‘How can we be friends,’ I mumble, ‘when we don’t even like each other?’
‘Duchess, how can you say that! I like you,’ he says, his hands falling to grip mine. ‘How can you not like me?’
‘Well, you’re very annoying. And you have terrible taste in porn.’ The latter is mumbled against the coarse hairs of his chest as he pulls me in, banding my back with his strong arms.
‘Next time, we’ll compare. How about that?’
‘I didn’t say there was even going tobea next time yet.’
‘No, but you will.’ He kisses the top of my head, pulling away. ‘Gonna see if I can rinse the fig juice out of my T-shirt.’
‘Did you get the bus here?’
At the door to my bathroom, Flynn turns with a quizzical expression. ‘Are you asking if I got the bus, holding a pizza? And a motorbike helmet?’ His mouth twitches, presumably to restrain his smile.
‘Who’s going to see the stain on your T-shirt if you’re riding a bike?’
‘The way I ride? No one. But I’m also going out.’
He doesn’t elaborate, and he looks totally suspect as he turns, walking into the bathroom. I can’t help but feel annoyed. Men can be such twats. I’m sure women can, too, but given the fact that I’ve never dated a woman, the point is moot. I stomp out of my bedroom, my mood having taken a slide, but at the top of the stairs, I note my jeans slung over the bannister, and I remember I’mnotdating Flynn. He doesn’t need to tell me...things.
