It was her standard goodbye, but Flynn took it with a double meaning. The tips of his ears were flaming when he escaped from the kitchen. “Bye, Mitch!” he called as he nearly ran out of the house.
Back home, he called Bristowe, listening to the ringing and knowing he was about to be dumped into her voicemail. Instead, he hung up and texted her. A few minutes later, she responded she was about to walk out of the office if he wanted to meet her somewhere.
Was it really only a few short weeks ago that he thought she was an untrustworthy human because of her profession? Cops had never been his friend, but this one was different. Not because she let him in her bed, either, but because she didn't pry. He told her only as much as he wanted, that was all.
Jesus, he was working himself up over nothing. Hurrying to put on a clean shirt and leave the house in time to meet her, Flynn did his best to stop the runaway train of his thoughts.
When he saw her through the windows of the restaurant, she was chatting with the person at the greeter stand. Her hair was pulled back in a bun again, but it was fairly hopeless. The glint of bobby pins was visible in the wavy mass, trying desperately to escape its prison. She wore black slacks and a red button down, sensible shoes and her badge on her waist. Nothing about that should have been a turn on, but he found his mouth watering as he walked in.
“Flynn—” she started to say.
He cut her off by wrapping his arms around her back and kissing her. Acutely aware of the presence of the general public, he tried to keep it PG.
Her eyes danced as he pulled back. “And my day was awesome, thanks for asking.”
“We’re ready to seat you.”
Following the server, Flynn tried to focus on something other than the woman beside him. He failed. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, let’s see. I saw my dad over the weekend, worked, and tried to catch up on some TV. You?”
Staring blindly at the menu, he grunted. “Too much, not enough.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Let’s order first, then I’ll talk.”
He meant it, but still. Actually looking at her, being in her presence, made his libido come to life and want nothing more than to pounce. He felt like a randy teen again, not a man who’d matured a few years past that.
As he talked, he was shocked to discover how easy it was to open up to her. He told her about his conversation with Brooks, about Lock moving in with him even though he didn't feel ready for it, and about his fears for Fischer. By the time he was done running his mouth, they’d nearly finished eating.
“You know, you’d make an excellent social worker, Flynn.”
Stunned, he sat back. “Um, what?”
“You would.” Bristowe picked up her wine glass. “You understand the situation these boys are in. It’s not the ‘trained to listen and read between the lines’ type that can identify with these kids, it’s the innate type that comes from living it yourself.”
That thought had never crossed his mind. “It sounds like a lot of work, though.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But would you get more out of life if you chose that path?”
Would he? Was it even worth thinking about? “I don't have the money to go to school for that.”
“You might be right.”
Flynn could tell there was more than what she was saying out loud, but he also assumed she meant not to push. For a woman who never failed to speak her mind, it was an interesting idea. He would give it serious thought, but only once his blood flowed more freely throughout his body. In the meantime, all he wanted was to get her back home.
