Throb(39)
“You ladies look gorgeous. As usual.” Flynn brings two glasses of wine over to where Ava and I are huddled and offers them to us.
“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself. At least I can see what you look like now.” I smile and sip my wine.
“I can always see what you look like, Kate. Even in the dark, it’s up here.” Flynn taps his finger to his temple with a mischievous grin. “So what do you ladies think? Any guesses on who wins?”
“Jessica,” Ava and I respond in unison.
Flynn smiles, but the now familiar bell calls our attention. It’s time for an announcement of some sort. The three of us make our way to the center of the room where the host, Ryan, is waiting. A television is rolled in once we’re all gathered.
“Ladies. You all got to watch a little of the challenge today. But what you didn’t get to see was your own time with Flynn. Tonight you will each get to watch your own replay. In private. With Flynn. We’ve added some things to the bottom of the screen for your viewing pleasure. On the lower left-hand side, you’ll see a clock. The clock will continue to run until Flynn makes his guess as to which contestant is in the room. But you will have the opportunity to view the full five minutes that you spent with your boyfriend. You will not, however, find out if Flynn correctly identified you. Instead, after your video is viewed, you’ll be given a card with your time to hold up at tonight’s challenge ceremony. Flynn will then give out a flower to each contestant he correctly identified. The constant holding a flower with the lowest time will be the lucky winner of the last, and very romantic, one-on-one date tomorrow night.”
Chatter erupts in the room. “Okay, ladies. Let’s get started. Mercedes, why don’t you join Flynn in the other room and be the first to watch your video.”
**
Jessica squeals as she returns to the group after her viewing. She holds up her sign, waving it proudly over her head. Giant black bold typeface announces how easily identifiable she truly is, even in the dark. Eighteen seconds. Damn, I’m good. “Think I have a matching baseball cap for your t-shirt,” I whisper to Ava before walking toward the viewing room for my turn.
Flynn kisses me on the cheek and pats the loveseat next to him. Even though he’s probably done the same act four times before I walked through the door, he has a way of making me feel like the act is just for me.
Using a remote, he dims the lights in the room, slings his arm around my shoulder and snuggles me close to him as the video begins to play.
On screen, I’m hesitant as I shut the door. The utter darkness was difficult to adjust to, but that wasn’t the reason for my uncertainty. I was more anxious about the man in the chair and what I would feel with his hands on me. His playful voice comforted me quickly with two simple words: “Wanna dance?” I remember thinking he couldn’t possibly know it was me, yet the words made me feel like he did.
I watch the screen, feeling a bit voyeuristic even though it’s me. I make my way to Flynn, his voice guiding me as he hums a song. The same song he sang to me the night he asked me to dance on the balcony. On screen, I smile and walk toward where he’s sitting. Our knees bump lightly as I reach him, and I remember catching my balance as I began to lean forward, thinking I was going to wind up in his lap. But it’s the next part I don’t remember. Before ever touching me, Flynn smiles and presses a button. The clock stops at eighteen seconds.
I squirm a bit in my seat when Flynn’s hands start at my ankles and slowly trace their path up my body. He’s a gentleman, well, as much as anyone can be a gentleman while he feels up a woman in the dark while a camera records the entire thing. But my palms start to sweat when he reaches my hips. On screen, his hands glide over my waist and begin to travel higher. Reaching the side of my breast, the low song he’d been lightly humming suddenly stops. Just in time for the microphone to pick up the distinct hitch of my breath.
Flynn’s eyes turn to watch me, watch us. He knows his touch affected me.
The tension in the room is palpable. I’m glad the ceremony isn’t in the kitchen, because Jessica looks like she wouldn’t mind slicing me into a Kate sandwich she could chew up and spit out. But then Flynn walks to the front of the room and the daggers in her eyes miraculously soften to reverence as she flips her flowing blond locks from her shoulder. The girl could be an actress.
“Ladies. I’m sorry to say that I did not get a perfect score on today’s competition. There are two women who I failed to properly identify. And for that, I apologize to those women.”
Ryan, the host, interrupts. “The flowers that Flynn is about to give out were chosen by Flynn specifically for each woman. Unfortunately, only four of the flowers will be given out.” With all the dramatic flare he can muster, Ryan removes two flowers from the table—a traditional solemn red rose and a cheerful Gerber daisy.