“Whoa, whipping out the French.” Flynn leans forward across the table, the move seeming almost unconscious. “I have no clue what you said, but it sounded hot.”
“You really did scrape by with that C in French by copying off me, didn’t you?” I ask.
“Damn straight.” He tastes the festive rainbow drink, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip to catch a stray droplet. “It obviously stuck for you though.”
“I did a year studying abroad in Paris, actually. The city is beautiful and what they say about the men is true.” I add a flirty grin so he catches my drift.
“Oh yeah? What makes the Parisian men so special?” He holds my gaze for a long moment, heat and electricity passing between us.
“Their passion,” I answer, remembering many nights of being kissed breathless by men who I could just barely hold a conversation with. “And their sense of romance.”
“Interesting.” Flynn takes another long sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re probably used to being swept off your feet by men eager to impress you.”
I scoff. “Men eager to use me up and toss me aside,” I correct. “What about you?”
He winces. “I hate to say it, but I’m probably on the other end of that equation most of the time.”
“You don’t have many serious boyfriends?” I ask, careful to keep my voice even. Learning that he lives within two hours of me likely made me more hopeful than I should be. Just because I knew everything about Flynn fifteen years ago doesn’t mean I know jack shit about adult Flynn. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.
“None,” he answers.
None. Got it. Don’t get attached. That’s what he wants me to know.
His foot bumps against mine under the table, and then his calf, skin warm, the coarseness of his leg hair grating against mine. The simple connection is like a jolt straight between my legs, and the grin on his lips tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Whatever happens this week happens. I amsoalong for the ride.
****
“Oh my god, that was so good,” I groan, wiping my mouth and tossing my used napkin down on my empty plate a short time later.
“I’ll pass along your compliment to Chef Storm,” Hennessy says, picking up our plates.
“Storm?” Flynn repeats.
“Everyone calls him that because the last thing you want to do is get caught up in one of his rages,” he says wisely. I raise both eyebrows at him. That sounds ominous. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he hurries to reassure me. “He’s just…” His cheeks pink and he looks down at the small stack of plates and silverware he just made. “He’s passionate, that’s all.”
“Well, sounds like we definitely want to be on his good side, so tell him the meal was incredible,” I say, and Hennessy smiles.
“Will do.”
He turns to walk away, but Flynn calls after him before he can get far. “Hey, any recommendations for a fun way to spend the night around here?”
The waiter cocks his head to one side, quirking his lips in areally?kind of grin, darting his eyes back and forth between the two of us. I snort a laugh into my nearly empty glass.
“When you leave here, turn left and then walk north up the street until you see the obnoxiously big beach houses. Those rentals have private beach access. That’s where thebestparties are.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Flynn says, pulling out his wallet and stuffing several bills into the check fold on the table.
“Have fun.” Hennessy gives us one last grin and then disappears.
“So, you up for crashing a beach party?”
“Count me in.” I reach for my wallet to pay for my half of the meal, but he puts his hand out to stop me.
“I’ve got it. You can owe me one tomorrow.”
The promise of more one-on-one time is perfect with me, so I put my wallet away and stand up, more than ready to go see what kind of trouble the two of us can manage to get up to for the rest of the night.
