‘Honestly, you two,’ Hills huffs. ‘I’m off to get the coconut oil.’
‘Is that for you or him or for you both?’ she calls after him.
‘You really shouldn’t tease him like that,’ I say, rifling in my bag for my notebook.
‘Me?’ Paisley squeaks. ‘You’re the one who likened him to a fat kid. If he sulks about anything, it’ll be the insult to his waistline.’ She’s right. When Paisley and I grab a wrap or sandwich for lunch, Hills always has a salad. Always. I’m not sure whether to believe him or not when he says he hasn’t had carbs since 2009.
‘So... ’ Paisley’s change of tone in that one word is enough to make me turn and run. ‘You and Flynn, huh?’
‘Me and Flynn what?’
‘Don’t play coy with me. I saw how you were on Sunday. I thought for at least one minute I might need to intervene. I mean, Mac is a big guy, but you know my money will always be on you in any sort of conflict.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, abandoning my quest and moving to fiddle with one of the lights, which is Hillary’s job, not mine. But something tells me this should be a conversation wedon’thave face to face. But at least she didn’t mention seeing me touching his chest.
‘I’m talking about the way you looked at Mac. Let’s just say we were all pleased we weren’t him. You looked pissed!’
‘I think you need glasses,’ I murmur, moving to adjust the settings on the other light.
‘Or not,’ she says, following me.
‘Don’t you have makeup brushes or something to wash?’
‘You’re like the quintessential momma bear when it comes to your friends. Fiercely protective and ready to throw down in defence of them. But what I don’t know is, has Flynn’s been moved into the stable as a temporary guest, like a lover? Or for good, like a friend.’
Taking her by the arm, I pull her to the other side of the room. ‘What do you want me to tell you?’ I ask quietly. ‘That we slept together again? Because we did. But we are not a thing. Not by any stretch of the imagination.’
‘That’s what we all say. Look at Keir and me,’ she says with a grin.
‘That’s different,’ I reply, a hint of pleading in my voice.
‘Is it? I don’t see how.’
‘We’re not compatible, for a start. Not in the relationship sense, anyway.’
‘What brought you to that conclusion?’ she asks, twirling a lock of hair around her fingertip.
‘Well, he’s younger than me, for a start.’
‘No, he isn’t? Not really.’
‘Not—he either is or he isn’t,’ I respond, matching her frown.
‘Looks to me like you haven’t taken the time to find out,’ she responds slyly. ‘Too busy, huh?’
‘Just.. . don’t, okay?’
‘Why? What exactly have you got against him?’
On a good day? All of me. Naked and pressed up to him from the strong lines of his thighs to the comforting coarseness of the hair on his chest. Not that I say any of that.
‘His age, for one thing,’ I repeat.
‘For God’s sake, he’s twenty-nine!’
‘And I’ll be thirty soon.’Not thinking about it. Soo not thinking about it.
‘Whoopdee-frickin’-do!’
