Page 94 of Gold Rush

“That was terrible,” I inform him.

“Then why are you smiling?”

I quickly wipe the grin off my face. “I was thinking about something funnier than your jokes.”

“Like your karaoke performance?”

If we weren’t at a fancy restaurant, I’d flip him off or stick my tongue out. I should have given Wren a harder time about sending that video to him. When I confronted her, she just laughed and called us adorable.

“You owe me an embarrassing video,” I tell him.

“You’ve seen me do plenty of embarrassing shit. I think we’re even.”

I blink at him, taken aback by that response. “Like what?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well, there was the summer in high school when Kit and I were trying to make varsity lacrosse and whoever managed fewer push-ups had to sing whatever song the winner picked. Or the holiday party where I passed out in a guest room after way too much spiked eggnog. I once broke a vase at your parents’ penthouse, playing air hockey, and Bash took the blame. Or⁠—”

“Those are not embarrassing stories, Flynn.”

“You’re right. You showing off your legs and tits in a short, tight dress, singing on-key, is far more humiliating.”

Okay, maybe I’m not mad at my sister.

“My boyfriend cheated, and everyone has seen the evidence. I think I win any humiliation contest, hands down.”

“That was humiliating for him, Rory. Not you.”

I shake my head. “It was humiliating for him and for me.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly. I was an awful girlfriend. And that’s not an excuse for what Carson did. Nothing is. But I treated him like a prop, not a partner, and the only reason I’m shocked he was reckless enough to get caught is, I thought he wanted my money more than that. And, yes, he was the one who cheated. But by cheating on me, he basically announced to everyone that I wasn’t enough for him, billionaire or not. Which is about as embarrassing as it gets.”

“Did you love him?”

We’re in a busy, loud, crowded restaurant. Yet I have no concept of where we are or anything surrounding this table that’s not Flynn as I hold eye contact.

I hesitate, but it’s not because I don’t know the answer. It’s because of how obvious the answer is.

I didn’t love Carson. That’s why I have the capacity to be embarrassed about what happened and how everyone knows it happened. Because he didn’t break my heart. Because his sudden absence was hardly noticeable. Because some part of me was relieved by the obvious end to our relationship, that it was all beyond my control. I have no idea who leaked the video of his cheating, but I might thank them if I did.

“No.”

I can’t read the expression on Flynn’s face. It appears deliberately blank, like he’s schooling his reaction to my answer, which has me intensely curious as to why.

“Did you love …” I let my voice trail since I don’t know the name of his ex from Boston.

“Molly?” Flynn exhales. “If you asked her, she’d probably say I was incapable of it.”

“It ended badly, then?”

“It ended predictably. We’d had plenty of problems, living in the same city. Attempting long distance was stupid. I was clear about what I wanted. Or didn’t. She changed. When I didn’t … that’s when things blew up.”

Flynn isn’t being very forthcoming with details. What he wanted. What he didn’t. I can make educated guesses at both, although I’d rather hear it directly from him. I can make an exact guess as to why I’m so curious. And that certainty convinces me not to ask any more questions because I shouldn’t need Flynn to explicitly say what I don’t want to hear.

I can convince myself I don’t like or want him—I’ve done it before.

“I’m sorry,” I say.