Off Chance (13 page)

Walking into the kitchen, I try to mentally prepare myself for how to deal with Flynn today. I tell myself I will not engage in flirting and that I will find a way to strengthen the new friendship that we have.

Now that I have a taste of what it feels like, I want to cultivate it further.

Without annoying, sexy thoughts getting in my way.

Flynn is leaning back against the counter, drinking a glass of water. He’s dressed in a pair of shorts, a gray t-shirt that is soaked with sweat, and running shoes. His face glistens with moisture and his hair is sticking up in a thousand different directions.

I try not to notice the way his bicep bulges when his arm curls upward to bring the glass to his lips.

Or the way his lips rest softly against the glass.

Or the way his throat moves as he swallows.

I have to restrain myself from walking to the refrigerator and slamming my forehead into it so these thoughts will go away. Instead, I walk to the coffee pot and pour myself a cup.

“You’re up early,” he observes.

I pull the milk out and add a splash to my cup. “So are you. Already went for a run?”

“Yeah. I had strange dreams last night and just couldn’t get into a good sleep.”

“You and me both,” I mutter.

“Mine were crazy... I was at a party with Eminem and Prince Charles and they were arguing over how to make the chicken potpie that we were eating. That was the one that woke me up.” He flashes me a dimpled smile. “What were yours about?”

I almost choke on the coffee I’m drinking but I’m able to force the hot liquid down the right pipe. “I don’t remember. I’m sure nothing important.”

Finishing off his water, he lays the glass in the sink. “I’ll take Capone out for you before I hop into the shower.”

Oh, God. Thoughts of him in the shower cause my mind to burst with color for just a moment, but then I shake myself back to reality. “No need. I took him out and fed him before I had my shower.”

His eyebrows rise. “Wow. You were up really early. Must have been some dream.”

If only he knew.

“So, what are your plans on your last day before heading back to work? I’ll finish up your laundry for you.”

“Rowan,” Flynn says, his tone only slightly chiding. “You don’t have to do my laundry.”

The old Rowan... the one who, just three days ago, would have torn into Flynn for that, doesn’t make an appearance. The new Rowan... the one that wants to build this friendship with Flynn, handles it just a bit differently.

“Yes, I do.” I smile at him but my tone is firm. “You promised you’d let me earn my keep until I could get a job.”

Holding his hands up in surrender, he says, “Fine. Have at it. Just don’t starch my underwear.”

I snicker. That would be a good prank to play on him, and that makes me snicker even more, because the old Rowan didn’t pull pranks or joke around.

“What’s so funny?”

Shaking my head and trying to wipe the smile from my face, I take another sip of coffee. “Nothing. But no starch in the underwear, I promise.”

Flynn shrugs his shoulders and pushes away from the counter. He walks up to me and stands very close... just staring down. My breath hitches and I fight hard to hold his gaze. He does nothing more than raise a hand to tuck my hair behind my ear, and the light touch of his fingertips on my skin almost causes me to convulse.

I take a quick step back, enough to put room between his overwhelming closeness. His hand drops and he also takes a step back, looking embarrassed. I’m equally hot in the face, because that wasn’t casual flirting. That was a moment of tenderness that scares the crap out of me and makes me yearn at the same time.

Clearing his throat, he says, “Actually... I was thinking about going to the movies today. Are you interested?”

I mentally calculate the money I have left. After buying clothes, a cell phone, some toiletries and groceries that Flynn chewed me out for buying, I have $283.00 left to my name. I put in applications to a few of the businesses around Flynn’s apartment, but no one has invited me to an interview yet. I need to take care of the few bucks I have left and I need to find a way to earn money so I can pay my own way.

“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.

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.

“George?” Rowan calls out.

“Who’s George?”

“He owns the place.”

“Then who’s Zeke?”

Rowan shrugs her shoulders. “Never bothered to ask. Wasn’t important.”

I smile inside. That’s the Rowan I’ve come to know. She doesn’t sweat the small stuff and is very much a big picture kind of person.

A door from the back opens and a small, wiry man comes out from behind it. He’s probably close to sixty if the gray hair he wears in a military buzz cut is any indication, but his forearms are laced with ropy muscles, indicating this guy is in shape.