First Dance (Strip in the City, Book 3)

14 • Putting in the Work

Kennedy

Lucas's plan to make Flynn jealous is either goin' work like a charm or go up in flames, but I decide to put my faith in his advice.

After we iron out all the details on the park bench, I agree to act wholly unlike myself and ignore Flynn's existence for a whole week.

A week is a lot of time, considering the countdown to our wedding is on.

Normally, when Flynn and I are on one of his breaks, I stay in touch with him. You know, send him little invites that remind him of the good times we shared to entice him into gettin' back together.

But Lucas told me I cannot reach out to him.

"He needs to believe you're doing fine without him," he coaches me when I admit that I really want to text him after I see a social media post of him out to dinner with those new company girls.

They all look cute, sipping cocktails after the ballet. Meanwhile, here I am, looking like a yeti. My hair is in a messy bun, and I'm wearing an old t-shirt and flannel pajama shorts.

The longer I stare at the picture, the more helpless I become.

This break feels different from other breaks we've been on. What started as a crack in the dirt between us that I thought I could jump across has grown into a deep gorge.

"He said he'd keep our breakup on the down low," I tell Lucas, showing him the picture, "but this is scandalous. They all know we're gettin' married, but look! They're practically sittin' in his lap!"

Lucas doesn't look at Flynn's picture. Instead, he locks my phone and sets it face-down on the table. When he turns back to me, he's wearing a look I've never seen before.

I'm no clairvoyant, but I think this is Lucas's version of Tan's look.

Does he think I'm crazy for still wanting to marry Flynn?

Would everything be different if he remembered our kiss? If he saw me like he saw Clara?

I can't go down that path, not when Flynn is out havin' the time of his life, and my heart is already in shreds. Besides, Lucas is a playboy, and he isn't serious about settling down.

Not to mention, everyone in my family is waiting for me to bring Flynn down to taste test a dang wedding cake.

"Losing you is a pain he's never experienced," Lucas continues. "You can't call him or text him because it's what he's expecting you to do. That's why he posted this picture."

"But–"

Lucas holds a finger to my lips, and something low stirs in my belly—something that I can't explain. My heart is racing, and my breaths get shorter.

It's happening again—that thing—the tingles. I try to tell myself it's nerves, anxiety, or the fact that I'm angry as hell, but it ain't.

It's Lucas. It's because he's touching me in the same place his lips have been. The place where his mouth shattered the vision I once had of our friendship.

His finger slides off my mouth but doesn't leave my face. It just glides over my cheek, slowly, until his fingers tangle in the back of my hair.

I'm frozen in place. Too scared to move because if I do, I'm afraid I'll pull his hard, muscled body against me and find out if he kisses the same way sober as he does drunk.

And there'll be no excuse we can make for what would happen after that because if I get another taste of him, I don't think I'll want to stop.

The bed we sleep in every night together is a foot away from where we're standing.