Page 25 of Gold Rush

An hour later, Flynn is still alive. Too many witnesses. Plus, it would technically be premeditated.

“This was in Croatia,” he says. “Cape Town was the summer before.”

My phone buzzes. I discreetly slide it off the table to check the latest message.

Naomi: You and Flynn Parks?!?!

Naomi: Why didn’t you tell me?

I glance at my friend, sitting across and diagonal from me.

We haven’t had a chance to talk alone since she arrived. The crowd around Flynn has steadily grown, and there are no signs of that changing anytime soon. He has a rapt audience that came over to hear about his first day at Locke, Grey, and Lee LLP—the prestigious firm where he apparently started yesterday—and has stuck around to hear about his world travels.

Naomi’s typing on her phone.

A second later, mine buzzes with a third message.

Naomi: How’s the sex?

Under the table, Flynn’s knee bumps against mine.

The air-conditioning is at full blast. But it feels like the back of my neck is directly beneath a heater. I have no idea how to reply to Naomi’s message. Why I haven’t already corrected her wrong assumption about why I’m sitting next to the guy I’ve always maintained I couldn’t stand, sipping from a chilled glass he carried over to me, like we are a couple.

A fourth message comes through.

Naomi: Nathan landed early. I’ve gotta run. Dinner SOON! I want all the details.

I text back as she stands.

Rory: Say hi to Nathan.

Rory: And definitely on dinner.

Naomi stands, excuse me-ing her way through the gathered crowd. A woman with a blonde bob snags her open seat, her gaze not shifting from Flynn the entire time. I don’t recognize her. Don’t recognize most of the people around us actually. I spent most of law school in the library or at my brownstone, neither of which were social hubs.

I have no easy exit from this situation, however. These tables have bench seats, so Flynn is literally blocking me in. By the time he’s moved on to another story, my bladder has given me an excuse to tap his arm. He stops talking immediately, glancing over, meaning everyone is looking at the interruption—me.

“I need to use the restroom,” I announce awkwardly, hyperaware of all the gazes aimed my way.

Flynn slides out without comment, allowing me to scoot out and stand.

“Thanks.”

As soon as I’m a few feet from the table, I release a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. Now that Naomi has left, I should go too. She was the main reason I came. But if I depart right after her, Flynn will assume he chased me off.

There’s another line for the women’s room, so I pull out my phone to check my emails.

“Rory!”

I look up, then left, squashing a sigh when I see who called my name. Colleen Edwards was one of my class’s co-presidents. She’s sweet yet intrusive, an endless machine of collecting and disseminating information. I’m not surprised she’s here; she probably organized the event. I’m even less thrilled about seeing the two women she’s standing with—Kristin and Chelsea. Both were in my Civil Procedure course during 1L. We became fast friends, forming a study group to prep for the first exam. Until I was cold-called during a lecture. They found out my last name and made a lot of assumptions about my acceptance.

I slip my phone back into my purse before I walk over. “Hey, Colleen. Kristin. Chelsea.”

“Hi, Rory,” Chelsea replies first, her gaze on the tote bag Wren gave me for graduation.

“I heard you’re working as a public defender?” Kristin questions. “That’s so … philanthropic.”

“You’re making the rest of us look greedy,” Chelsea adds, her tone artificially sweet.