“It’s a one-bedroom. So I sleep on the sofa, for a break in rent of course.”
“You sleep on the sofa?”
He nods.
“What do you do with your clothes?”
“I have a big trunk.”
Why does this make me sad? But at the same time, Flynn’s contentment with living the opposite of a glamorous life also makes him more interesting. I love this about him.
“How do you feel about getting a hotel room for the night?” I ask.
“It’s …” He twists his lips for a second before releasing me and stepping backward with a long sigh. “I don’t have a credit card.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
“No.” He scoffs. “I’m not having you pay for it. I’m pretty sure my paycheck is more than yours, and”—he holds up his hands in surrender—“I don’t mean that as an insult. I have no clue whyI’m being paid so much to do absofuckinglutely nothing. But I am.”
“It’s no big deal.” I step toward him, reaching for his hand.
“Well, it is to me.” He pulls away.
Our evening is spiraling—again. So I steer it in a new direction. “I love that about you. What if you give me the cash, but I put it on my card?”
“What if we just go back to your apartment and not give a shit what your roommate thinks?”
“Fine.” I return a tight grin.
“Good answer.” He kisses my forehead.
On the way to the apartment, I steal Flynn’s attention at every stoplight, loosening my seat belt to lean over and kiss his neck.
His hand works its way up my leg, stopping short of touching me where his mouth had been earlier. When we park near my apartment and unbuckle, our mouths crash, the anticipation reaching a fever pitch. My heart might explode.
“Inside,” he mumbles.
I nod, panting more than I do on the bike tours, but we don’t move. He snakes his hand up my shirt, and I rub him on the outside of his jeans. I pull away and blow my hair away from my face, relinquishing a naughty grin. “Let’s go.”
We make it to the door and kiss again. He hikes my legs around his waist and carries me upstairs, stopping several times to kiss me without falling backward. My backthunksagainst the door, his lips demanding, hands palming my ass.
“I think I’m going to love you,” I whisper when Flynn kisses my neck below my ear. “So, just be prepared.”
He lifts his head, eyeing me with an unreadable expression.
My heart sinks.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
Say something. What is he thinking?
“Why wait?” he says.
I might cry because I haven’t been in love like this. I haven’t allowed myself to feel this deeply since the day I was taken on my twenty-first birthday. Routine has made every day simple, a steady wave of emotions. Nothing too high. Nothing too low. Years of self-medicating with monotony and a numbingly boring social life.
“I mean,” he begins, saving me from my drowning thoughts, “I’m not waiting.”
I lean the back of my head against the door and close my eyes, quickly wiping my tears.
