Page 50 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

Just Jay and I remained out in the cold—still searching, still making mistakes. At least I was. Jay had shut himself away, probably avoiding further fuckups.

I stopped a server carrying a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne peeking out the top. “Excuse me, luv. Is there a VIP section in the club?”

She tilted her head up the stairs to a roped-off loft overlooking the floor. “Come with me. I’m surprised you’re a baseball fan.”

“Baseball?” I followed her upstairs, ready to catch her in case she tripped, but she’d obviously done this loads of times—total pro.

When we reached the top of the stairs, a security guard unhooked the rope, and the server nodded at me and said, “Conor Flynn. He’s good to go.”

I stepped into the lounge area behind the server, and my gaze darted among the crowd of people, drinking and laughing. I didn’t see anyone from the tour. I didn’t even recognize the fellas taking up space on the sofas and dwarfing cocktail tables in the corner. Wait. The one guy with the huge biceps sucking on a cigar on the patio looked familiar.

A woman in a short, silver dress grabbed my arm. “Were you at the Padres game? Didn’t realize you liked baseball, Conor.”

Baseball. San Diego Padres. I’d stumbled into the wrong VIP lounge.

“Think I’m in the wrong place.” I took a few steps back, even with the security guard. “Is there another VIP lounge, mate?”

“How many do you celebs want in one club?” He narrowed his eyes. “This is it.”

“Alright then. I’m here to meet a different group.” I patted the railing. “Mind if I stand here for a minute and scope out the bar?”

“Knock yourself out.” He leaned forward so far with his big belly pressed against the railing, I thought he was gonna break through. “There’s an area with booths just beyond the stairs. You can’t see it from here. Your party might be down there.”

“Thanks, mate.”

I jogged down the stairs and made a U-turn when I got to the first floor. Large, dark leather booths gave this space a more subdued vibe, but the picture windows made it less claustrophobic than the main bar area. And more public.

I moved forward, glancing into each booth, startling complete strangers.

“Conor!”

I’d recognize that cute American accent anywhere—and those big brown eyes behind the glasses peering at me above the top of a booth. Must be a small group if they were all bunched at one table.

When I drew alongside the table, I blinked at the sole occupant of the booth—Noelle. I peeked into the booth behind her to make sure the rest of the group hadn’t just left her to sit on her own. A couple, mid-argument, game me a dirty look.

Draping my arm over Noelle’s booth, I asked, “Am I too late? Early?”

She shrugged, toying with the stem of her nearly full wine glass. “Shanice told me to be here from around nine to eleven. I got here about ten, just about fifteen minutes ago. I haven’t seen anyone yet. Maybe they all moved onto another club already and didn’t tell us.”

“I’m gonna skip that.”

“Me too.” She took a sip of her wine and asked, “Are you going to stay? Or...you don’t have to stay.”

My gaze dropped to her wine-stained lips, and I could almost taste their sweetness. “Yeah, I’ll have a glass of wine with you.”

“Wine? No Guinness tonight?”

I slid into the booth across from her and pinged her glass. “I feel like a red wine tonight.”

The cocktail waitress placed a napkin on the table in front of me. “Did I hear you say red wine? Do you want to see the wine list?”

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

Noelle lifted the glass and the low lights glimmered on the surface of the burgundy liquid and reflected in her eyes, giving her a dreamy look. “You sure you don’t want a taste first?”

“I already know what it tastes like.” I swept my tongue along my lower lip.

Noelle’s eyes widened, and she removed her glasses. “I thought you were more of a connoisseur than that. You don’t even know if this is a cab, merlot, pinot noir...”