“Vodka sounds good to me.”
The effects are quick, my mind already numbed as I swallow the last bit of poison from the glass. “Let’s dance.” I grab Flynn’s hand and lead him to the packed dance floor. Closing my eyes, I soak in the energy of the crowd and the heavy beat of the steel drum and begin to let my body sway to the music.
Bodies close in tightly around us—strangers reveling in the warm night air, moving with the sensual verve of the music.
“That’s it.” Flynn wraps his arm tightly around my waist and takes lead of my body. “Let the music take whatever burden you’ve been carrying for a while.” In the moment, surprisingly, it’s easy to do. The alcohol released some of the tension in my body, and the loud, hypnotizing beat of the drum, coupled with Flynn’s hand leading my movement, allows me to forget everything else. By the end of the third song, I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in days. Even when Jessica cuts in, I’m still feeling no pain.
“Thank you. I needed that,” I whisper and kiss him on the cheek as I leave him in Jessica’s quite capable hands.
The problem with drinking alcohol when you’re depressed is that you’re always chasing that initial feel-good buzz. Sobriety starts to rear its solemn head, so you have another drink. But the second one doesn’t affect you like the first, so you have yet another. And before you know it you’re somewhere between feeling no pain and ostensibly obliviated.
I watch from a stool at the bar as Flynn dances with the three women surrounding him. He’s having fun, but the more I get to know him, the more I realize he can pretty much turn anything into a good time. The antithesis of Cooper, Flynn is a free spirit—one who goes with the flow and emanates a casualness that sets the people around him at ease. Cooper, on the other hand, makes people sit taller when he walks into the room.
I order another drink to drown the thoughts in my head. A break in the music draws my focus to the stage. Flynn is peeling off his sweat-drenched shirt. The tattoos on his hard-ridged abs glisten, to the delight of the audience. The local women who had been dancing up a storm scream their praise in heavy island accents and catcall whistles. A dimple-baring crooked smile on his face, Flynn shakes his head, enjoying every minute of it, and takes the microphone from the bass player.
He doesn’t bother with an introduction. Instead he begins to sing. Starkly different than the singer on stage just moments ago, his voice is incredibly soulful and seductive. A woman next to me comments to her friend how she’d like to trace his tattoos with her tongue. Staring at the stage, I can totally see the appeal. He’s a ridiculously handsome man with an undeniable youthful charm. And that voice … it’s throaty and sexy and travels straight through me.
I’m here, you’re there.
Same time, same place,
Yet a million miles apart.
One last cry, let it go, release the pain of the past.
Feelings change, people change
I want your tomorrow, not your yesterday.
Feelings change, people change.
Take my hand, let me lead your way.
Standing beside you, lost in the forest.
Shadows of past bury you deep.
The sun glimmers in the distance
Mending broken dreams.
Feelings change, people change
I want your tomorrow, not your yesterday.
Feelings change, people change.
Take my hand, let me lead your way.
Sacrifice the past, give me today.
Walk to me, don’t walk away
Hear the music, my words are a plea
Open your heart and let love sing.
Feelings change, people change
I want your tomorrow, not your yesterday.
Feelings change, people change.
Take my hand, let me lead your way.
The crowd goes crazy as the last note fades. Then the band picks back up with a song that has the mesmerized crowd grinding with heightened sexual appetites. I finish my drink and stand, but the sky begins to spin and my feet grow unsteady.
Flynn catches me as I wobble. “Woo … you okay?”
“I’m great.” I fling my arms around his neck.
He smiles.
“I liked your song.”
“I’m glad.”
“It was sexy.”
He chuckles, amused.
“Just like you.” I push up on my tippy toes and lean into him, pressing my lips to his. He doesn’t kiss me back.
“You’re drunk,” Flynn says when he pulls his head back.
“So? If Jessica tried to kiss you when she was drunk, I bet you wouldn’t say no.”
“That’s because Jessica would kiss me when she’s sober.”
A little while later, I fall asleep in the SUV on the ride back to Sugar Rose, my head resting on Flynn’s lap. He helps me out of the car and into my room.
The door closing behind us is the last thing I remember in the morning when I wake with a pounding in my head. I’m snuggled into Flynn, his arms tight around me.
“Morning,” he says with a broad smile.
I’m quiet for a moment as I wrack my brain trying to remember what happened after we came into my bedroom. But my mind is completely blank. “Did we?” Too embarrassed to say the words, I motion between the two of us.
He responds with a devilish glint in his eye. “Did we what?”
“You know.”
“Yes, but I want to hear you say it.”
I roll my eyes. It’s enough movement to cause my headache to worsen.
“Sweetheart, trust me, if we did, you’d remember it.” He kisses my forehead and hops from the bed.
“Well, then, thank you. For … being a gentleman.”
“Better look under the sheets before you call me a gentleman,” he says sheepishly.
My eyes go wide and, hesitantly, I lift the sheet and look down. I’m wearing a t-shirt and underwear. I look up at Flynn and he shrugs and smiles.
“I might have helped you change.” He winks and disappears.
chapter thirty-seven
Kate
“How you feeling?” Flynn asks with a knowing smirk on his face after he returns from an hour-long beach run.
“Like death,” I groan. I’m lying in a lounge chair near the water’s edge, oversized sunglasses blocking the rays of light that cause the pain in my head to worsen. It’s nearly five o’clock, yet I feel as queasy now as when I woke up this morning.
“How can you run after last night?”
He shrugs and takes off his shirt. “I’m better at partying than you.”