Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
I frowned. “Rea, I appreciate you trying to… comfort me in your uniquely insulting way—”
He snickered.
“—but I know for a fact you’re wrong. Flynn’s been ignoring me for a week.”
“Oh, I know.” Reagan leaned against the door. “But it’s impossible to ignore someone that completely unless he’s thinking of you constantly. Here’s what I know: Flynn is aware of exactly where you are at every moment. He looks everywhere but at you. Talks to everyone except you.” Reagan ticked the items off on his fingers. “But as soon as someone makes you laugh—like when Marta told everyone that story about her homicidal rabbit the other day, remember?—Flynn gets distracted from the not-looking for a second. And when he does look at you, JT…” His voice trailed off into a small smile, and he shook his head.
“What?” I demanded, sitting forward and no longer pretending I wasn’t invested. “What happens?”
Reagan sighed. “I have never seen someone crave another person so deeply before. It’s, like, this tangible, electric thing that stretches out between you whenever you’re in the same room. I’d give a lot to have someone look at me like that.”
I sucked in a breath, trying to imagine Flynn looking at me like that… before reason asserted itself, and I scowled. “No. Flynn doesn’t like me.”
“Craving and dislike are not mutually exclusive. If you think that, you really need to follow more celebrity gossip pages. But Flynn doesn’t dislike you, JT, even if maybe he wishes he did. You can see it on his face. And okay.” Reagan held up a hand to cut off my protest. “He probably doesn’t trust you. You have history. He doesn’t want your contract. Blah, blah. But you need to stop ignoring the giant horny elephant in the room, if not for yourself, then for the sake of the rest of us who are caught in your pheromone backwash. Besides, how can you two build trust when you’re both being dishonest about this huge, important thing? And for fuck’s sake, why are you letting him push you away? How is that gonna help anything?”
Whoa. When had my little brother started being so mature and observant? Since when did he make so much damn sense? But he was missing one crucial fact.
“I’ve tried talking to him. Repeatedly. Flynn refuses to listen.”
“Who said anything about talking?” Reagan demanded, exasperated. “Take action. Show him how you feel. Show him how things can be different.”
I blinked at Reagan, stunned.
I’d been waiting for Flynn to give me a signal that he wanted me, either in business or in bed. To recognize that he could trust me.
But what had I done to show him that I was trustworthy? That things between us didn’t have to follow the same pattern they always had?
And since when did I wait around for shit to happen? That was the old, immature JT Wellbridge’s process, not mine.
How fucking ironic that it had taken a conversation with Reagan, a guy who seemed as stuck in his life as I’d ever been, to point it out.
“So, you’re suggesting… what?” I asked eagerly. “That I go over there and…”
“Let him take out his frustrations on your ass, then see where you are? Yes. Yes, I am.”
I shook my head. “Such a way with words.”
“It’s a gift.” He flashed a grin. “I’d better get back downstairs before Dysen and Brantleigh burn the house down for funsies. What are you gonna do?”
Good question. I thought of Flynn, all worn down and frazzled from dealing with a bunch of snobby assholes all evening and then closing the bar by himself. I wanted to help him, right? So… why wasn’t I helping? Why was I leaving him to do things alone?
I threw myself off the bed and shoved my feet into my sneakers. “I’m going out for a run.”
He ducked his chin. “A run… past the Tavern?”
“I might head in that direction, yes.”
“Iconic,” Reagan said in a spot-on imitation of Dysen’s voice.
I chuckled. “Thank you, Rea. I owe you one.”
He gave me a soft smile. “You’re welcome. I hope you stick around long enough for me to collect.”
Honeybridge’s town center was nearly deserted by the time I jogged down there. Technically, bars could continue serving until 1:00 a.m., but Horace had always closed the Tavern by 11:00 p.m. sharp, and I was glad to see that Flynn kept to that tradition.
The door to the Tavern was locked, but I knocked on it repeatedly until a tired voice from inside called, “We’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”
I banged again with the side of my fist this time.
“Seriously? We’re closed for the night!”
I banged some more, using both hands this time.
From inside, I heard the scrape of a chair, a dull thump, and then the snick of the door lock before Flynn cracked the door open just a few inches.