Chapter 7
CHASTITY
The third Sunday of every month, Paisley and I meet for brunch. Initially, it had started as a way for me to get her out of the house after her breakup. When I say house, I meanmyhouse as she was staying with me after her fiancé did the dirty deed with another woman. It’s odd to think I barely knew her at the time. Odder still to realise how close we’ve become. This has been a strange year, not bad exactly. I’ve certainly gained a lot from it. Paisley, for one, and, of course, my business, which has gone from strength to strength.Thank goodness for pervy people.I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, but I feel... restless. Sort of unfulfilled. Even as I think these thoughts, I’m chasing them up with how ridiculous it is to admit to them because I have a good life. I own my own home in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I have a thriving business. I have my brother, Max, and Paisley, and by extension, Paisley’s lovely new family, who involve me in their lives greatly. Yet, at times, I still feel like something’s missing.
Maybe it’s my looming thirtieth birthday. Maybe it’s the shock of finding Flynn standing on my doorstep. Or maybe it’s my screwing him again.Why is it, even when he’s not speaking, I feel like he’s teasing me?I’m so not going to think about him. I’m not going to remember how shocking it felt to be reminded how big he is. How manly. In an age where men are waxed from the scrotum up, Flynn is a welcome anomaly. And when he runs a hand across the stubble on his jaw, I can literally hear knickers in a five-mile radius dropping to the floor.
Maybe Max isn’t the only one suffering a quarter life crisis, even if that can’t quite be mathematically correct in my case.I’m more like a third.
‘Am I late?’
I look down at the latte glass in my hands, my mind a beat behind Paisley’s words. ‘No,’ I answer with a slight dazed shake of my head. ‘I was at a loose end, so I came early.’
I watch as she unfurls a lengthy floral scarf from her neck before sliding onto the banquette opposite me. Her complexion is rosy, and though the weather is a little brisk, I know the flush in her cheeks has nothing to do with the weather.
‘That’s not like you. You’re never not busy. And coffee?’ With a slight frown, she looks down at my almost empty glass.
‘I wasn’t going to start on the booze without you.’
She shrugs off my response, pausing for a beat to examine me. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ In answer, I raise one brow as I lower my now empty glass to the saucer. ‘You saw,’ she says, her soft American accent tinged with accusation.
‘Sweets, the whole restaurant saw.’ I wouldn’t be able to bite back my smile even if I wanted to. ‘That was some kiss. And when I say kiss, I mean—’
‘A mauling.’ Her shoulders hunch as though anticipating a blow.
‘I was going to say a fantastic display of frottage but mauling also works.’
‘Oh, my God. I can’t believe I let him do that.’ Hands on her heated cheeks, there isn’t a hint of regret in her words. Just a little embarrassment.
‘Let him? It looked to me like you were pretty complicit in that whole bump and grind.’ Maybe that’s what has me in a funk, watching Paisley and Keir be so into each other, they forgot about the passing world. ‘It looked like a precursor to sex—an appetiser course before the main meal.’
‘Actually, it was more like a palate cleanser between courses.’ Her eyes sparkle with the admission. ‘And I plan on returning to the buffet table many, many times over the course of today.’
‘Someone has a child-free Sunday,’ I tease. Paisley married Keir, the serious Scotsman who swept her off her feet last year—totally unfazed by the fact he has sole custody of his daughter. Sorcha must be eight or nine years old and a bit of a livewire. I do wonder if my best friend will be as chill when her stepdaughter hits her teen years.
‘Sorcha’s with her grandparents. All. Day.’ She comically widens her eyes.
‘You should’ve said. We could’ve met for brunch another weekend.’
‘No way. A plan is a plan. Besides, it’s just business as usual, if you know what I mean. We just get to be a little more creative and a little less furtive when Sorcha isn’t around.’
‘Tell me more,’ I reply, propping my elbow on the table between us, my palm cupping my jaw. I might flutter my lashes innocently for good measure. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m always on the hunt for new material. That the things they say and do, the stories they tell, are fair game in front of me. I imagine it must be the same as being an author. We all have to get our material from somewhere.
‘No way,’ she repeats, this time her words wavery with a barely suppressed giggle. ‘Get your sexy scenarios someplace else. It’s bad enough that a dozen people saw my husband dry hump me against the side of the car.’
‘After he helped you from it,’ I supply. Keir is a man who takes care of those he loves, and he loves Paisley a whole lot. ‘He was every inch the gallant until...’ I allow my words to trail off, thinking better of mentioning the fact that the restaurant and I got a glimpse of her stocking tops as her husband trailed his hand up her outer thigh, dragging her woollen dress higher as it travelled. Not that I’d be complaining were I in her stockings, not that I have a thing for Keir. But to have someone look at you like that—need you like that—must be heavenly.
I’ve no idea why my mind seems to think it’s appropriate to remind me of Flynn’s wicked sapphire gaze at this moment.The persuasion and the challenge.Probably because of the fact that any climax I’ve reached recently, while few and far between, has been down to him. I feel myself frown as I push the thought away. I thought yesterday might’ve reset the blip in my system. Unfortunately, it hasnot.
‘That’s Keir.’ Paisley’s words bring me back to the moment with a snap. ‘He’s always a gentleman. Until he isn’t.’
‘If it helps, this place is quiet today. Not to mention, you looked like you were enjoying it.’
‘If I find this as the basis of one of your films...’ Paisley points a warning finger in my direction. ‘I’ll be very unhappy.’
‘You should be so lucky,’ I reply, which is pretty much bullshit. I’ve already slipped the sexy little snippet into my work bank. Not to be confused with my wank bank.
‘Speaking of being lucky,’ she says, ‘What’s going on with Flynn?’
