Chapter Twenty-Three
My parents were curious about Flynn’s visit, I could tell. Not that they’d do anything so proactive, of course, as asking me about it. Instead I caught them sharing glances and casting skeptical looks my way, as though I was a suddenly-discovered unexploded munition that could pop at any moment.
On the one hand, not having to think up an excuse was a relief. All the same, the tension in the house was starting to grate.
I’d made my dislike of him too clear over the years, that was the problem.
Rolled my eyes once too often behind Flynn’s mom’s back, as she waxed lyrical about his latest promotion.
They’d seen my social temperature drop to sub-zero digits when the topic of my former friend, formerly of next door, came up.
Honestly, half of their interest was probably from wondering why I hadn’t just erupted with rage when he came over.
“Do you have any plans tonight, honey?” My mom’s voice had that too-casual brittleness, which I associated with her having already played an argument out in her head.
“Nothing, no.”
She nodded, first at me, then at my dad. “Well, we were going to call on the Callahans, weren’t we.” My father nodded, on cue. “So you’re welcome to come with us, but...”
The invitation trailed off, perfectly timed for me to grimace and then decline. “Thanks, mom, but I think I’ll skip it.”
The Callahans were nice people. Boring, deathly boring, but nice.
“I’ll leave a casserole in the oven for you, anyway,” my mom continued.
I chuckled. “I’m capable of making a meal for myself, y’know. I don’t think I’m going to starve.”
She flashed me a haughty look, welcome if only because it meant for a moment she was no longer tip-toeing around me. “A lot of people would be thankful for the consideration, Oliver.”
Oliver. Things had escalated to full-name level. I bit back my grin, trying to look contrite and grateful instead. “And I am, mom. I just don’t want you to go to any effort, just for me. I can make something myself and save you the time.”
It was a snort of disbelief, mixed with sucking her teeth. A noise I associated entirely with my mother. “Don’t be silly, honey.” Clearly the severity had been downgraded. “You know I’m happy to.”
#
The smell of ground beef topped with cheesy scalloped potatoes was, I had to admit, a welcome one to have drifting around the house.
I’d caught my stomach rumbling a couple of times already.
The sticky note on the oven door, though, made clear that I was expected to have patience before I could have dinner.
The doorbell was a welcome distraction from my prowling around the kitchen, eyeing the timer with increasing frustration.
It was entirely possible that Flynn had bland, unflattering clothes in his closet. Whatever they were, though, he’d not worn them on any occasion that I saw him.
Zip-up hoodie, looking so soft I had to think it must be tawny cashmere. Dark blue jeans, that indigo I associated with expensive Japanese denim. Definitely not the sort of stuff we saw at the thrift store, and it left me feeling positively slobbish in my t-shirt and sweatpants.
“You have a cruel habit of leaving me standing on cold doorsteps,” Flynn said, his mouth quirked very nearly into a grin.
I stepped to the side, silent invitation.
“Something smells good,” he observed, kicking off his shoes and walking down the hallway to the kitchen. “Let me guess, one of your mom’s award-winning casseroles?”
I chuckled. “I don’t think she’s won awards. If she has, she’s been hiding the trophies.”
He crouched down, to peer in through the oven glass. “Don’t you dare tell either of them, but my mom is exceptionally jealous that yours got all the culinary talent.” He looked back, over his shoulder. “Oli?”
“Uh...” I blinked at him, feeling guilty: I’d been staring at his ass, the way it filled the jeans so perfectly. Suddenly very aware of the heft of my cock, currently hovering around the half-hard stage.
That was sufficient, it seemed, to make it noticeable. Flynn raised an eyebrow.
“Do you even have underwear on?”
I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to admit that. “Of course,” I told him, indignant.
He stood, brushing his hands on his thighs and eyeing me with skeptical amusement. “You’re a liar, but it’s a flattering lie, so I’ll let you off this time.”
I shrugged, as if his concession was entirely pointless since it was based on a false premise anyway. That said, Flynn’s own apparent fascination with what was outlined in my sweats was fairly flattering, too.
“Did you come over here just to steal my dinner?”
He leaned back against the edge of the counter. Arms crossed over his chest. “We used to be in and out of each other’s houses all the time, didn’t we. Literally without even knocking.”
“It’s been a few years.”
“And look at us now.” He dropped his gaze. “All grown up.”
I clicked my fingers in front of my crotch. Pointed up, entertained by Flynn’s unapologetic smirk as he met my eye again. “So?”
