Page 44 of Play the Last Track

“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest answer I can give him right now.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” he asks.

My body lights up at the thought, but my brain screams at me to say no. “I don’t know.”

Flynn simply nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. You don’t know what you want right now, and that’s fine. I can give you time to figure it out. I won’t kiss you again until you ask me to.” He looks up, his next words sharp, and there is no way for them to be misinterpreted. “To be clear, I would very much like to kiss you again. But I’ll wait.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I stay silent, gently nodding my head and dropping my gaze. I study my nails. Jesus, they’re looking neglected.

“But I want to be friends.”

My head snaps up. “Friends?”

“Like proper laugh and talk and have a fun time together friends. No more avoiding, no more lying about you working because I know you switched your shifts last week to avoid seeing me.”

I narrow my gaze, challenging him. “I really was working, though. My regular night bartender wanted to do a week of days.”

“Ivy told Scott, who told me.” He smirks smugly.

Goddammit. I am never telling Ivy anything ever again.

Okay, that’s a lie, but she’s definitely going to hear about this from me.

“Please?”

I lean back, studying his face. He looks genuine, and I suppose it would make spending time with him in public a lot easier. The heat on his drunken bar fight has died right down now, and there probably isn’t much point continuing the charade, but as Hollie told me last week when I called to ask her how much longer this would have to go on, the team still hasn’t committed to re-signing Flynn.

So, we’re in it for as long as it takes.

“Fine.” I hold out my hand to him. “Friends.”

His big hand envelopes mine, swallowing it as he takes hold and grins at me.

I’m so screwed.

Chapter Twelve

Flynn

Friends.She’sagreedtobe friends.

Even though I can’t stop thinking about the kiss from the other week, I’ll take the agreement to be friends with open arms. It’s something. It’s definitely more than what she’s given me over the last few months.

I can work with friends.

Katie and I have fallen into a comfortable routine. From the inside, we’re friendly and good roommates. We eat together and hang out at night. We catch each other in the morning at times, and if I’m making coffee, I’ll always make her a cup. If I’m heading to a late afternoon gym session, I’ll ask if she wants to join. If I’m finishing late at the stadium and I know she’s working, I’ll walk over to Pat’s, sit at the bar, and order a burger to keep her company.

From the outside, we look and act like a fucking couple.

Scott pointed it out one Saturday afternoon when the girls roped us in to following them around the mall while they shopped. Every time Katie made a purchase, I immediately put my hand out for the bag. I would’ve paid too, but the first time I tried, she looked like she was going to rip my balls off and keep them in a jar just for suggesting it.

I prefer to keep my balls exactly where they are, thank you very much.

As I carried every single bag without complaint, laughed and joked with my friend, Scott was watching. The next day, as we were warming up on the field for our home game, he bluntly said it.