A flicker of something that looked a lot like annoyance passed over Nate’s face. It pinched his mouth and the corners of his eyes, and then it was gone. He started to swing his foot again as he nodded.
“It got up Max’s nose,” he said. “Not far enough, though. He thinks you’re a really delayed rebound. He’s already lined up a list of possible replacements.”
Old scars stood out on Flynn’s knuckles as his hands tightened around the rag. The flash of temper startled him. It was as old as the scars, but there wasn’t a lot that triggered it these days.
“Huh.” He forced his hand to relax and shoved the oily rag in his pocket. “You sure he doesn’t fancy you himself?”
Nate snorted at that idea, although Flynn wasn’t sure he should dismiss it so quickly. Max seemed to be really involved in what his best friend was doing with his penis.
“Anyhow, I’m taking some clients to lunch at the Tax Shelter tomorrow,” Nate said. “I thought you could come along and be a buffer between the mothers.”
“Why would I want to?”
“You probably eat, and it’ll give you a chance to change out of that.”
He did an up-and-down finger wiggle at Flynn’s grease-stained overalls and battered boots. Flynn raised his eyebrows and spread his arms, hands turned palm up in appeal.
“What? You don’t like this?”
Nate pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side so he could take a good look as he thought about it. The tips of his ears flushed, and he shrugged.
“I never said that.” He stood up and swiped lint off his trousers with a quick pass of his hand. “Just that I’m pretty sure the Tax Shelter has a dress code. You know, no oil stains, no steel-toe caps, no utility belts.”
“I’m a mechanic, not Batman.”
Nate grinned with that foxy flash of charm. “I’m going to chauffeur them down from the Granshire. If you want to come, we’ll be at the Tax Shelter about one. I’ve booked a table for six under Moffatt.”
“Six?” Flynn popped the fasteners on his overalls and pulled his arms free of the baggy sleeves. “Progressive wedding.”
Nate laughed and walked backward toward the door with his hands held up in mock dread.
“I wish,” he said. “Parents.”
He tossed a wave over his shoulder on his way through the door. It swung shut behind him. The bell over it rattled tinnily. Flynn picked up his mug of tea as he wondered whether he should go or not.
It wasn’t as if it had somehow turned into a good idea since the clarity of his morning wank. Flynn grimaced and looked down into the mug. The tea had not gotten any warmer.
