Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“I’d rather not,” I said tightly. By which I meant there was no force in the universe that could compel me to bring Dysen and Brantleigh to Flynn Honeycutt’s bar, where Flynn would see them—and, worse, hear them—and give me that smirky smirk of his. “Beauty sleep is kinda sounding good right now.”
“Oh my godddddd!” Dysen squealed. She shook Reagan’s shoulder excitedly. “ReaBae! Do you mean the Honeybridge Tavern? The one that went viral after Frankie Hilo posted a picture there last year? Oh, my god. I so, so need pics, like right now, and I’m saving them to my highlights. Did you know all three Cassidy sisters went there last fall and took duck-face selfies in the bathroom? It was iconic! I. Con. Ic. And one of them got a picture with the Tavern’s owner, and the man is, like, gorgeous. I mean, not like gorgeous gorgeous, more like power-tool gorgeous. You know?”
“No,” I said coldly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Anyone who could look at Flynn Honeycutt and think he was not gorgeous—full stop—was dangerously absurd.
“Alright, then,” Brantleigh sighed, as though he were the final decider-er of plans. He batted his eyelashes up at me. “Jonathan and I will go, too. We’ll stay just long enough to take a selfie, then bounce to a club or something.”
Bounce to a club? Where did the man think a place like Honeybridge was hiding its nightlife?
“Oh, I think Jonathan would love that more than anything!” Mother cried.
I opened my mouth to argue with her—vehemently—when Reagan spoke up.
“I think the Tavern sounds amazing,” he said. “Flynn sells the best mead ever. We should totally go.”
I shot him a glare, but Reagan gave me puppy dog eyes that clearly screamed “Please don’t leave me alone with them!”
Ugh. Apparently, there was a force that could compel me to bring this crew to the Tavern, and it was brotherly love. Was it too late for me to jump in the water and swim for shore? Ideally, a foreign shore, without extradition?
“Fine.” I extricated my arm from Brantleigh’s. “But we’re only staying for one drink.”
I was very afraid that was going to be one drink too many.
When we got to the Tavern, the place was packed with a combination of locals and wide-eyed tourists who’d come to town for the regatta and to attend what Willow called a Yoga in Nature Spiritual Awakening out at the Retreat. Every table was full, and the bar area was standing-room only, which meant we were able to blend in with the crowd. For once, I didn’t want Flynn to notice me, let alone speak to me.
Dysen went off to the restroom immediately upon entering so she could “hashtag remix” the selfie she’d referenced earlier, while Reagan, Brantleigh, and I threaded our way to the bar.
“Evening, Frog!” Pop Honeycutt called from a high-top table toward the back as we passed. “And Mr. Important. Lookin’ good, kiddo.” He held out his gnarled hand, and Reagan shook it politely.
We found an empty spot at the back corner of the bar and squeezed into it.
“Frog Wellbridge! Awesome game last week,” Tori Honeycutt called from a nearby table where she and her husband, Rob, were sitting. “You gonna be around for the next one?”
Before I could answer, Brittany Merchant rushed over and threw her arms around my brother. “Holy crap, now it’s officially hot guy night at the Tavern! Eye candy for days! We’ve got you, and JT, and Flynn, and Redmond, and these guys Brooks and Mal who are staying in one of the cottages out at the Retreat—and I think they’re a couple because oh my god the way they eye-fuck each other!—and Alden, even though he’s in a shit mood, and Cas, and this haw-aw-awt silver fox who was chatting up Redmond earlier…”
“And me.” Brantleigh smiled ingratiatingly. “I’m Brantleigh Pennington, remember?”
“Oh.” Brittany blinked, then glanced Brantleigh over, from his highlighted hair to his spray tan, to his preppy outfit and boat shoes. She smiled kindly. “Right. Sure. You too.”
Brantleigh seemed nonplussed. I rubbed a hand over my mouth to hide my smile.
“What about me, Britt?” Rob Honeycutt interjected.
Brittany rolled her eyes. “Not you. You’re taken.” She winked at Tori.
“Jonathan is taken, too.” Brantleigh locked elbows with me.
I really wished he’d stop doing that.
“Wait.” Brittany’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re together? Well, hot damn. Plot twist.”
“No,” I said firmly, taking back my arm. But as annoying as he was, Brantleigh didn’t deserve to be shot down completely in a public venue, so I softened my statement by adding, “He’s a friend of the family. It’s… complicated.”
“Seems pretty simple to me, Frog,” Flynn said from directly behind me, because of course he was standing right there, right then, and of course this was the one moment all week he deigned to speak to me. “Don’t be shy. Who’s the lucky guy?”