‘Right, I’m putting my boots on.’
‘You’re funny, But that’s not happening. Again, I mean.’
‘That’s cute.’
‘I mean it, Flynn. We can’t keep doing this.’
‘What, you mean we can’t fuck more than once every six months?’ I say, trying to get a rise out of her. A man’s got to get his kicks somewhere.
‘No,’ she answers softly, not taking the bait.
‘Then I guess you’re never gonna know if I can blow myself.’
I find my smile widening at the sound of her snort-giggle andnotat the thought of blowing myself. I’m not interested in the taste of my own dick, unless it’s a part of some kind of girl-to-Flynn transference. Plus, I’m pretty fit but not a fuckin’ yogi.
‘You can’t stop a girl’s imagination, Flynn.’
My reply? Just a groan. A carnal groan. God bless this petite blonde purveyor of porn.
‘My turn,’ she demands, all business again. ‘How’d you get my number?’
‘Chastity, I’ve been inside you twice. Don’t tell me you feel violated by me being able to call you once in a while.’
She sighs. ‘No, that’s not exactly it. I’m just trying to work out who the snake is. The Judas in our mutual social circle.’
‘We have a mutual social circle?’ That’s news to me.
‘It’s more like an oval—imagine a Venn diagram.’ I’d rather imagine her tits in or out of pink lace.I’m not fussy.Sadly, I sense she’s on a roll, and as such, probably not receptive to my preferred topic currently. ‘That little overlap between my circle and yours is pretty small, but someone inhabiting that tiny space is trying to make you and me a thing.’
‘By giving me your phone number?’
‘Exactly!’
‘I don’t know how to break it to you,’ I reply, rubbing a knuckle against the corner of my eye, ‘but no one’s trying to fix us up.’ Though Keir seems to think some kind of relationship between us is inevitable.A man can’t live by one-nighters alone.I’ve done pretty good so far—two for two with Chastity—so it shows what he knows.
‘Then how did you get my number?No onehas my number,’ she repeats in a slightly panicked tone. What the fuck!
‘That can’t be true,’ I half say, half laugh. ‘How else would people contact you? Is there some kind of bat signal I’m supposed to use? A big light I have to install on the roof with a secret sign?’
‘Flynn’, she says gravelly. ‘You remember what I do for a living?’
‘It’s not the kind of thing you forget.’
‘My business is exactly the reason few people have my number. I have a business number too, but I pay an answering service to screen those calls. Do you get what I’m saying?’
‘That you get all kinds of fucked-up calls.’ All levity disappears, my molars suddenly clenched tight as her words settle in my gut like a lead weight.
‘Well, that’s the least of it,’ she answers softly.
Fuck. ‘What else?’
‘This is not a conversation I want to have on a Sunday afternoon. A Sunday afternoon following a delicious brunch and some good company.’
‘Don’t forget the decent flow of cocktails?’
‘Yes, that, too.’
‘Some other time then?’ I press, suddenly needing to know exactly what it is she means as all kinds of bullshit runs through my head. Dirty phone calls? A stalker? Threats?
