Page 86 of Gold Rush
Dots appear, indicating he’s replying. They disappear, and I think he decided against responding. But then his text comes through.
Flynn: I fuck you better than any of them could.
“Damn,” Lili says, reading over my shoulder. She pretends to fan herself. “That’s hot.”
I tilt my phone so she can’t see the screen. “This is a private conversation.”
She laughs. “Then don’t have it in public. Be by the stage in one minute, or I’m coming back with reinforcements. I’ll drag you up there if I have to.”
Once Lili has slid out of the booth, I reply to Flynn.
Rory: Only one way to find out …
Flynn: If you’re into disappointment …
I grin at the screen for a few seconds before shutting my phone off, tucking it in my purse, and sliding out of the booth to go sing karaoke.
27
It’s late—nearly two a.m.—by the time we return to the hotel. My throat is sore from singing. I’m tired, sweaty, tipsy, and I feel lighter than I have in a long time.
Tonight was fun. I wasn’t worried about running into anyone I knew. I wasn’t thinking about work. I just … was. And I fully recognize I could act that way in New York. It’s just easier to embrace a different mindset in a different country.
“See you tomorrow!” Wren waves at me before swiping her key card and disappearing into the room next to mine.
It takes me two tries to unlock my door. Inside, I kick off my heels, then collapse onto the bed. I should brush my teeth. Put on pajamas. Wash off my makeup. Instead, I pull my phone out of the clutch I brought to dinner and then to the club.
I have a new message from Flynn.
When that registers, I sit up straight, a jolt of adrenaline erasing any languid drowsiness.
Cross-legged on the comforter, I unlock my phone, a smile spreading across my face as soon as I see his message.
Flynn: Purr-fect night.
He sent a photo of Finch asleep, next to his leg, on the couch. I can see a stack of files and a glass of scotch in the background.
Longing shoots through me like a bolt of lightning. I want to be there, on that couch. Tonight was fun … but now I wish I were home. Funny, how the townhouse in Beacon Hill, where I lived for three years, was only a place to sleep and study and eat takeout, yet the Midtown apartment I bought four months ago fits that definition entirely—sanctuary, comfort, warmth. The cause is obvious, and it’s not the location.
What is wrong with me? So, Flynn isn’t the feckless player I always suspected was a superficial front to more potential. So, he takes his job seriously and cooks me dinner every night and always ensures I come first.
Those traits can’t be that unique. Just because I’ve only found them in him doesn’t mean I won’t discover them in someone else, someone who isn’t using me to receive a payout from his parents. I’m not sure how much money the Parkses have, but I am sure I have more. If Flynn wanted to date me for real, wanted to marry me for real, he’d never need to take a dime from the father he obviously resents.
Flynn has never indicated interest in long-term commitment, has taken a drastic measure to prevent having kids. Unlike Carson, who told me he did want that sort of future together, Flynn has been entirely honest.
I know I don’t possess the necessary willpower to stop sleeping with him. Not the first time and definitely not now that I know how incredible it is. But that’s a physical urge. I need to be more disciplined when it comes to my emotions.
I flop back down on the mattress, tossing my phone away. Except, a few seconds later, I hear a low ringing sound. Quickly, I scramble to grab the device again. My drunk fingers managed to hit the Call button above the text thread. I hang up immediately, ensuring I shut off the screen before carefully setting it back on the comforter.
I need to go to bed. Lili has a full itinerary planned for tomorrow and—
My phone begins buzzing.
My heart leaps as my stomach sinks when I see the name on the screen.
I sit up again, blowing out a long breath before I answer. “Hey, sorry—”
“Is everything okay?” Flynn sounds alert. Concerned.
