“Great,” he said. His second breath was appropriately floral, enough to tickle the back of his sinuses. He cleared his throat. “Let me know when you have some idea what flowers you’ll be using. Please?”
“Sure,” Mahdi said. “Don’t hold your breath, though. Won’t be until later.”
Nate shrugged his surrender and turned to leave. He was halfway out the door when Mahdi called after him. “If he’s not a sex worker,” he asked. “What did he do time in prison for?”
“He didn’t,” Nate snapped over his shoulder. He slammed the door behind him. It made the whole structure rattle, or it felt like it did. Nate was pretty sure Mahdi tossed a curse word his way.
Of course, he couldn’t swear that Flynn wasn’t an ex-con. It wasn’t like they’d had a chance to talk about his career last night when Nate’s libido took the wheel. For all he knew, a jail termwaswhy Flynn was back on the island.
Maybe he should ask more questions. As an obstacle to Nate’s lighthouse-guesthouse plans, and occasionally a fondly revisited wank fantasy, Flynn had never needed that much biographical detail. But now that Flynn was his pretend boyfriend, Nate supposed he should show a bit more interest. After all, he was supposed to be the catch in the relationship.
His phone was already in his hand, two items on his to-do list marked as done, when it rang.
