She blushed and looked away, her fingers stiffening, and the air became thick.
“It's okay if you don’t — I don’t know. I could just —”
“I would love to go on a date with you, Dylan,” she interrupted, a smile gracing her face, her eyes trained on him. “I wasn’t sure you actually wanted to go on a date with me.” She laughed, tapping her fingers on the back of the chair, facing him completely.
“Flora,” Dylan scolded. “How could someone not want to take you out: beautiful, passionate, and caring Flora. Get outta here.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. No takebacks; now I have to get ready.”
“Again? You look fine.” She was dressed down, in flared leggings and an oversized t-shirt.Hisoversized t-shirt. Since he noticed that little detail, he really didn’t want her to change.
“You look amazing. Keep this on,” he said, tracing his hand along the hem of the short sleeve.
“Where are we going?” she asked, turning sweetly sick, mischief dancing in her eyes. He bet if he didn’t answer this question correctly, she’d change. What did she consider a t-shirt-worthy event? Tapping the side of his leg, he knew what but debated telling her.
“Let’s stay here,” he began, getting nervous as he went on. “And draw together.”
“I can’t really draw, Dylan.” she said, confused.
“I’ll teach you.”
* * *
“I need help,”Flora pouted; her response to the rising eyebrow on Dylan’s face. “More help.”
The hotel room drawing date was t-shirt worthy (approved by Flora) and off-the-clock approved for Dylan. Moving behind her, he wrapped his arms around her body, placing his fingers over hers. This was in no way helpful to her, but it brought him closer to her physically. They started with shoes — she taught him how to draw shoes, and he taught her how to draw her animal. While learning how to draw would take more than one lesson, Flora was getting the hang of it quickly.
“Okay, I’ll lead,” Dylan murmured, dragging her fingers across the paper. He drew her animal, the black panther, like it was second nature.
“When did you get so good?”
“Practice. I’ve been drawing since I got back.”
“Back from where?” Flora seemed hesitant to ask, and he knew the question would come up eventually, but it hadn't before now.
“You know I was an assassin. I’d do anything for my Pack. When Jackson asked me to join, funds were dangerously low, and it was just the two of us. So, I became an assassin. The pay was more than generous.”
Unmoving, Flora listened, the drawing lesson long gone from her mind. His arms were still wrapped tightly around her.
“I worked with an organization who’d reached out to me when I was barely an adult. Before, there was no purpose for me to join, nothing to fight for. But after joining the Pack, everything changed. Jackson needed me as much as I needed him. So, I went on 30 jobs over the course of seven years.”
He wanted to say more but before the conversation got too real, he wanted to be careful. Scaring her off on the first "date" was not part of the plan.
“How many people have you killed?” Flora wondered, still completely relaxed in his arms.
“Are you sure you want to know? There’s no going back.”
“Yes.”
“Forty-seven.”
“Forty-seven people,” she murmured, dragging her nails in a calming motion down his arm.
“Yeah, forty-seven people.”
“Any guilt?”
“Nope, none.”
