‘I’ll cope.’ I don’t miss the way her eyes travel across my chest before touching my exposed biceps.
Feet planted wide, I tighten my hands into fists, not that she could tell. And not that it stops my desire to reach out. Pull her to me. Kiss the snark right out of her mouth.
Jesus, but it’s fucking cold out here. I’d only meant to step out for a minute so hadn’t brought my jacket. No. I’m lying. Chastity had offered to take Juno for a toddle in the playground following lunch, and I’d thought I’d play it cool by drinking my beer and lounging back in my chair. That had lasted about two minutes before I’d followed, trotting behind her like a little dog happy for scraps and a pat on the head. Or penis, in my case. A man has to have aspirations.
But she’s still looking at my pecs, so that’s a good thing, right?
She steps closer. ‘What does your T-shirt say?’
‘What?’ I look down and remember the barely discernible image of a koala bear, just a black outline over navy cotton, the words a little washed out. ‘It saysI’m not a bear.I don’t have the koala-fictations. Marsupial humour.’
Rafferty, my brother and I, have this sort of competition going. We regularly send each other T-shirts with asinine or offensive slogans. The idea is to take a photograph while wearing the T-shirt you’ve been sent, kinda like a dare. And wearing it at home doesn’t count; you have to be out. Raff sent this one when the trade first started. It’s a little tame compared to his most recent delivery. Although it’s a T-shirt encouraging Aussie tourism in the Northern Territories, it’s not one for the kiddie crowd as it states:
CU (in the) NT.
Juno wriggles as Chastity snorts, so she sets her down, stepping closer still, her arms folded across her chest.This is all on her, I think, keeping my hands firmly in place. Still in my fucking pockets.
‘Have you been a fan of the ridiculous T-shirt long?’ she asks mildly. Her eyes smile though her mouth stays the same, those full lips slightly parted.As though she’d like to taste me.
‘Lifelong fan,’ I answer. ‘I might own one or ten a little too risqué for this crowd.’ I gesture to the kids on the swings and their impatient wiggling legs, my poor heart stuttering in shock as she places her palm flat in the middle of my chest. The connection is... everything.
‘Risqué? Flynn?’ She sort of pouts. ‘That can’t be so.’
‘I’m afraid it is. When I decided I was coming to lunch, I grabbed the first one out of the drawer to change. Besides, this one is Sorcha’s favourite.’
‘Why did you decide to come today of all days?’
‘Thought that would be obvious, duchess.’ She looks down at her hand as a crease forms between her perfect brows.
‘If my nipples were any harder, they’d give Chuck Norris a run for his money.’
She doesn’t laugh, just stares at my chest, but then her little finger stretches out, grazing my right nipple. I ball my fists tighter.Jesus fuck.
‘And I can sympathise,’ she whispers.
‘What are we doing here, duchess?’
Her eyes slide to the window and the people inside. ‘They can’t see.’
My heart sinks. ‘Are you worried about being seen with the help?’
‘Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more ridiculous,’ she murmurs, pulling her hand away. ‘For what it’s worth, Flynn,’ she says over her shoulder, ‘you look good with the kids. You ever think you’ll have some of your own?’
‘Fuck, no.’ These are just words delivered without any thought. ‘I’m strictly uncle material, me.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
