Too ready sometimes, but that was chipped teeth under the bridge.
“Because I told you to?”
For a second he thought Mac was going to call his bluff—not that he couldn’t take the kid in a fight. It would be one way to vent his frustrations, but he didn’t particularly want to. In the end the threat of it was enough. Mac backed down resentfully.
“Fine,” he muttered sourly. “Let’s rescue the bloody goat.”
Flynn relaxed his face into a smirk. “You can still tell people you rescued a kid,” he pointed out as he shook the twists out of his rope. “They’ll jump to the same conclusions.”
If Mac didn’t seem to take much comfort in that, it wasn’t Flynn’s fault.
A HOURand one more complicated rescue than he’d anticipated later, Flynn limped back down toward the farm. He was carrying the goat this time, after Harris let it slip out of his arms fifteen minutes before and the squirmy little devil threw itself back down the hole. It had taken its name a bit too much to heart.
“Sorry,” Harris said again from behind him. At that point it wasn’t entirely clear what part of the night he was apologizing for.
The goat squirmed and kicked at Flynn with hard, sharp little hooves. Itblattedits displeasure with the whole situation through a mud-covered muzzle. Flynn hoisted it up under his arm. “We got him out in the end,” Flynn said.
Mac picked mud out of his ear and grunted sourly. His mood hadn’t improved. But at least it had stopped raining. As they got down toward the fence, the security light over the back door clicked on and flooded the space with light. The back door opened, and Nate stepped out. He was grinning, or maybe it was more of a smirk, but he did come bearing cups.
“I thought I told you to stay inside,” Flynn grumbled as Nate met them at the gate.
“Rebecca asked me if I wanted some coffee. Speaking of which….” Nate held out a cup to Flynn. “Milk, all the sugar.”
Flynn handed Bilbo to Harris—who muttered a final apology and stumbled off to the barn—and replaced the goat with the hot mug. It wasn’t that cold a night. It was damp and the air was mild, but the mud and the rain had sucked the heat out of Flynn. His fingers were chilled enough that the heat against his skin actually hurt. “Thanks.”
Nate gave Flynn a quick up-and-down look, from muddy boots to muddy hair, and then glanced at Harris’s squirming burden. “I guess you found out for yourself that Bilbo’s a goat, then?”
“Fuck off,” Mac spat. He squared up to Nate. Mac was slightly shorter and a lot more solid. “You think this is fucking funny?”
Instead of backing down or apologizing, Nate tilted his head and gave a fox-like smile that hid more than it revealed. “I do,” he said.
Flynn grabbed Mac’s shoulder before he could throw the punch that jerked his elbow up. He could sympathize with the urge, but he kind of liked the face under the smirk.
“Don’t be an idiot.” He felt no obligation to be clear who he was talking about. “Mac. Go pack up your car and go home. I’ll see you tomorrow to rip strips off Dispatch. Okay?”
He kept hold of Mac’s shoulder and pressed his fingers hard against his collarbone until Mac deflated and nodded his agreement. A shove sent Mac on his way with an angry glance tossed back over his shoulder as he stamped over to his Fiesta.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Flynn said.
“What?” Nate asked.
Escalate the situation. Play right into Mac’s stereotypes of the Granshire lot. Poke the younger man right in his pride, all the time hiding behind that smirk like it didn’t matter.
“Be a dick.” Flynn figured that covered all of the above.
The polished composure slid off Nate’s face and left the hint of a scowl. “I’ve found that backing down never actually makes people leave you alone,” he said.
“I won’t always be here to save your ass.”
Nate gave him a wry look. “I can take care of myself.”
“Really? When was the last time you were in a fight?” Flynn asked skeptically as he drained the last of the coffee and pushed his legs into moving again. The brief pause had been long enough for the strained muscle in his thigh to tighten. Shit. He limped across the garden to leave the cup on the back window.
“Not since I learned how to take a punch and call 9-9-9,” Nate said. He tentatively touched the small of Flynn’s back and tucked his hand under the jacket so Flynn could feel the heat of his fingers through his T-shirt. “You okay?”
Flynn couldn’t deny it felt good—the nudge of a shoulder against his, the offer of support if he needed it, hell, even the concern that wasn’t based on whether or not he’d be able to do his job tomorrow. It felt warm, and he caught himself wanting to lean into it.
Except it wasn’this.It was just basic humanity and an interest in being able to finish playing the bad boy for the climax of Nate’s self-destructive little passion play. That was fine. It wasn’t as though Flynn hadn’t signed up for the role with a clear idea of what Nate wanted.
If he started to pretend otherwise, he’d fuck up both their lives.
“I’m fine.” Flynn stepped away from Nate, his back chilly where Nate’s fingers had rested, and took the last hitching strides to the jeep. “But I think the date’s over for tonight. I’ll drop you off back in town.”
Lying to himself or not, he couldn’t help but be disappointed that Nate didn’t argue.
