Page 39 of Gold Rush

Flynn grabs my keys out of the dish by the door, swinging them around one finger. “You coming?”

“I …” I glance down at my pajamas. I guess they’re passable as loungewear—the shorts aren’t especially short and there’s no pattern on them, and my shirt is oversize enough that you can’t tell I’m not wearing a bra—but it’s not what I’d normally wear in public.

“You look cute,” he comments. “Like an Easter egg.”

I scowl as I stalk over, shouldering him aside so I can reach my shoes. “Pastels aren’t only for spring.”

“I think I read that in Haute,” he says, referencing my aunt’s fashion magazine. Which I’m positive Flynn does not read. He might look at the photos of models. Which reminds me …

“We need to go over some ground rules for this living situation.”

Flynn nods. “I was surprised you didn’t hand me a three-inch binder when I arrived. With double-sided pages.”

He proceeds to hold the door open for me, gesturing for me to exit first, which flusters me all over again. His paradox of rude and respectful has always given me whiplash, but it’s especially disconcerting now, in frequent, large doses. Hopefully, I’ll build up immunity faster.

“Rule one,” I start as we wait for the elevator, then abruptly realize I left my phone and wallet in my apartment. I’m totally discombobulated. “Shoot.” I reach for the keys he’s holding. “I forgot my phone and wallet.”

“I have my phone and wallet.”

“I might miss a work call. And I’ll pay half.”

“It’s Sunday. And, no, you won’t.”

The elevator arrives with a ding, so I have to make an immediate decision on whether or not to argue with him.

I don’t.

And it’s a bizarrely similar sensation to bluffing—going somewhere with no way for anyone to reach me and no expectation I’ll spend a cent.

I really do need to get out more.

13

Iscan the label of some burger buns, ensuring they’re peanut-safe, then drop them in the cart.

“This is a lot of food,” Rory comments nervously, surveying all that I’ve already tossed in.

“I’m a growing boy,” I say, grabbing some bagels next. “Plus, you’ve got plenty of room in your⁠—”

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” I wonder, glancing around, startled by the swear since Rory doesn’t curse very often.

“Knox Wellington is here. Over by the self-checkout. No, don’t look. Hopefully, he won’t see⁠—”

“Flynn!”

Rory closes her eyes, muttering another low, “Fuck.”

“I didn’t teach you that word so you could overuse it. Just follow my lead.”

Her eyes fly open so she can glare at me. “Don’t you dare⁠—”

“Hey! I thought that was you.” Knox shifts his basket to his left hand so he can hold his right out to me. He grins as we shake hands. “Congrats on graduating. Happy to have you back in New York.”

“Thanks.” I look left, at the woman pretending to be browsing identical loaves of sourdough. “You know Rory, right?”

“I—yes—I mean, of course. Nice to see you, Rory. It’s been a while. Hardly recognized you!” Knox’s laugh is forced. His gaze lingers a lot lower than her face.