Page 134 of Gold Rush

We arrive back at the hotel a few minutes later.

Kit and I are silently following Collins and Rory, who are recapping the wedding, across the lobby toward the elevators when I hear, “Flynn?”

I slow. Look left, schooling the grimace that wants to appear.

Cammie is standing behind the reception desk, wearing a sweater with the hotel’s logo on the sleeve.

“Cammie. Hey. Long time.”

“Yeah.” She nods in agreement. “How are you?”

I glance at the clock on the wall. “Too early to tell. You?”

A small smile appears. “Good.”

“Hey, Cammie!” Wren has disembarked the shuttle and caught up to us. She’s smiling and swinging joined hands with Sawyer. She glances between me and Cammie. Frowns. “You guys know each other?”

“Um, yeah. We …” My mouth feels like it was recently stuffed with cotton. I steal a quick look to the right, confirming Rory and Collins stopped, too, and Rory is standing here, witnessing this.

Cammie is looking like she regrets stopping me. Clearly, she had no clue I had any connection to her friend’s girlfriend.

“I didn’t realize you still worked here,” I tell her.

“Only in the summers,” she answers. “I’m in grad school. They called in reinforcements this weekend, with the wedding. And a bunch of us were getting together this weekend, with Cap in town …” Cammie nods at Sawyer.

“Cool,” is my ironically lame reply.

“How was the wedding?” The question is aimed at Sawyer and Wren, not me, so I stick my hands in my pockets and continue with Kit toward the elevators.

They join us right as the doors slide open. Sawyer seems to be avoiding my gaze, which I take to mean he and Cammie are close enough that he knows our fling was amicable and our split messy. Just what this shitty night needs. I shouldn’t care if Wren’s boyfriend thinks I’m worthy of her sister, but the possibility he doesn’t isn’t a pleasant one.

I say goodbye to everyone on autopilot and follow Rory inside our room. She seems as intent as I feel lost, stepping out of her heels and pulling pins from her hair. Rearranging some items in her suitcase before pulling a set of silk pajamas out.

“Mind if I use the bathroom first?” she asks between plugging in her phone to charge and sipping some water.

“I—no. Of course not.”

“Thanks.”

Rory enters the bathroom without looking at me once.

I remain where I am, staring at the shut door.

40

New Year’s Eve

Three Years Ago

The blonde beams at me before sipping some champagne with her left hand. Her right is trailing down my stomach, headed straight toward my waistband. She rises on her tiptoes, lips pressed to my ear.

“We could watch the fireworks upstairs,” she tells me. “Make some too.”

A finger curls around one of the loops meant for a belt.

A virgin would know what she’s suggesting, and I haven’t been one for a long time. I enjoy sex. It’s fun, and it feels good, and it’s rare that I’m not seeking out fun and feeling good. Yet it’s New Year’s Eve, arguably the party capital of the year, and the prospect of going upstairs to fuck—yeah, I forgot her name—is not as enticing as it should be. I’m increasingly indifferent, not aroused.

I study her features more closely, trying to recall the blonde’s name. She must have told me. We’ve been flirting and dancing for the past half hour, ever since I left the laundry room.