Page 45 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

If I made a big deal out of being squished next to Conor, I’d only draw attention to the situation. I gave Rhys the evil eye as I handed him the water. Either he hadn’t done it on purpose, or he had a really good poker face because he didn’t bat an eyelash.

I sat between him and Conor, giving my thighs a difficult choice—either I shifted toward Rhys, touching legs with him or I wriggled a little close to Conor, sealing my denim-clad thigh against his.

At least I’d known Conor longer than a week, so I created a little space between me and Rhys, leaving none between me and Conor.

I aimed my can at the TVs blaring in front of us, competing for attention. “Which are you watching, the game or the music videos?”

“Kinda going back and forth between the two to be honest. I haven’t played Fornite in about a fortnight.”

“Ha, ha. How long exactly is a fortnight?”

“Noelle Martine, you’ve forgotten your British roots.”

“I don’t know how long fourscore and seven years is either.”

“A fortnight is two weeks, and I was lying just to make the joke. I haven’t played Fornite in almost a year.” He touched my nose with his finger. “You also lost that slight English accent you used to have.”

“That came from hanging around you lot.”

“Ah-ha! You said you lot, which is distinctly British.”

“I also say taking the piss with alarming frequency.”

“That always was one of your favorites, even though you used it incorrectly half the time.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

I smacked away his hand as he reached in to pinch my nose. “Don’t try that again. I can’t even flick your earring anymore. You stopped wearing it.”

“Eh, it was a bad boy affectation to try to keep up with the other lads’ tattoos.”

Rhys had been listening to our exchange and piped up, “But you...”

Conor reached behind me and smacked the back of Rhys’s head. “Shut your gob, mate and stop eavesdropping.”

My laugh died on my lips when I saw that everyone in the entire lounge area had heard our back and forth.

Jade wedged a bare foot on the table next to the empty chip bags. “You two are so cute.”

I felt the color climb from my chest to my cheeks and took a swig of soda to hide behind my can.

“Yeah, haven’t you heard. They’re like brother and sister.” Rhys smirked, and I jerked my leg away from Conor’s, practically landing in Rhys’s lap.

At least neither Ashley nor the public was around to witness our...camaraderie that might be mistaken for something else. It didn’t really matter what the band and dancers thought. None of them was going to run to Ashley with tour bus gossip.

After a few hours, one of the guys at the end of the sofa finally gave up his seat and game controller to take a nap upstairs, everyone spread out, and I scooted about a foot away from Conor.

He took the hint and pushed to his feet. “I’m going up to do some work on my laptop.”

I waved as if I hadn’t been sitting here holding my breath, not daring to move a muscle in case it brought us close again. “Have fun.”

Conor hadn’t been faking that almost kiss by Charlie’s pool. He’d fallen right back into our teasing habits that had gotten us into trouble the previous time we shared a bus.

I was a convenient diversion. Maybe that’s what I’d been the first time. Saving me from stage falls, tending to me on the bus, bringing me wine. All these acts allowed Conor to play the good guy—a role in the band he’d taken very seriously.

Conor Flynn—the unproblematic one. The Teflon boybander—no scandal ever stuck to him. His stans excused or brushed off any whiff of wrongdoing on his part.