chance at …
” Bash sighs. “She didn’t even show up. And she knew I wouldn’t miss this.
I haven’t seen her since high school, and I thought this would be—I don’t know what I thought.
She didn’t, clearly.” He rolls his head left to look at me.
“Flynn is here, Rory. And he’s clearly crazy about you.
Whatever happened, talk to him. It’ll work out. ”
“That’s optimistic if you—”
“Just got stood up?” Bash finishes. “Yeah. I’m a romantic, I guess.”
I exhale. “I’m a realist.”
Flynn calls a third time.
Bash glances pointedly at the screen. “He’s not blowing up your phone because he doesn’t give a shit.” He pops the door open, swinging one leg out.
“Bash.”
He glances back. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. And … I’m sorry. About her not coming.”
My youngest cousin nods. We share a smile before Bash heads inside.
I slump back against my seat and pick up my phone.
Rory: Woke up early and came over to help with brunch. Are you good to get here yourself?
The indication he’s typing appears and disappears twice before his reply comes through.
Flynn: Sure.
Just to make myself feel worse, I scroll back through the history of our past messages. They’re full of exclamation points and puns and emojis. Anyone reading these would believe we were a couple.
I leave my phone on the seat and climb out of Flynn’s car.
It’s turning into another beautiful day.
Crisp and cool. The sunshine and blue skies should elevate my mood.
Instead, I feel like the weather is mocking me.
What do I have to complain about? I’m mourning something—someone—I never really had.
The sense of loss is pointless and ridiculous.
Rather than head straight inside, I walk down to the beach again. It’s cooler by the water, like always, wind whipping my loose hair around my head and into a snarl of blonde strands. I wrap my arms around my waist, watching the waves recede, then wash back ashore.
“You look like a siren.”
I turn. “Excuse me?”
Knox smiles. “I took a Greek mythology course at Princeton. You reminded me of a siren, standing out here, luring sailors to shore.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Not a good one, obviously.” Knox stops beside me. “But, yes, it was. I’m better at flirting when I’m not hungover.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’m here alone, by the way. No Carson this time.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Don’t care.”
“You’re either an excellent liar or you’re entirely over it.”
“I can’t be both?”
“If anyone can, it’s you.”
There’s a note of admiration that I’m startled I notice. Even more taken aback that it’s there at all.