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“How do you have it all together?” We’re separated by mere minutes in reality, but often it feels like a chasm of years. Presley is mature, centred. She’s kind and calm and good in a crisis.
“I don’t,” she whispers. “I have no idea what the future holds with Mike or with anything else. But I’m willing to try.”
“I’m supposed to be leaving tomorrow and Flynn’s gone cold again, just like Vas did. I’m...scared.”
“Because you like him?”
“Yes.” The word comes quicker and more freely than I ever thought it would. Idolike Flynn, a heck of a lot. But enough that I want to stay and put my heart in harm’s way again?
“Do you have to go to Fiji right away?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have to go anywhere, technically.”
“Is it going to sound selfishly motivated if I suggest that you stay awhile and see where it goes?”
I laugh. “Yes, but that’s okay.”
“Drew, you’re a good person. Sure, you don’t tick everyone’s boxes...but none of us do. We’re not made to appeal to the masses.” She smiles. “And here’s the thing—nothingis permanent.”
It all sounds so manageable when she says it like that—like I’m not risking having Flynn’s well-heeled shoe grinding my heart into the ground.
“Talk to him,” she urges. “We’ve got a few minutes before the ceremony starts, and this thing isn’t happening until I give the go-ahead anyway.”
Talk to him? What the hell am I supposed to say?
Hey, Flynn, guy I’ve barely known a few weeks. I’m thinking about cancelling my trip to Fiji so I can see if we’re good outside the bedroom as well as in it. Can we maybe continue fucking but also do other nice things, too?
I suck at this stuff so hard.
“Stop thinking and go.” Presley comes over to me and gives me a literal shove toward the door.
“I love you,” I say, stopping to give her a quick squeeze. I’m so nervous I want to puke, but she’s right...we don’t know what the future holds. Nothing can protect us, except eternal isolation. And I’m starting to think that’s not what I want. “I’ve missed you a lot.”
“Tell him that if he can convince you to stay then he’ll be in my good books forever.” Her eyes shimmer.
“Don’t cry. Mum willkillme for ruining everything.” I shoot her a look before darting out of the room. Hopefully the men aren’t already in the courtyard because I really don’t want to do this with an audience.
The old building has a lot of rooms and none of them are marked. I try to listen for the smooth, deep sound of Flynn’s voice—a sound I’ve grown to crave. To need. Classical music floats in through open doors that lead out to the courtyard where my sister will be married. I peek out and spot Annaleigh, Pauline and Sherilee doing their thing, entertaining the guests and smiling. Being perfect.
I continue down the hallway, holding the frothy pink lengths of my bridesmaid dress in one hand so I don’t trip. With each step, I’m losing my nerve. The tug of the old way—the runaway, shields up way—pulls me back.
But then I see him. He’s coming out of another door, looking sharp as ever in a black tux. It suits him, being buttoned up. And it suits me, because I know that he’s at his best when the buttons are popped and skittering across the floor, when he’s coming undone. Coming alive and shedding his rules and restrictions like a man undergoing transformation.
“Hey.” I hold up a hand, tentative. Anticipating the sting of his rejection and, on some level, craving it so I can go back to how I’ve always been. A drifter. A wanderer. My protective side wants to use him as an excuse not to grow.
But at the same time, there’s a tiny sprout of hope in the barren wasteland of my dating experience.
“Blondie.” His lip quirks but it isn’t quite a smile. He’s playing my game, putting up barriers. “Who are you looking for?”
“An uptight redhead with a penchant for nice suits and dirty talk.” I might be trying to change, but Iamstill me. “Know where I could find a guy like that?”
“I’m not sure, but Icanoffer you a guy who’s good at judging people and not very good at answering his phone.”
Okay, so he’s meeting me halfway. That’s a positive sign.
“Can we talk?” I say. “I know you’ve been busy, but I need to get this off my chest and I’m worried it’s going to burst out of me in the middle of the ceremony if I don’t say something now.”
“We can’t have that.” He stares me down and I have to resist the urge to push him up against a wall. Why does sex come easier to me than talking?
