Page 100 of Gold Rush

Flynn scoffs, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the couch. “Please. You know I do. When you were looking for Wren at Kit’s party, you said, and I quote, ‘That’d be useful knowledge, if you were ever reliable.’ That’d be one of Julian’s better lines, if he’d come up with it.”

I feel a little sick with the realization that he’s comparing me to his father. “Flynn, I didn’t—I was worried about Wren and⁠—”

And I get flustered around you.

If I’d thanked Flynn for pointing me in the right direction, like I would’ve with anyone else, he wouldn’t have responded with, “You’re welcome.”

He would have asked if I was chaperoning the party or made some other teasing remark. So, I’d learned to antagonize first. I thought I could say anything to him, and it would run off like rain hitting a roof.

“You were right. I wasn’t reliable then. Only occasionally am now. And that’s because I actually need a paycheck, so maybe my dad was right all along.”

“He wasn’t. He isn’t. Everyone makes mistakes. That doesn’t disqualify you from anything. You’ve changed—you just said so. Your dad just needs time to see that. He’s trying to get more treats out of you, so to speak.”

Flynn half smiles.

“Once we get engaged and he gives you your trust fund … I think that will help. Money complicates everything, trust me.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

We’re both silent for a minute.

“You want help assembling the cat castle?”

“Condo. And, yes, but I don’t really feel like moving.”

“How about chess, then?” He picks up the box on the coffee table.

“Says the guy who called me a nerd a minute ago.”

“Oh, I get it. You don’t know how to play.”

“Of course I know how to play.”

“You’re worried you’ll lose, then.”

“I call white,” I say, sitting up straighter as he slides the lid off the box, revealing the pieces beneath.

“Perfect. I wanted black.”

As I watch him set up the board, it occurs to me that’s a fitting metaphor for our … whatever this is.

Unexpectedly compatible.

“Do you know how to play strip chess?”

“Same rules, except clothes come off?”

He grins. “A-plus.”

I eye his shirt, tie, belt, and pants. He’s also wearing socks and, presumably, boxers. Whereas I’m in sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“You’re wearing more clothes than I am.”

“Am I?” The corners of his eyes crinkle. “How convenient.” He yanks his tie looser, then begins unbuttoning his shirt. Holds my gaze as he goes down the row, until a center strip of his chest is on display. “Want to play per capture or per check?”

I swallow hard, battling the urge to stare at the thin line of hair disappearing into his slacks. I’ve seen him naked dozens of times. His hotness should be white noise by now.

“Per check.”