“Flynn,” I said just as evenly. I pulled at the soaked material that was stuck to my skin. “Can you get me some napkins?” I asked, irritated that this moment I had been trying to avoid at all costs had happened in the most public and embarrassing way possible.
“Sure. Sorry,” he said quickly, grabbing a stack of napkins from the counter. We had everyone’s attention. I purposefully made eye contact with a few of the gawkers closest to me and they quickly resumed their conversations.
Being the town hot head had its advantages.
Flynn came back and started patting at my chest with napkins. He rubbed over my breasts, trying to mop up the liquid, not aware of the fact that he was essentially groping me.
For a man who didn’t like to be touched, he was spending an inordinate amount of time touching me in an obliviously intimate way.
I snatched the napkins from his hands and took a step back. “I’ve got it,” I said through gritted teeth. Flynn’s cheeks blazed red and he dropped the rest of the pile onto the floor.
“Sorry,” he muttered again.
“Stop saying sorry,” I barked, wiping the rest of the coffee off my bare arms. It was a good thing I was only wearing a tank top. I didn’t have time to go home before my shift, so I was going to have to suffer through six hours of smelling like dried coffee.
“Sorry,” Flynn said again and I snorted. Flynn’s lips quirked as if deciding whether he wanted to smile or not.
We stood there stiffly, the coffee slowly drying into a sticky mess across my skin. I tried not to stare at him, but it was hard. I thought I’d never see him again. I had counted on the fact that I’d never have to be face to face with this confusing, conflicting range of emotions.
He was still cute and unassuming. His shy smile still sweet yet uneasy. He still wore his brown hair messy and longish around his forehead and ears and he was still the only person to ever make me feel edgy and unsure.
I hated that I knew the details of his face. I hated that I knew his favorite television show and the way he ate his cereal (dry and with two spoonfuls of sugar). I hated that I had at one time catalogued these seemingly inconsequential details with a resolute dedication. Because at one time they had mattered.
But the girl that had known these things had died a long time ago. I had destroyed her. Flynn had ruined her. She was six feet under an unyielding earth.
“Mocha latte three sugars,” Flynn muttered, scratching the back of his neck.
“What?” I asked, frowning.
“That’s what you drink. Mocha latte with three sugars. You’d bring it to school in your blue thermos and drink the entire thing before the first bell rang.” Flynn’s flat voice reciting such an innocent detail made my stomach clench.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I blustered, feeling unreasonably annoyed by his recollection.
“It was September third the first time I saw you drinking it and I asked you why you had coffee when it was so hot out. You told me to fuck off.”
For some reason, his words made me flush in embarrassment. His memory sounded about right. I had had very little patience for Flynn’s idiosyncrasies in the beginning of our acquaintance. He had irritated me and thrown me off balance and I had reacted in the only way I had ever been able to…with nastiness.
“How the hell to do you remember stuff like that?” I bit out, flustered. Flynn shrugged but didn’t bother to answer. The door opened behind his back and a woman shoved passed us as we blocked the entrance. She harrumphed under her breath with an irritated expelling of breath.
“Is there a problem?” I asked coldly and the woman’s eyes widened for a moment before scurrying off toward the counter. I had that affect on people.
I turned back to Flynn who had finally lifted his eyes and watched me steadily. He stared at me as though he were studying me. His intense gaze had always made me uncomfortable. I had never been sure how to handle his intense scrutiny and I didn’t know how to handle it now.
I turned my face away, breaking our eye contact. Flynn Hendrick was the only person to ever make me back away. I never hid or ran from conflict. I faced things head on and bulldozed my way through them with an aggressive and self-destructive force.
But Flynn made me retreat.
“I’ve seen you at the community college. Do you go there?” Flynn asked, his voice hovering and halting as he spoke. His inflections were typically off.
“Yeah. I do,” I told him, not offering details.
Flynn frowned. Fine lines at the corner of his eyes crinkled his skin and I found myself watching his face in fascination. I had always found his reactions to be different and oddly interesting. And while he had clearly schooled himself on appropriate emotions over the years, he still came across as stilted and awkward.
“I saw you outside my studio. You were watching me.” I flushed again and this time with mortification. I didn’t know how to respond to his forthright observation but I also felt relief that he wasn’t aware of how often I had looked for him in the past few weeks.
“So?” I mumbled, eyeing the door behind his back, ready to make my quick getaway.
“You used to do that a lot. Watch me draw. I liked it,” Flynn said, his lips turning up into a small smile. He didn’t know how to be anything but honest and not for the first time, I found that refreshing.
