Bachelors, Bigots, and Bisexuals

Chapter 7

"Here," Thomas said, handing me a boombox that jumped straight out of 1999. "There's a CD with love songs on it. Trust me."

I grabbed the boombox and walked out to the terrace, which was beside a pool. Flynn was there, alone, sighing. He ran his fingers through his hair and seemed agitated.

"Fuck my life," he muttered under his breath. Loud enough to be heard on a mic? I had no idea. I walked up and he turned, his face bared and full of frustration. He saw me and all of his anger disappeared.

"Hey you," I said. "You alright? I've been looking for you."

"Better now," he said. "I got caught up in a little bit of drama."

"Here? I'm shocked."

He laughed and we approached each other.

"Well, if the drama can wait," I said. "I'd love to talk to you."

Somewhere in the distance, I noticed a cameraman. They were stealthier than you realized on the show. I almost forgot about them.

"I have time," he grinned. "How's it going for you?"

"Good," I said. "I've just been excited to talk to you again. How are you?"

"Well, I've been better. Some of these women may not be here for me."

"I am sorry," I said. "Perhaps I can take your mind off all of that for a minute before you get back to it."

"I would really love that," he smiled. "You know, all night these girls have been coming for me, but to be honest, I keep thinking about you."

"Oh really," I said. "What are you thinking about."

"Those red lips," he said moving closer. "And those big green eyes. You are stunning, you know that."

"Thank you," I said as he inched closer. Something about earlier that night, watching him kiss at least four other girls crept into my mind. Did I want to be one of the many women desperate for his attention? No. For better or for worse, I wanted to be wooed. On a normal date, I would never kiss a guy five seconds into a conversation. He leaned in and I stopped him, leaving a look of slight confusion on his face. At first, he seemed annoyed, and then he just smiled.

"You know," I said. "My mother always taught me never to kiss a man if you don't know his middle name."

"Mine is Thomas," he said before he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"The idea is to not kiss strangers, even devastatingly handsome ones," I said. "Get to know me a little bit first."

"How do I do that?" He asked.

I pointed at the boombox and smiled at him.

"How about a dance?"

I clicked play and a song started to play. It was a cover of a Bob Dylan song, Make You Feel My Love, sung by Adele. He grabbed my hands and we began to waltz, our eyes locking as the music played and the stars shone in the background. This was too perfect.

"So," Flynn whispered. "What do you want to know?"

"Favorite book?"

"Easy, Count of Monte Cristo. You?"

"The Kite Runner," I said. "I like sad books, personally."

"You live through any major tragedies," he joked. I tensed up a bit.

"Sort of," I said. "When I was sixteen, about ten years ago, my parents died in a car accident. Overnight, they were just gone."

"I am so sorry to hear that," Flynn said.