He sighed. “Always so businesslike. Fine. I wanted to ask you to move in with me.”
I blinked at him, instantly confused. I’d expected more flirting, more gentle teasing at my reticence to leave home. It seemed likely Flynn would be up for something sexual, too, an idea that certain parts of my anatomy were already enjoying picturing. But nothing like this.
“Did you hear me?” Flynn frowned. “Oli?”
“Why?”
The look he gave me was difficult to define, but ‘incredulous’ seemed to come closest.
“Uh, because I want to live with you?” He gestured, though it felt like that was mainly because he needed something to do with his hands. “Because I think it would be... fun? Good for us both?”
My frown deepened. “Live with you like...”
A shrug. “That’s negotiable, I think. I know relationships strike terror into the depths of your subconscious.” Flynn chuckled, presumably at my glare. “So it could be as friends, really good friends. Friends testing the waters of maybe, possibly, potentially dating.”
I swallowed. “My job is here.”
He nodded, slowly. “Yes. But you have another job offer, don’t you.”
It was like a splash of cold water, soaking me from head to foot. My chest instantly tight. “What?”
Flynn shoved his hands into his pockets, still eyeing me intently. “I stopped by the store today, I thought you might be working. But there was a lady in there, instead.”
“Connie,” I said, quietly. I didn’t have the roster memorized, not completely, but I knew that much. She was as close as it came to an assistant manager, though that wasn’t quite the reason I was sure it had to be her that Flynn had spoken to.
“Right, right,” Flynn agreed. “Very friendly. Anyway, we got talking, and I was asking about what sort of boss you are, that sort of stuff. And she mentioned, among other things, how sad she’d be if you took the offer and moved.”
She’d been in the store when the first call from head office came in.
Just the two of us. And I’d been so surprised, so wrong-footed by their proposal, the shock of it must’ve been clear on my face.
Enough so that I had to explain, after I hung up, what they’d suggested.
Then begged her discretion for the whole topic, a secret I’d thought until now that she was keeping.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The confirmation letter had been there, in my room, when he’d come up. On the shelf, and that weird sense that it was watching me, challenging me, that’d I’d had since it arrived in the mailbox. I’d only stopped thinking about it when Flynn started licking me.
“It... it didn’t seem important.”
No doubting that his expression was incredulous now.
“You didn’t think it was relevant? That you had a really good reason to move out?”
I tried to shrug but my shoulders felt like granite. “I wasn’t really considering it.”
Flynn opened and closed his mouth a few times, then gave up. Just stared at me, with enough challenge in his bemusement that I knew I had to say more.
“I couldn’t, really. You know I couldn’t.” I gestured around us: at the kitchen, and the house, but meaning more than that. My mom and my dad, and the life I had here. The things I was used to. “I couldn’t just... gallivant off.”
“Gallivant.” Flynn said the word as if it was the first time he’d ever heard it. “You...” He shook his head. “Oli, this job they’re offering, it sounds perfect for you.”
I frowned. “Because then I’d have no excuse not to come move in with you, you mean.”
He gave me a scathing look. “No, idiot. I mean because it’s something you have the perfect skillset for, and it could be an actual, real, legitimate career. The next step, right in front of you, and you’re ghosting it.”
“My parents...”
“Would understand. No, actually, they’d be fucking proud of you. Ecstatic, even. My mom would never hear the end of it, and it’d serve her right.”
I tried to smile, to match his amusement, but my face was as stubborn as my shoulders had been.
“You were going to turn it down, weren’t you.” Not accusation in his voice, so much as sad resignation.
“I know it could make things easier, for us, but...”
“This isn’t fucking about us, Oli!” It was a bark, outrage and frustration bubbling over.
Flynn’s face red as he stared at me furiously.
“I like you. I really, really like you, actually. And I think - behind the excuses and the deadpan humor, and the fact your first instinct is to make everything sexual - you might actually like me, too. If you let yourself, maybe. But us having a relationship has no fucking connection to you intentionally sabotaging your chance to make something of yourself.”
“So I’m not ‘something’ now, then?” It came out of me like a curse, cold anger in the face of his vitriol.
“If it makes it feel easier, pretending I’m the one belittling and undermining you here, then please, go right ahead.
” His mouth twisted, unhappily. “But let’s not forget that I was into you before I knew anything about the job offer.
I’ve fucked up plenty of things, Oli, but nobody could say I didn’t want you for you. No more, and no less.”