Chapter Ten #3
“Think of it as my encouraging your reconnection with rarely-enjoyed cuisines.”
“Fine.” I looked, pointedly, at the credit card he’d just set down. “If you’re sure you can afford it.”
Flynn grunted amusement. “I’m not entirely destitute. Not this week, anyway.”
Grinning, I sat back and watched as the waiter brought over the little payment machine. Finishing the last of my beer, and ignoring the memory of how warm Flynn’s hand had been, even just in the few seconds it had taken to move mine away.
“You ready?”
I set down the empty bottle. “Sure.”
#
It was cooler outside than I expected, the air crisp under a cloudless sky. Quieter, too, though still with that thrum of traffic. Something I always noticed, for the first hour or so after I arrived, since it was so different from home.
And then, of course, it faded into the background. Our brains being indecently adept at reshaping to suit the status quo.
Flynn rubbed his bare arms. “Damn, it got cold.”
My glance was withering. “You got soft, city boy. This is fine.”
He nudged me in the side as we walked. “I forgot how strong and manly you are. The rest of us are simply in awe of you, Oli; you know that, right?”
I struck a bodybuilder pose: arms held up, my biceps tensed. “As well you should be.”
Flynn laughed, then flicked the swollen muscle.
“Hey!” I flinched away, rubbing the spot. “That stings.”
“So strong, so manly,” Flynn repeated, tone teasing. “I hope you put ‘masc’ on your profiles, just so people know what they’re getting themselves into.”
“Ask your boyfriend,” I fired back, smirking. “He’s the one who messaged me.”
I’d hoped the walking, and the cold air - which was, despite my mocking of Flynn, actually fairly uncomfortable - would rein in my loose tongue. Apparently that was another grand plan of mine which fell short in practice.
“He’s got good taste,” Flynn said.
I chuckled. “I like that, under the pretense of giving me a compliment, you just managed to praise yourself, too.”
He winked. “That’s how you know it’s genuine. Why are you smiling?”
I shook my head. “Just thinking that, if you’d asked me a week ago whether I thought Flynn Cunningham could be genuine, I’d have laughed in your face.”
“And now?”
It was my turn to nudge him. “I had a good weekend, is all.”
He nodded, slowly. Looking thoughtful. “Yeah. Me too. A surprising one, but good.”
“Definitely surprising,” I agreed. Then paused, to glance back at where he’d stopped on the sidewalk. “What?”
Flynn looked up, pointedly. “Isn’t this your hotel?”
I probably would’ve kept walking, too. I backtracked to where he was standing.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“I should be the one thanking you, for sticking around another night.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, think of me getting up at the crack of dawn to drive back.”
“That early, huh. You should just move here.”
“Another compelling argument,” I told him, rolling my eyes.
“Just think how much we could hang out,” Flynn countered. “So many restaurants, so much good food.”
Clearly, he’d learned my weaknesses. Or at least some of them.
“What’s the matter, getting lonely in your advancing years?” I teased.
“Nostalgic, maybe.”
I nodded. “There’s a part of me that really wishes I’d known about you in high school. About you being into guys, I mean.”
“Such a slut,” Flynn joked.
“I meant,” I protested, stressing the word, “as a friend. Someone who’d know what it all felt like, because they were feeling it too.”
“I know.”
Silence, just for a moment. It was a different smile on Flynn’s face, compared to the one I was used to. Softer and more honest, somehow.
“The alcohol is making me sentimental,” I said, holding out my arms for a hug. “I should probably go to bed.”
For all he’d protested about the temperature, Flynn felt pretty warm as he pulled me to him. He smelled of musk and spice, cut through with something faintly like citrus.
It was the first time I’d really touched him all weekend, I realized. The first time in a long time, really.
I eased back, just slightly. Enough to see his smile.
Our lips meeting felt like an inevitability.
William’s kiss had been demanding, forceful. A prelude to something; a setting of stakes. Whereas this was softer, more languid. A kiss that came with history.
Flynn’s expression was rueful as he pulled away.
“I’m in a relationship.”
“I know. I was inside him last night, remember.”
‘That doesn’t mean what you think it does.”
“Perhaps not.” I palmed the front of his jeans. “But I think I know what this means.”
He was hard, but then again I’d known that before I groped him. Had felt it pressing into me as we’d hugged, just like I was certain Flynn had been aware of my own erection.
A sigh. I wondered if he’d ease away my hand, or simply step back from me.
“That’s not how it works. The arrangement, I mean.”
The third option was that I’d pull my own hand away, it turned out.
“I...”
“Have a safe drive back tomorrow,” Flynn said, softly. “It was really good to see you, Oli.”
I nodded, my jaw clenched. “You as well.”
And then I turned from him, and walked through the hotel doors.