“I don’t think so. But thanks.”
Flynn studies me for a second. “If it’s about the money, I’ll pay.”
I shoot him an exasperated look and walk into the living room. Capone is curled up on the couch, snoozing hard. “Don’t go there, Flynn. You’ve done too much for me already.”
“Come on, Rowan. It’s just a movie... and maybe some popcorn.”
“No, thanks,” I say firmly. “Besides... I do have to run an errand today.”
I head down the hallway, walking into Flynn’s room. The second day here, I cleaned his room from top to bottom, and he has amazingly kept it clean since then. I open his closet and grab his clothes hamper.
When I turn, Flynn is right there and grabs the hamper from me. “Need a ride for your errand?”
He walks out of his room and heads back to the kitchen, setting the basket down in front of the stacked washer/dryer unit that takes up the majority of his pantry.
“Thanks,” I mumble in appreciation for carrying the hamper for me. Although, it sort of defeats the purpose of me earning my keep. “But I don’t need a ride. I can take the train.”
“Okay,” he says, but I can tell he’s disappointed. “Where are you going?”
I hesitate, because I know Flynn won’t like where I’m going. The old Rowan would have come up with a lie. It would have flown from my lips without a second thought and without a trace of guilt. But I can tell my friendship with Flynn is important because I don’t want to lie to him.
I start sorting through his laundry, throwing the whites in the washer. “I’m actually going to get some money that’s owed to me... at the bar where I used to work. They owe me a paycheck.”
One of the things I like best about Flynn is that he doesn’t get mad, or angry, or loud... especially when he has reason to. He merely raises his eyebrows at me and says, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Juice could be waiting for you.”
His calm reasoning helps. It’s something I’ve thought about a lot and it’s what has put me off from heading to Zeke’s before now. But Zeke owes me about three hundred bucks and that could go a long way toward paying some expenses to Flynn.
“I know,” I answer. “But I need that money. I figure if I go early in the day, chances of Juice being there are slim. He’s like a vampire...loves the night too much.”
“Well, I’ll come with you—just in case.”
“Absolutely not,” I tell him emphatically.
Flynn turns away and heads back toward the bathroom, no doubt to take a shower. “Try to stop me,” he says over his shoulder. “And if you try to leave out of here while I’m in the shower, you won’t like it once I catch up to you.” His tone is firm, slightly menacing, and the alpha nature is a little hot.
Okay... a lot hot!
I open my mouth to yell out a retort but I hear the bathroom door shut and realize it would be useless.
Flynn will be in the bathroom for only about ten minutes. He always showers fast and doesn’t shave on his days off.
Weird... the things I’m coming to know about him.
I glance at the clock that hangs on the kitchen wall, calculating if I can get down to the train station before Flynn catches up to me.
Probably not.
10
I think my head may seriously be fucked up.
Otherwise... why would I be sitting on this train, seriously contemplating grabbing Rowan and plunging my hands into her hair? Why do I have this almost insane urge to pull her to me for a kiss? Why is this woman plaguing all of my thoughts?
Watching her now, she’s completely oblivious to how I feel. I’ve tried to be very careful with my feelings, which have morphed from concerned bystander, to over-protective friend, to someone who now wants nothing more than to immerse myself in her body.
No, that’s not exactly right. I mean—I do want her. Badly. I jerked off in the shower thinking about her this morning, imagining her going down on me with the hot water pouring all around us.
But it’s more than that. So much more.
I thought Rowan was brought into my life because she was broken and needed fixed. I know that is exactly why I offered her help, why I opened my home to her. I was trying to make up for all the ways in which I failed Marney. There is no way I can ever completely atone for that, but my warped sense of justice makes me try to add up all the checks in the “Flynn Does Some Good” column, and hope they can get me close to being even.
That’s what I thought about Rowan—at first. But over the past three days, I’m starting to realize something.
She’s not broken. Not in the slightest.
Oh, she’s dinged up a bit. And she’s clearly been through things that have damaged her. But whatever has happened in her past, it has created a person that is strong and independent. She’s not broken—she’s just a bit hard.
And now I’m obsessed with softening her up.
The past three days, we have settled into an easy friendship. She’s actually lightened up, and our relationship just feels natural. Unfortunately, this has made it easy for me to look past the circumstances that brought Rowan into my life, and look toward circumstances that may keep her there.
She intrigues me and I want to know more about her.
I have to know more about her.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
Forcing myself to focus, Rowan comes into sharp relief and her gray eyes are pinning me with a quizzical look. Luckily, I’m saved from answering as we come to our stop and the train rocks to a standstill.
We stand up and exit the train, stepping out onto the crowded platform. Since I’m not overly familiar with Prospect Heights, the neighborhood where Rowan worked, I follow her up and out of one of the many subway stations that come out on Flatbush Avenue. She turns left down Bergen Street and walks swiftly.
“Zeke’s is just a few blocks this way,” she says.
“Let’s make this quick, okay? I don’t like the thought of you being in places that he could find you.”
“No need to tell me that. I want my money and then Zeke’s will be a fading memory for me.”
“How long did you work there?”
Rowan shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe nine months? It’s just one bar on a list of many I’ve worked at. It’s all I’ve ever done really. I guess it’s all I’m good at.”
“That’s bullshit,” I tell her.
She looks over at me in surprise and gives me a patronizing smile. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I’m good at, Flynn.”
“What about dogs? You’re awesome with Capone. Look how well trained and behaved he is. You’re like a dog whisperer or something.”
Her head swings back toward me, and she searches my eyes. It’s a look that I’ve come to recognize from Rowan. She wants to know if I’m telling the truth, and she believes the eyes are the gateway to the soul or something.
No matter, I am telling the truth. She’s fucking amazing with the fleabag.
Whatever she sees reflected back to her causes her cheeks to turn red. She turns quickly away from me, but not before I see a satisfied expression on her face.
It makes me feel invincible that I put it there.
She rounds the corner of a building and we stop in front of Zeke’s Bar. It’s an unassuming place, nestled in between a small supermarket and a locksmith. The worn sign over the door has seen better days, and the windows are a tad grimy. The neon “Open” sign beckons us in, and Rowan doesn’t hesitate.
As we step inside, my eyes take a second to adjust to the gloomy atmosphere. The place is completely empty and had the door not been unlocked, I would think it was closed.