Page 126 of The Muse
“I think so. If you’ll let me, without calling the police.”
“Well, calling the police would be a real dick move on my part, wouldn’t it?”
I grin. “It would.”
“Did June invite you to come see her?”
“No. She’s not speaking to me.” I swing the club and whiff.
“You’re going to California by yourself to see a girl who’s not talking to you?”
“So it would seem.” I hit the ball this time.
“Nice.” Rupert watches the screen and whistles. “Thought she was too rich for you.”
“She is.”
“But?”
I hand him the golf club. “I think I’ve been waiting for things in my life to make sense, since they never have. June made sense, or so I thought.” I climb onto the barstool at his fully stocked bar.
It looks just like something from an actual pub. Draft beer. Shelves of every kind of alcohol imaginable.
“I now think waiting for something to make sense is the biggest waste of time. When I die, I don’t think I’ll care about things making sense, but I know I’ll remember how her hands felt on my neck or in my hair. I’ll remember the way she brought me to my knees with a single look. The music she made. The look in her eyes when I touched the scar above her lip.”
Rupert returns the clubs to his bag. “Well, shit, Flynn. You might just be smarter than ninety percent of all other men. But you still haven’t told her about your past?”
I shake my head. “I will.”
“And what will you do if she doesn’t want to be with you?”
“Dunno. I’ll figure it out if I have to.”
He pulls a cold mug from the freezer and fills it with beer. Then he slides it to me across the polished bar.
I can’t hide my grin.
“Would you like me to get your airfare arranged?” He fills a second mug with beer.
After I take a swig, I shake my head. “No. But I appreciate the offer.”
He gives me an approving smile. “Well, you have my number. Don’t choke on your pride or drown in misery. If you need something, call. Okay?”
I nod several times.
“At least let me make a call to help you get a credit card and a bank card if you don't have one. You’ll need it for booking things.”
I twist my lips.
“It’s not charity. They’ll be your bills to pay.”
After contemplating it, I nod and murmur, “Thank you.”
An awkward silence lands between us, and I glance around the bar area. “So … you’re an author, who secretly loves cats.”
Rupert frowns when I look at him.
“No.” I snicker. “It’s cool. Your secret is safe with me. Well, that’s a lie. I already told June about your books.”
