Page 6 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

“Will you do anything to be a co-headliner instead of taking second billing?”

That’s one thing about my wild plan I didn’t regret. It boosted Conor’s profile on this tour.

Conor twisted the silver ring on his right middle finger. I didn’t have to see it to know what it was. All the Five2 members, except Conor, had gotten the Roman numeral LII tattooed on their bodies. As a concession, Conor had gotten the number engraved on a ring, and he was still wearing that ring—and still twirling it when he got uncomfortable.

“I’ll go along with pretty much anything if it helps my career—I mean, nothing illegal. The lads and I have sort of been discussing a reunion tour, and I want to put myself in a good position to increase the likelihood of that happening.”

My mouth rounded into an O. “I haven’t seen any news about that. The Five2 fandom will go wild.”

“Shh.” He put his finger to his lips—and I flashed on how soft those lips felt against mine. “I don’t want to be the bad guy if it doesn’t come off. Jay hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

“My lips are sealed, but my heart is racing.” I fanned myself with one hand.

He squinted at me. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you, Nollaig.”

My heart raced even faster at the nickname he used to call me—the Irish word for Christmas—a play on Noelle.

“I am not. If I ever got the opportunity to work on the promo for that tour...” I kissed the tips of my fingers “...I’d be a made woman.”

Shoving a hand in his pocket, he said, “Still ambitious, I see. This tour will be good for your career.”

“Only if it works out well for Ashley.” I held up my finger with my newly manicured nail. “If it doesn’t, I’m toast. So, be a good boybander and play along.”

Was that a wobble in my voice? I placed my hand against my throat.

Conor ran his thumb along the scruff shadowing his jaw. “Are we good, Noelle?”

He heard the wobble.

“Good.” I shoved my non-existent glasses up the bridge of my nose. “Good. Yeah. Couldn’t be better. Great. You?”

“I mean...” he grabbed the back of his neck “...we ended things kind of suddenly.”

Suddenly? My longing for him lasted months, maybe even years. It didn’t feel sudden to me. Or was he referring to the way he cut me when Five2 headed to Australia for their first overseas tour? I never even got a g’day out of that one. Not one shrimp on the barbie.

Flipping my hair over one shoulder, I said, “You left for Australia and then New Zealand and then South America. Baker Street wouldn’t have assigned a junior member of the team, like I was, to any concerts outside of the UK. Talk about long distance.”

That didn’t explain why he never called or texted me...or why he never responded to my texts.

“I guess I figured we’d keep in touch, but you were busy with your career—and that other stuff.” He circled his hand in the air in a vague wave to encompass the other stuff.

I didn’t even know what he meant. My career? I’d been willing to give it all up for him. I’d approached Gordon Cooper, head of Baker Street, at the time and told him I wanted to follow Conor to Australia, knowing full well I’d have to give up my dream job to do it.

Once I’d made my intentions clear, everyone, including my father, did their best to dissuade me from trading my profession from PR assistant to groupie. Even Conor. How did he not remember that?

I cleared my throat. “It was a crazy time—for both of us.”

He shoved his hair from his face and emerged with a grin. “Glad that’s settled and out of the way. Now we can get down to the business of delivering a successful tour—for both of us.”

Settled and out of the way. I wish. I was more unsettled, and he was more in the way than ever. I swallowed. “Of course. Sure. Successful for everyone.”

“I’m going to look over some songs.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now that I’m co-headlining, I’m going to see if I can add a few to my set.”

“Good idea.” I laughed for no reason and thrust out my hand. “Looking forward to working with you...again.

Nothing could be further from the truth and when he grabbed my hand, that statement became an even bigger lie, as the warmth of his skin against mine and the callouses on his fingertips from playing his guitar almost brought me to my knees.

Realizing my mistake, I tried to tug my hand back, but he squeezed it, intensifying our connection. Did he feel it? One more pull, and I’d fall into him and never stop.