Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“That means you’re smart,” Mom says. “A lot of people your age get themselves into financial trouble all in the name of fun.”
“You should have bought tickets to a game instead of buying me a car.” I nudge his leg.
Flynn nudges me back and grins over his bite of steak. “No way,” he mumbles.
Mom gives me a look. It says she approves of him. It also says I could lose him if I don’t tell him everything. I’m going to. I just want to know that he won’t resent me for waiting so long.
“Speaking of tickets,” Mom says. “We bought you two tickets to the Minnesota Orchestra—this week. Think you can talk Flynn into going with you?”
Flynn wipes his mouth. “Oh yeah. She mentioned she liked the cello.”
Dad raises an eyebrow and slowly chuckles. “Well, she used to.”
I ignore his little jab.
“Yeah, I’d love to go with you,” Flynn says. “I know nothing about the orchestra, but there’s really nothing I can imagine doing that wouldn’t be amazing if it’s with June.”
Mom presses a hand to her heart.
I’m ready for the check. To-go containers. Whatever. Just get me out of here so I can be alone with Flynn.
It takes another twenty minutes of chitchat for that to happen, but when it does, I start to feel nervous. I like him so much; it’s hard to breathe sometimes.
“We’re flying out early in the morning, but we’ll be back. And you should come back to L.A. for a visit soon too,” Mom says, pulling me in for a long hug outside of the restaurant while Dad orders a ride (as predicted).
“I will,” I say. “Love you.”
“You too,” she says.
“Don’t just say you’ll come back to L.A.,” Dad warns, attempting to give me a serious expression before I hug him. “Actually do it.” He hugs me so tightly I nearly cry.
My dad has championed everything in my life, making my dreams his.
“I promise.” I kiss his cheek.
“It was wonderful meeting you, Flynn. You should come to L.A. too.” Mom hugs him.
He doesn’t reply with more than a smile. I’m not sure what that means.
“Young man, take care of my daughter. Got it?” Dad says in his most manly voice.
“Absolutely, sir,” Flynn says. Then he takes my hand and guides me to the car as I look back and blow my parents one last kiss.
“Is your roommate home tonight?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
“So is Ally. No biggie. I just wanted to be alone with you.” I wrap my arms around his neck when we get to the car parked on the street.
“Thought you had your own room,” he says, teasing his fingers under my shirt an inch or so.
“I do. But I don’t like the thought of someone listening.”
“Listening to what?” He presses his lips together, eyes wide.
“Stop.” I playfully nudge his leg.
“Are you a screamer?”
“Stop.” I giggle. “Don’t you have your own room?”
“It’s a one-bedroom. So I sleep on the sofa, for a break in rent of course.”
“You sleep on the sofa?”
He nods.
“What do you do with your clothes?”
“I have a big trunk.”
Why does this make me sad? But at the same time, Flynn’s contentment with living the opposite of a glamorous life also makes him more interesting. I love this about him.
“How do you feel about getting a hotel room for the night?” I ask.
“It’s …” He twists his lips for a second before releasing me and stepping backward with a long sigh. “I don’t have a credit card.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“No.” He scoffs. “I’m not having you pay for it. I’m pretty sure my paycheck is more than yours, and”—he holds up his hands in surrender—“I don’t mean that as an insult. I have no clue why I’m being paid so much to do absofuckinglutely nothing. But I am.”
“It’s no big deal.” I step toward him, reaching for his hand.
“Well, it is to me.” He pulls away.
Our evening is spiraling—again. So I steer it in a new direction. “I love that about you. What if you give me the cash, but I put it on my card?”
“What if we just go back to your apartment and not give a shit what your roommate thinks?”
“Fine.” I return a tight grin.
“Good answer.” He kisses my forehead.
On the way to the apartment, I steal Flynn’s attention at every stoplight, loosening my seat belt to lean over and kiss his neck.
His hand works its way up my leg, stopping short of touching me where his mouth had been earlier. When we park near my apartment and unbuckle, our mouths crash, the anticipation reaching a fever pitch. My heart might explode.
“Inside,” he mumbles.
I nod, panting more than I do on the bike tours, but we don’t move. He snakes his hand up my shirt, and I rub him on the outside of his jeans. I pull away and blow my hair away from my face, relinquishing a naughty grin. “Let’s go.”