“I’m not sure,” I say, combing my fingers through my hair that’s wavy from being in a braid all day. Ally will ask too many questions about a “muse.” And explaining something I don’t understand yet, will cause me to run late.
“Be safe. I want all the details when you get home. Unless you stay the night at his place.” She rinses her razor.
“I’ll be home by ten thirty. And if I’m not, call the police.”
“Do you have pepper spray?”
“Of course,” I holler as I grab my bag from my room and head to the door. “Byeeee.”
My flip-flops slap the concrete stairs to the exit next to the salon on the ground level below our apartment. When my ride pulls up to the curb, I push open the secured door, then anxiously hop into the back of the vehicle.
Ten minutes later, I arrive at Sebastian Joe’s. Flynn’s outside, hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans which look brand-new compared to the ripped, stained jeans he had on earlier. His dark wavy hair slides into his eyes when he glances up as my driver stops. He pushes it out of his eyes with a smooth swipe of his hand. Flynn is sexy in a mysterious way that both intrigues me and feels like a red flag at the same time.
“You didn’t chicken out,” he says when I step out of the car.
“Funny. I was just getting ready to say the same thing to you.” I slip my phone into my crossbody bag, then adjust my black, fitted crop top.
Flynn gives me a slow, appreciative appraisal that makes me blush when his gaze finally settles on my face.
“I only brought enough money for single scoops,” he says, opening the door.
“I can pay.” I giggle at his comment and the way I have to wedge past him to get inside, like it’s his goal to make me brush up against him.
“That would make me a prick,” he says.
“Would it, though?” I turn and playfully squint at him.
He adjusts the collar of his short-sleeved shirt. I reach for the back of it, finding a tag attached with a gold safety pin, the way nicer stores tag their clothes.
“Leave it,” he says, tucking it into the shirt. “My boss took me shopping after I saw you. But if I get fired, I’m returning the clothes. They’re worth at least three months’ rent.”
My smile falters for a second as I realize he’s not joking.
Not about the shirt.
Not about one scoop of ice cream.
“What can I get you?” The teenage girl behind the counter asks.
Flynn gestures for me to order first.
“I’ll have a single scoop of the salty caramel in a cup, please.”
“A scoop of peanut butter,” Flynn says. “In a cone.”
I smile at him, and he smiles back for a second before quickly blurting out, “Please!”
I suppress my laughter as he digs money from his pocket. It’s crumpled and faded like it’s been through the laundry.
She gives him change and scoops our ice cream.
“Thank you,” I say when he holds open the door again so we can sit at a café table outside.
“You’re welcome.” He licks his ice cream.
“Do you live nearby?” I ask.
Flynn shakes his head before taking another lick. “It’s too early to say. I don’t know if I can trust you yet. Ask me again before you head home.”
