Chapter 2
Marcus didn’t drink. Hadn’t had a drink in years. Hadn’t wanted to in years. But tonight, he remembered why he used to.
He walked through the VIP section, to the stairs that had been in his dream, and practically ran down them. Instead of heading to the bar, he went to the front door. Before this spiraled out of control, he needed to tell Frankie—his lead doorman tonight—that Flynn …
What? He slowed as he walked around the dance floor that was already beginning to fill. That she needs to call her sister so Scarlett can tell her the truth? That I’m losing my battle to stay away from her?
She wasn’t even twenty-five. Scarlett didn’t care.
What is my problem?
She was trouble. She street raced cars for a “job.” She danced all night for cardio. She wasn’t predictable. She wasn’t … boring.
And he was too old and too conventional for her.
He didn’t want casual. He didn’t want a fling.
He wanted something real. Something that would last. Like what his parents had.
He wanted a family. He wanted a partner in life, not a wild child who didn’t understand responsibility because she’d never had any.
Flynn would never want what he wanted. It was insane to think she would. And knowing that it could never work, how could he disrespect Scarlett by starting something that would just end badly?
It didn’t matter that Scarlett had given her blessing. Flynn just wasn’t the right girl for him.
How do you know if you never try? How do you know what she wants if you never ask her?
The voice was so loud and clear in his mind, despite the music of the club. He stopped cold. Marcus had to admit it was the truth.
“Q, you never come down when I’m here.”
He blinked and looked toward the voice. It was Flynn, standing between Frankie and Peter, the bouncer.
Of course it is.
“My name is Marcus.”
“I know,” she said.
The line behind her was already long. He held out an arm to guide her away from it, down the side hallway, where the music wasn’t as loud.
Her expression appeared shocked, but she followed him without comment. She was a beautiful brunette—there was no question about that—but Marcus knew from a lifetime of advice from his father that there was a lot more to choosing the right girl than simply her looks. He met Flynn’s wide-eyed gaze.
“What do you want out of life, Flynn?”
“Ex-excuse me?” Her dark brown brows flew upward.
“What do you want out of life?” he repeated.
She blinked at him for a beat before answering, “To be happy. To be loved. To love someone in return. To not be like my mother, alone and miserable, drunk half the time.”
Her honesty hit him straight in the heart.
“Really?”
“Yeah, Marcus, really.”
“Huh.”
“Why? What do you want out of life?”
“I want a wife who loves me and our kids. A happy family. I want what my folks have.”
She glanced down, but he caught a glimpse of an expression he could only call wistful. “That sounds really nice. I bet your folks are great. Scarlett and Gabe love them so much.”
“Do you want to meet them? We have a family barbeque tomorrow.”
Flynn’s chin shot up, and she had a decidedly deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. “Are you asking me out?”
“I’m inviting you to meet my parents and join us for Sunday dinner.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Seriously? Why?”
“Because, if we’re giving this a shot to see if it can work between you and me, that’s step one.”
Her lips formed an O. “We’re giving this a shot to see if this can work between you and me?” She repeated his words slowly, but as a question.
“Yeah. You win, Flynn. I see you. I can’t unsee you. You drive me crazy every fucking time you walk into this club, and I’m tired of watching you leave with pieces of shit all the time.”
“I don’t—”
“Not my business,” he said, holding a hand up. “At least it wasn’t. But no more. You and I are gonna see if there’s something here. If there can be something real. Once and for all. Okay? I can’t promise you anything, but I’m willing to explore the possibility.”
Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
“Go home. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at two. Dinner’s at three. Ma likes help, so we all come a little early and pitch in. No one dines and dashes.”
“Okay,” she said slowly.
He walked her back over to Frankie and leaned to speak in his ear. “Put her in a car. Tell them to make sure she gets home. Have them walk her inside. Peter can handle the line for a few.”
The doorman nodded. “Yes, sir, Mr. Q.”
He looked at Flynn. “Sweet dreams, Stiglette.”
She blinked a few more times as she glanced over her shoulder while Frankie led her out the door.
Well, here goes nothing.