Throb(76)
I try the Sadie school of thought to get myself out of my state of perpetual melancholy. If you don’t feel good, at least look good. Finally losing the ponytail I’ve worn since we arrived, I spend a full hour and half getting ready for our group date. I blow out my hair, do my makeup and put on a beautiful blue dress the show wardrobe designer swears was made with me in mind. Looking at my reflection boosts my spirits as much as it can.
When Flynn arrives, I hang back and watch from the hall doorway as the ladies greet him one at a time. Each fusses over him, making physical contact as they speak, flirting in that way that screams he wouldn’t have to work very hard to be in their bed tonight. Flynn stands there, a sweet smile on his face, but the way he looks at them isn’t a mirror of what they’re feeling.
After getting a greeting from the third beautiful woman, I watch as he scans the room. His smile lights up when his eyes fall on me. He does that overt flirty sweep of me that he always does, and comes to me.
“You look gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear after kissing my cheek. Unexpectedly, goose bumps break out on my arms.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” He’s wearing a linen dress shirt with an ocean blue knotted tie that brings out the azure in his eyes even more than usual. Perhaps it’s the tattoos sticking out from the expensive shirt, but somehow he manages a look that screams casually elegant blended with rockstar. It works for him, and he wears it well.
We all pile into the SUV limo and head out for our first group date on the island. My heart lurches when we pull into a parking lot. Of all the places on this island, Miles had to pick the Saturday night beach fish fry. The same one Cooper and I went to the last night we were here.
“What can I get you to drink?” Flynn yells, his hand at the small of my back, leading me through the crowd to the bar. It’s way more packed than the night I was here with Cooper.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“You sure about that?” he questions. “I was about to order vodka tonic and I seem to remember you getting tipsy off a glass of wine.”
I look around, the memory of Cooper and me slow dancing on the grass while everyone around us danced to a fast reggae beat causes a new wave of pain. Pain I need to dull, even if just for a little while.
“Vodka sounds good to me.”
The effects are quick, my mind already numbed as I swallow the last bit of poison from the glass. “Let’s dance.” I grab Flynn’s hand and lead him to the packed dance floor. Closing my eyes, I soak in the energy of the crowd and the heavy beat of the steel drum and begin to let my body sway to the music.
Bodies close in tightly around us—strangers reveling in the warm night air, moving with the sensual verve of the music.
“That’s it.” Flynn wraps his arm tightly around my waist and takes lead of my body. “Let the music take whatever burden you’ve been carrying for a while.” In the moment, surprisingly, it’s easy to do. The alcohol released some of the tension in my body, and the loud, hypnotizing beat of the drum, coupled with Flynn’s hand leading my movement, allows me to forget everything else. By the end of the third song, I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in days. Even when Jessica cuts in, I’m still feeling no pain.
“Thank you. I needed that,” I whisper and kiss him on the cheek as I leave him in Jessica’s quite capable hands.
The problem with drinking alcohol when you’re depressed is that you’re always chasing that initial feel-good buzz. Sobriety starts to rear its solemn head, so you have another drink. But the second one doesn’t affect you like the first, so you have yet another. And before you know it you’re somewhere between feeling no pain and ostensibly obliviated.
I watch from a stool at the bar as Flynn dances with the three women surrounding him. He’s having fun, but the more I get to know him, the more I realize he can pretty much turn anything into a good time. The antithesis of Cooper, Flynn is a free spirit—one who goes with the flow and emanates a casualness that sets the people around him at ease. Cooper, on the other hand, makes people sit taller when he walks into the room.
I order another drink to drown the thoughts in my head. A break in the music draws my focus to the stage. Flynn is peeling off his sweat-drenched shirt. The tattoos on his hard-ridged abs glisten, to the delight of the audience. The local women who had been dancing up a storm scream their praise in heavy island accents and catcall whistles. A dimple-baring crooked smile on his face, Flynn shakes his head, enjoying every minute of it, and takes the microphone from the bass player.