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 know, Cas!” Flynn said impatiently. I snorted, and Flynn’s hot gaze flew back to mine.
“I think this is a delay of game,” he shouted. “Ref? Ref! Is this a delay of game?”
Pop grabbed his mic and wrinkled his nose. “How the heck should I know? Just move it along, Frog.”
“But Flynn!” I clasped a hand to my chest and smiled sunnily. “I thought you liked it when I… delayed your game. Makes it more fun for everyone that way.”
“More fun for you,” Flynn shot back. “Pitch the dang—”
I wound up and threw the ball unexpectedly, landing it square in the middle of Marta’s glove.
“Strike three,” Pop called sadly. “That’s all she wrote!”
Flynn closed his eyes and grimaced as the Wellbridge dugout went wild.
“That’s our Frog!” my cousin Marta yelled, straightening up and pulling off her mask.
A few other spectators took up the chant. “That’s our Frog! That’s our Frog!”
I shook my head and grinned as I jogged over to home plate.
“Oooh,” I taunted in a low voice. “Looks like your bat just couldn’t get a piece of my ball today, baby! Looks like Firecracker’s… fizzled. Whomp, whomp.” I rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet smugly.
Flynn ran his tongue over his teeth and glanced up at me. His hair was a damp mess that curled against his neck and forehead where it peeked out of his ballcap, his cheeks were covered in dark scruff, and his orange T-shirt was molded to his lean muscles with a combination of sweat and dirt.
In short, he was the sexiest man who’d ever lived, and I wanted to throw him down right there and kiss him until the entire town understood our double entendres.
“You cheated,” he said in his deep voice.
“Moi? I did exactly what you asked me to do,” I said innocently. “You said—”
“I know what I said,” Flynn interrupted. His eyes flashed a gorgeous, dangerous bright green. “You have exactly thirty seconds to say goodbye to everyone in your family.”
“Oooh. Threats? You gonna kill me, slugger?” I arched an eyebrow. “Ditch my body where they’ll never find it?”
“Nothing that easy.” He stepped closer, getting all up in my personal space, mashing his Honeycutt T-shirt right against my Wellbridge one. “I am going to get my bat all over your balls and delay your game until you’re begging me to pitch. There will be absolutely no fizzling until we have done every single thing I texted you earlier.”
“We have work to do tonight,” I reminded him.
He gritted out a single word. “After.” Then he shoved me away from him with two hands. “Fifteen seconds now, Frog.”
I swallowed my smile and ran off to say my goodbyes, thinking Bossy Flynn might be my favorite Flynn.
Later that night as I lay in his loft bed staring up at the rafters through the darkness, with Flynn’s head on my shoulder and my hand threaded through his overlong hair, my entire body thrumming with the aftereffects of our mind-blowing lovemaking, I thought that this—being with Flynn—was the real win of the day. And I was going to figure out a way to keep it.
But as I found out the following week, there were certain circumstances even a Wellbridge couldn’t control.
Chapter Fourteen
Flynn
The days were flying by. As busy as the Tavern was with tourist season in full swing and as crazy as I was prepping for Brew Fest, it was actually a good thing JT wasn’t around during the week. If he’d stayed in Honeybridge instead of going back to the city, I probably would have let him distract me right into bankruptcy.
The man didn’t realize what a compelling argument against work he made when he was standing naked in my home, asking if he could suck me off. Or rim me. Or fuck me hard over the kitchen counter.
“Blue caps, Flynn, Jesus,” Dan said before muttering, “And you think I’m the one not paying attention?”
I blinked down at the bottles in front of me. Sure enough, I’d put the wrong caps on nine bottles already. I cursed and reached for the bottle opener so I could start over.
“Why are you rushing?” Dan asked. “The dinner crowd won’t pick up for another hour, and we’ve already gotten a ton of prep done today. The T-shirts are packed and ready. The extra brochures should be here Monday. And I’ve already confirmed the truck rental for Tuesday.”
“Yeah, but JT is coming in tonight, and I don’t want to be stuck finishing this later.” I began placing the proper caps on the Moose Call bottles. “I have some business stuff I want to run by him tomorrow. Thatcher Pennington is back in town for a long weekend, and he stopped by to talk to me about investing—” I broke off with a headshake, not wanting to dwell on the exciting possibilities just yet. “Doesn’t matter. If I can get this batch done before JT gets here, I won’t feel so guilty for taking a few hours off.”