The waitress comes to take our orders, but my blood pressure refuses to come down. So I drink—great mouthfuls of wine. I drink to keep my mouth occupied, and I drink to keep the thoughts at bay.
‘Duchess, chill out,’ Flynn murmurs as more wine and beers are delivered to the table. ‘You look like you’re about to go off like a cat in a wheelie bin.’ I turn my head to him and blink as I try to process his words. ‘Stop plotting Mac’s murder. I’m big enough to take care of myself.’ My eyes roam to the swelling under his right eye, the discolouration and swelling, though I refrain from pointing out his injury points to the opposite.Rugby is a violent game,I silently remind myself. Not that it has any effect on how I feel. And how I feel is... unwelcome. I don’t want to care about him any more than I would a stranger in the street. No, that’s not fair. I do care. I care in general about a lot of things and a lot of people, but it doesn’t alter the fact that I don’t want to feel this way abouthim.
‘I was on the opposition, and I might’ve let my mouth run a bit.’
I turn my head swiftly. ‘Thatdoesn’t surprise me one bit. But,’ I carry on, my words a quiet hiss as my glare cuts to Mac, who’s currently bouncing a delighted Louis on his knee as the little boy relays some story about a snail he found outside in the playground. ‘It’s supposed to be a game, not a boxing match.’
Unfortunately, my hiss is a little loud, and all eyes turn to our side of the table.
‘Y’ken, it’s like this,’ Mac begins with a wry expression. ‘Due to the presence of women and wee ones at this table, I can’t tell you what he said to provoke such a tackle. And it was a tackle. I did’nae elbow him in the face or anything.’
‘He’s right,’ Flynn says, beginning to shuck out of his coat. A navy overcoat this time, the kind that city gents wear over suits. Hitting mid-thigh and teamed with jeans and those rugged boots, he looks every bit as good.Okay, infinitely better.
Hooking his coat over the back of the chair, he shoots me a wink. ‘I deserved it for the way I spoke about Mac’s balls.’
Our tablemates start to chuckle, doubly so as Louis pipes up, ‘Yes, because my daddy has funny shaped balls.’ His gaze flicks around the table, his little face scrunched in a frown.‘Tu ne me crois pas?’ he asks, slipping into French.
‘Si,’ Ella answers, wiping away an escaped tear. ‘Of course, we all believe you, Louis.’
‘Bon. Because my daddy has very funny shaped balls—rugby balls.’
‘Louis, you cheated!’ Sorcha, Paisley’s stepdaughter, appears at the end of the table. Fists curled, she stamps her foot. ‘Inside was out of bounds.’
Louis theatrically slaps his head. ‘I forgot we were playing hide and go seek.’
She isn’t cross long as her gaze falls to Flynn. ‘You came!’ she exclaims, dodging between our chairs and throwing herself into his arms, narrowly missing his swollen eye.
‘Ratbag!’ he says, ruffling her blonde hair.
‘Scumbag!’ she responds with equal delight.
‘Looks like I’ve graduated.’ He chuckles, covering her ears with his hands. ‘One step up from bawbag,’ he says, looking directly at Keir.
‘Why’d you cover my ears.’ Sorcha pulls away with a stern look. ‘I heard you anyway. And I heard my daddy call you that naughty name over the phone.’
‘Thank you, Sorch,’ Flynn answers, holding out his hand for a high five. ‘I’m adding that to my nice little blackmail file ’cause I’m pretty sure your dad doesn’t want to end up in an employment tribunal.’
‘What’s a tribunal?’ she asks, reciprocating as his gaze cuts to Keir.
‘About twenty grand,’ her father deadpans.
‘Oh, good.’ Sorcha bounces up onto Flynn’s splayed knees. ‘Half of twenty is ten. I’m going to be rich!’
‘Sorch is collecting the evidence.’
‘Yes, because Flynn said he would split his payout with me.’
The table erupts into laughter again.
Chapter 16
FLYNN
‘You know what I don’t understand?’
I lean my body close to Chastity’s, though keep my hands in my pocket and, therefore, to myself. I know she likes me touching her in general; back strokes, and cuddles, and my fingers tight on her hips. She’s tactile. But right now, I’m not so sure she’d appreciate the contact given that we seem to be a source of fascination for the gawkers pretending not to look. Yeah, that lot just beyond the window.
Cock-blocking bastards.
