“Cold. Like you’re waiting for me to figure out what I did wrong. This is new to me. So I’m going to lose every time because I don’t know the game or the rules. Do I stink? Is it about Minneapolis? You think your grandma will take a turn for the worse while I’m gone?”
I close my eyes on a long sigh. “Don’t you get a plus-one?”
“Huh?”
Oh, Flynn …
“You’re right. No games. I want you to ask me to attend Monroe’s wedding with you. Can you do that?”
Flynn’s lips twitch before slowly curling into a huge grin. “You want to be my wedding date?”
“No.” I fight to keep a straight face. “I want to be your world.”
He grabs my face. “Zoya June Juju Malone, will you be my wedding date?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Dear god, what have I gotten myself into?”
Before I can answer, he kisses me, backing me into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind us.
“I hate it,” Flynn says, staring out the window of Grandma Juni’s private jet on our way to Minneapolis.
Grandma convinced us (him) to take the jet since we have so much to bring back from there.
“I know you do,” I say, sitting opposite him and keeping my gaze on the pages of my novel.
“The reason I hate it,” he continues.
I bite back my grin.
“Is because I like it. And I don’t want to like it. This lifestyle is a drug.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, trying to acknowledge his concerns without feeding his flames. It’s a thin line.
“I bet your parents found it pretty funny that I asked about their flight when we had dinner with them. Of course, they had a good flight. Who doesn’t have a good flight when you have your own jet?”
I look at my watch. “You have a minute left,” I say.
Flynn has a lurking grin when I look at him. We agreed he could have five minutes a day to complain about wealth disparity. That’s it. No more. End of conversation.
“Are there snacks?” he asks with maximum grumpiness.
I nod.
“I bet they’re free, huh?”
My head bobs. “Depends on your definition of free. But for all intents and purposes, yes, they’re free. So if you’re hungry, I’ll get you a snack.” I nod to the bag on the table across from us. “But there’s chicken and fries in that bag.”
His right eyebrow lifts. “Don’t play with me. Are you serious?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Yes. I’m serious. How did you not smell them before now?”
He unbuckles and snatches the bag, poking his face in it when he sits back down. “I love you so much.”
I return my attention to my book. “I know you do. And your time is up. So eat. Smile. Watch your YouTube videos. Tell me I’m pretty. Whatever.”
Like flipping a switch, Flynn’s grin reaches his ears just as he pops a fry into his mouth. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
