Rugged(62)

“Ah, don’t you already have the baby thing taken care of?” I ask. We hand off our jackets to a coat check girl and fluff our hair as we strut down the hall.

“Don’t stop me from exploding love all over you, Laurel. This is an actual Hollywood wrap party. The last time I had a reason to dress up and celebrate, it was because Burt Humphries took third place in state champion pig poking. You don’t even want to know,” she tells me as we find our way to the McCallister Ballroom. “I wish life could be like this all the time,” she says, looking around with huge, wistful eyes.

Everyone shows up. The crew’s here, obviously, but so are the people from the hardware store. Jeanine waves at me, decked out in a sexy black jumpsuit, her silver hoop earrings shaking as she continues to dance next to one of the craft guys. He’s staring at her ass, and it looks like he’s thoroughly appreciating her moves.

Raj is walking around, continually staring at his iPad. That’s fine. As long as he’s not staring at me. Though at some point I’ll have to change my cowardly ways and confront him—unless he plans to confront me first. But what can I even say? I have no idea what’s going to happen with me and Flint. I could be defending a hopeless fantasy.

Back to the party.

Most of the townspeople are here as well. Carl from the bar has his man bun tied back in a red ribbon, and is doing some kind of tango with Lois, one of our interns. Jessa is sitting cross-legged on a chair, discussing something with one of our key grips. From the way she’s holding out her arms, I think she’s pretending to be a tree. And I even spot the mayor, a nice-looking older lady, as she does shooters with Jerri. Not bad.

“I’m heading to the bar. It’s gimlet o’clock,” Callie says, taking off without another word. I watch her go, shaking my head.

“Found you,” Flint says in my ear, his warm breath giving me goosebumps. He’s behind me, and I lean back against him, hoping nobody notices our careful canoodling. I catch a few quick, curious looks as some of the crew pass by, but when I smile, they just smile right back at me and nod, and my stomach unknots itself. Maybe it’s okay to go public with this after all; I work with good people, and we’ve got it under control.

Flint wraps his around my waist and I accidentally-on-purpose grind back against his crotch for a few tantalizing seconds. He breathes hard into my hair, tightening his grip on me, and I grin. “Don’t you worry about my reputation at all, Mr. McKay?” I ask, adopting a Scarlett O’Hara drawl. Flint chuckles.

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble.

It’s getting more and more difficult for me to think straight, but even though I’d love nothing more than to drag my beau out to the parking lot and suck him off in the bed of his truck, it’s not polite for Flint to run out on a party that’s really for him. Slowly I turn around, still locked in his arms for all to see. “Do you dance, sir?”

“If I’m drunk, forced, or turned on by a beautiful woman,” he says. Putting a hand on the small of my back, he guides me toward the floor.

“Which one is it this time?” I ask, adopting a look of total innocence.

“I’ve only had one beer, and I’m the one hustling you onto the floor,” he says, turning to face me, the music pounding all around us. “So. You do the math.”

I was always very good at math. Aced AP trigonometry and everything. Flint and I start to move, eyes locked, our bodies in perfect rhythm. It’s the best prelude to sex I’ve ever had. It’s not our last dance, either. Soon enough all my anxiety about the crew figuring out what’s going on between us has totally evaporated, at least for the moment.

Throughout the night, everyone has a fantastic time. Even Raj gets in on the action, drinking enough cupcake vodka that he insists on showing off his killer dance moves. He does the sprinkler, the shopping cart, and the lawnmower while people laugh and cheer. By the end, he’s actually crying, telling everyone how much he loves them.

I’m so glad I’m recording this on my phone.

“You’re a genius,” Jerri says to Flint, coming up and slinging an arm around his shoulders. She even tousles his hair. No one else could get away with that. “If I could bottle you, I’d drink you every day for luck.”

“That’s the best and weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten,” Flint says, grabbing a beer and holding it up. “To Rustic Renovations!” he toasts. Everyone clinks glasses and bottles. “I’m glad you all came into my life.” He squeezes me close.

“You gotta move to LA now,” Raj says, stumbling and slurring a little. “We’re gonna make you fay-mous.” He takes a sip of a banana daiquiri.

“I’m a man of habit,” Flint says, laughing. “They’ll only get me to leave this town when they carry me out in a box.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Flint. We can still cremate you,” Callie yells as she passes by, catching hints of our conversation. Everyone laughs, but I can’t help growing quiet. Flint’s really not thinking of leaving. And I can’t imagine moving from LA, not when I’ve worked so hard to get myself out of Ohio, spent so many years chasing my big industry dreams, when I’m this close to a new chapter in my career. All the happy, buzzy feelings I had from the other day, imagining a future with him, start to fizzle out.