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I reached the Porsche and fished out my keys, then blinked as thoughts rearranged themselves in my brain. My mother’s mistakes. My own. Being wrong… and actuallysaying so. How winning really looked a lot like Flynn Honeycutt’s smile. Then I turned on my heel and walked back across the field in the other direction, breaking into a jog when I got close to the Tavern.
I wanted the contract. I wanted my damn promotion. That hadn’t changed. But in that moment, it was just as important for Flynn to know there was someone out there who recognized his sacrifices and incredible achievements. Who wanted him to be free to achieve his dreams without worrying about his family or his town or his business.
Who wanted himhappy…even if it meant upping the Fortress offer so high Conrad’s bushy white eyebrows disappeared into his receding hairline and Alice wondered whether I’d been abducted by aliens.
When I got to the Tavern, I took a chance and detoured around back to the little house I’d spotted before, then pounded on the door.
“Flynn,” I began the second the door cracked open. Then I stopped and, in fact, forgot how to speak entirely because Flynn Honeycutt stood there wearing nothing but a scowl and the tiniest scrap of a towel wrapped around his waist.
“What?” he demanded, one arm braced on the edge of the door. One large, very lucky droplet of water dripped from Flynn’s hair and down his pec to his nipple. “Come to gloat some more, Rainmaker?”
I lifted my gaze to his. “I… no. I’m here about the contract.”
“I shredded your contract,” Flynn growled.
“I know. The confetti was hard to miss. I want to make you a better offer.” I took a deep breath. “I’m increasing the original compensation by twenty percent, and you can choose suppliers for the honey and the fruits or whatever,” I said in a rush.
Flynn stared at me like I’d lost my mind, and not without reason. “You can’t do that.”
“I can,” I confirmed. “I just did. Take the deal, Flynn,” I pleaded. “You can use this money to take mead-making classes. You can live your dream.”
“Mead-making classes.” He scowled. “Are you drunk? I already know how to make mead, asshole.”
“No, I know. I…”Fuck. I wasn’t saying this right, and I was messing things up again. “Could you maybe put a shirt on?” I asked in a strangled voice. “While we talk about this?”
Flynn pushed the door open, rolled his eyes, and took two steps deeper into the little house. Part of me wanted to look around the space—Flynn’s space—but the rest of me was way too focused on how the towel stretched across his round ass as he walked.
He grabbed a T-shirt from a basket of folded laundry sitting on the back of the sofa near the door and threw it on. “Better? Your delicate Wellbridge sensibilities all protected, Frog?”
No.“Yes. Thank you. As I was saying, I want you to have a chance to do the things you’ve always wanted—”
“Stop,” Flynn said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You are never gonna convince me you’re doing this for my benefit, okay? So don’t even go down that road. You only want my mead recipes. You still want to steal Honeybridge Mead away from me. Away from Honeybridge.”
I pushed a frustrated hand through my hair, which was still damp and dusty from the game. He sounded like my mother, talking about her damn blue ribbon.
“I’m not trying tostealit, Flynn. I’m trying to pay you so Fortress can use your recipe, distribute your product, and get you billions of dollars. You get to keep everything you have, and you get to have more besides. I don’t want to take anything from you. I’m trying togiveyou something.”
I was trying to make things right, damn it.
Flynn dropped his arms to his sides and took a step toward me, putting us right up against each other. “You’re not fucking hearing me, Wellbridge. I don’t want anything from you.”
But his chest heaved as he said it, his eyes sparked green fire, and I knew the same way I’d known all his pitches before he threw them that Flynn Honeycutt was a damn liar because there was definitelysomethinghe wanted from me.
And I… well, I was an idiot who failed to learn lessons because, just as I had on that stupid November night, I felt my body respond to his in a way that made my common sense and good intentions fly out the window.
I spun him in a half turn, braced an arm across the top of his chest, and pressed his back against the wall beside the door. “Nothing, Flynn? You sure about that?”
I couldn’t say for sure who moved first or if maybe the two of us were in sync for once. All I could say for sure was that a second later, his mouth was on mine, and holy fuck, it was even more glorious than I remembered.
I grabbed his face in both my hands, holding him in place so I could plunder his mouth with my tongue. He tasted like cinnamon and temptation, and I leaned my body against his with a groan. I sucked and bit at his lips, feasting on the addictive and familiar taste of him, then ran my tongue down the taut cord of his neck until he shuddered.
Flynn grabbed the blue baseball shirt at my waist, yanking it out of my uniform pants until his calloused fingertips found skin at the small of my back. He spread his fingers wide, a man claiming territory, before pulling me in even closer so the hard ridge of his cock pressed against mine.
I shuddered. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes. Fuck, Flynn, I want—”
“Hey, Flynn!” a male voice called before a knock vibrated the door inches from our heads. “We need you out here, babe. The after-game crowd’s getting rowdy, and Kendall’s out sick, so it’s just me, Alden, and Cas.” He paused, then knocked again. “Flynn?”
Flynn stared up at me, breathless and wanting, for a long moment. Then his eyes shuttered, and he cleared his throat. “Hang on, Dan.”
