Page 136 of Gold Rush

“You’re right.”

Those two quiet words catch me more off guard than anything else she might have said.

“Is Wren okay?”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Where’s Carson?”

I normally get her boyfriend’s name wrong on purpose since it’s another way of needling her and because he’s a forgettable kind of guy. But it feels like we’re having a mature conversation, so I restrain the urge. And I’m genuinely curious. When Wren asked earlier, all Rory said was, he couldn’t make it. Wren didn’t push for an actual answer, but I have no qualms about digging deeper.

“Not here.”

“So … where?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

I shake my head. I don’t understand—I’ve never understood—why Rory’s standards don’t seem to extend to who she’s dating. I overheard—eavesdropped—what she told Wren about her first time when I left to get drinks. She let a guy fuck her who was more interested in his phone. If it’d been me⁠—

I stop that thought in its tracks. Not only because it’s irrelevant, but because thinking about sex with Rory is turning me on more than the invitation of sex earlier. And that wasn’t in subarctic temperatures. I shouldn’t even be able to get hard in this weather.

“You should dump him.”

“What are you even doing out here, Flynn? Did you already hook up with all the hot women you were eyeing earlier?”

I bristle at the condemnation in her tone. I’m young, and I’m single, and I’m at a party. What does she expect me to do? Read a book about quantum physics in a corner? We were having a semi-civil conversation, so of course she had to bring up my stupid comment about all the attractive girls her cousin invited. It’s not like I was personally responsible for the guest list.

Why the fuck do I bother? Why do I care?

“Sure did,” I drawl. “Just came out here to rest my dick.”

She makes a disgusted face. “Feel free to rest it anywhere else.”

Feel free. If I wasn’t so annoyed, I’d smile. Even when she’s annoyed with me, Rory can’t muster a get lost or fuck off.

“But I’m so comfortable here, contracting hypothermia. Why would I go where it’s warm or welcoming?”

I’m not comfortable. But I am reluctant to go anywhere else, which makes no sense.

The first firework catches me by surprise. Before I saw Rory, I was fully intending to head back inside to watch the show. But now that I’m here, next to her, my muscles won’t cooperate. I’m content to sit on frigid sand in the dark, watching the sky light up with the person at this party who wants my company the least.

“You should make a New Year’s wish, Florence.”

“I wish you’d learn my name is Rory.”

I smile.

I will never ever admit to Rory that I like saying her full first name because it sounds like the version of her only I get to see. That antagonizing her is only worthwhile because it exposes a side I don’t otherwise get to witness.

There’s so much to Rory that she rarely shows. Maybe I’m drawn to that because I do the same thing.

“Wish for something else,” I advise. “Because that’s not something you have control over.”

“I don’t have control over what I really want either.”

“You’ll get in.”

Her eyes fly to mine. She looks pretty—prettier—in the glow of bright lights that are also reflecting off the ocean.