Page 76 of Prime Time Romance
Brynn’s hand covers mine. Her fingers are warm and soft as she squeezes. “You are really good at what you do, Josh. I have had way too much wine to try and lie to you right now.” She hiccups as if backing up her point. “You have this way with people. You create a space that people want to be in. And I was watching you earlier tonight and you look like you love being behind the bar.”
I can’t deny that. “I do. And as much as it pains me to say it out loud, it’s been fun to pretend to be Fletch and work on the Bronze. It’s helped me figure a few things out, but…” I shake my head, clearing away any ideas that may have been forming. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I wanted to do it, I don’t know how we’ll make it back home in time. The auction is Friday, June twenty-first.”
Brynn frowns as she works the date out in her head. “That’s the night of the pageant.”
“Yeah. Bit of a rough coincidence.”
Brynn gets quiet. And to be honest, I need a moment too as the reality fully sinks in.
We sit for a while, staring at the stars. The roar of the waves hitting the shore lulls us both into a serene state.
“I like it up here,” Brynn finally says, leaning forward to look down at the street below. “It’s so pretty. From this distance, it’s still the Carson’s Cove of my television screen.”
It’s an interesting comment.
“Are you implying the one down there isn’t?”
She touches her finger to her nose. “You’re very perceptive, Joshua Alan Jackson Bishop. Has anyone ever told you that?”
She hiccups, and I leave it as a rhetorical question.
“It’s not that it’s different,” she continues. “It’s just that being here, I’m seeing things that I never noticed before. Things still work out exactly as they’re supposed to…but it’s really just for a select few. Everyone else suffers the consequences.”
She drops her head so it’s resting on my shoulder. I hate how good it feels. How much I want it there. Brynn has been nothing but clear from day one: Her goal is Spencer, and I’m probably the furthest thing you can get from the guy. And yet. Fuck. I didn’t want this to happen, but I ache to pull her into my lap. To kiss her. To fix every fucking thing that’s making her feel anything less than.
“Hey, Josh.” She lifts her head to look at me. “You hurt my feelings.”
My stomach bottoms out. “What? When?”
She drops her head, her voice low. “You didn’t like my hair?”
It takes me a second to figure out what she’s talking about. Yesterday.
“I didn’t say…I didn’t mean…I like your hair. You look good. I just thought you looked good before, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Her mouth forms a perfect circle, and I have to tear my eyes away.
“I guess I should take a lesson from Spencer, huh? He always seems to know what to say.”
She shrugs. “He always has. Spencer is perfect.”
The words hit hard.
Her gaze drops to her hands. “But I don’t know if I want perfect anymore.”
I turn her words over and over in my head, not wanting to ask what she means. I like that for this moment, I can live in a world where she wants a guy like me over one like him.
Before I know what is happening, she’s kissing me. Her hands are in my hair, and she’s sliding into my lap. Her tongue is in my mouth, and I’m thinking about how good it all feels and how I want to do this more.
Until reality clicks in.
She’s drunk.
“Hey.” I lift her off and set her down beside me. “This is not a good idea. I think it’s probably best if I take you home.”
“Oh…okay.”
She’s hurt. This time I don’t need her to point it out. But before I can explain that it’s not that I don’t want this, and that I’m not entirely sure if she really wants this, she’s on her feet.
