Chapter 21
“I feel like I’m doing the walk of shame,” Flynn said as she slid her feet into her heels.
“You’re not,” Marcus said as he wished he didn’t have to take her home to change.
“My doorman …”
“Won’t have a thing to say about it,” he finished. “Not with me walking you in.”
“You’re probably right about that.” She straightened and took a long last look around his place. “I wish we could just stay here.”
“We could … if you want to wear a dress and heels around the scrapyard for your tour and to do whatever we’re doing today.”
“What if we just hit the mall? Do they still have those here? I’ll just buy something. Quicker and easier.”
“You really don’t want to go back to your apartment.”
She shrugged. “Nope. I like it here. And plus, we wouldn’t have to go all the way back into the city.”
He had been back and forth a few times yesterday.
“Mall it is then.”
Flynn fist-pumped. “Perfect. You know which one?”
“I’ve lived here my whole life. Tell me what you want, and we’ll go.”
“Comfy clothes. Or jeans. Shoes for walking around a scrapyard.”
“I know a place.” He checked his watch. “Should be open. You can get fancier coffee, too, if you want it.”
Flynn looked at him. “Do I look like a fancy-coffee kind of girl to you?”
“You look like a champagne kinda girl to me.”
“Well, that’s definitely not true. Bubbles give me a headache. Brewed coffee, black. Like they serve at diners. Or here. It was perfect.”
Marcus shook his head and put on some sneakers to go with his jeans and T-shirt.
“What?” she asked.
“You keep surprising me.”
“Just because I grew up rich doesn’t mean I like fancy everything. Normal is pretty awesome.”
“Good, because fancy is not what I am. Not outside the club.”
“Tell that to your Porsche.”
The chuckle came up his throat. “Fair enough. I like my cars fancy sometimes.”
“And your women?”
“Don’t have women.”
“You don’t have a type?”
Rich girls. The voice of truth floated through his mind.
“You,” he replied.
“Smooth.”
“Let’s go get you some clothes. Then you can tell me what you want to do for the next forty-eight hours.”
“Not go home.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Happy birthday to me.”
“And cake.”
“You remembered.”
“Of course. I’ll make it myself if you don’t want me to tell Ma.”
She stilled next to him as he reached for the door handle. “Your parents are going to know I’m here if I stay that long.”
“Yeah, probably. Especially if you want a scrapyard tour. We’ll definitely run into Pop. But if we hurry, it won’t be in your dress from last night.”
Four stores and ninety minutes later, Flynn had enough clothes to last her for more than forty-eight hours away from home. She also picked up face cream, face wash, a hairbrush, toothbrush, shampoo, and conditioner.
“You’re decisive and pretty damn quick.”
“Shoes were definitely the trickiest, but I like these.” She surveyed her new Pumas. “Now, I’m ready for anything.”
“Anything?” he asked.
She loved seeing him in casual clothes. It went along with this whole new, different side of him she was discovering, and she adored it.
Seeing those tattoos covering his arms had definitely given her unexpected flutters, especially when she remembered how those arms had looked while wrapped around her when she opened her eyes this morning.
He had wondered what had led to the fabulous morning wake-up call. In a word, him.
She wasn’t falling anymore. She had fallen.
He had made her breakfast. He brought her to a mall on a Monday morning so she didn’t have to go home, especially not in the same dress she had worn the night before.
He was protective as they walked through crowds of people with his hand on the small of her back.
He opened every door for her and carried her bags.
He was the consummate gentleman … and he’d stuck to his rule last night out of respect for her.
It was a heady new experience. More intense than street racing or anything else Flynn had ever tried.
Apparently, Scarlett had been right about giving up boys for a real man. It was night and day different, and Flynn knew there was no going back.
“Wait a minute. I gotta run in here really quick.” He nodded at the drugstore. Then he pointed to a café table outside. “Wait right there for me? I’ll be fast.”
“Why?”
“Your birthday’s tomorrow. I’m not missing what might be my only chance to get you a card.”
His thoughtfulness sent warmth flooding through her body again.
“How can I say no to that?”
She took a seat at the table, and he set her bags on it.
“Anyone bothers you, scream, all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Be right back.”
“Take your time. I’ll be right here.” She leaned back in the chair and soaked up the spring sunshine as he jogged inside.
Not two minutes had passed when she heard someone say, “Flynn? No way. Is that you? Holy shit. It is you.”
The voice shook her out of the relaxing moment, and she looked around, trying to find the source. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
“Oh crap,” she whispered as she saw the tall, lanky blond coming toward her. “No way.”
“I thought that was you. But then I told myself, No fucking way would the girl I know be caught dead in Jersey. With a bag from the Gap, no less. I guess things do change. How are you? You remember me, right?”
“How could I forget? How are you, Joe?” She hadn’t seen him since that Christmas vacation trip with him and her mom that had ended beyond badly.
“You still racing? I’ve been hearing rumors for years about a chick who crushes it. All over the East Coast. Made me think of you every time.”
“Still got that CR-X you loved so much?” she asked in lieu of an answer.
Joe had taught her how to street race in prep school.
He was a townie, and she was at the academy.
She lost to him one night … and then lost her virginity a few hours later.
She thought she was in love … until she found him in bed with her mom a few months later.
Still, she’d put the skills he’d taught her to good use and never made any of those same mistakes again.
“Nah, I sold it. I’m a salesman now. Got a company car. You know how it is, being a grown-up and stuff.”
He still looked like a kid though, especially compared to Marcus.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Aren’t you more of a designer-boutique kinda girl?”
“I’m with my boyfriend. He just ran into a store. He’ll be right back.”
“In Jersey? You slummin’ again? You always liked guys who were a little rough around the edges, from what I remember.”
“And look how that turned out.”
“You look good, Flynn. All grown up.”
“Thanks. You should probably—”
“Everything good here?” Marcus’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd. He came to stand beside her chair, putting himself between her and Joe.
“Oh shit. This must be the boyfriend.”
Marcus held out a hand. “Q. Who are you?”
“Q. Sounds like some James Bond shit.”
“This is Joe,” Flynn said. “He was just leaving.”
“I’m an old friend of Flynn’s. We go way back.”
“And also a friend of my mom’s.” She didn’t know why she’d said it. It’d just come out.
Marcus looked from her to Joe. “Oh fuck. That was you? You’re the literal motherfucker.”
“Jeez, Flynn. You still haven’t let that shit go?”
“How long did you date her, Joe?”
“Too fucking long.”
“Wait. It wasn’t a one-time thing?” Marcus asked.
“Clearly, he hasn’t met your mother yet.” He lifted his chin to Marcus. “Watch yourself. She’s a fucking boa constrictor. I fucked up a good thing because of her.”
“My good luck, it sounds like,” Marcus replied.
“Yeah, well, live and learn, right?” He looked down at Flynn, and she could see the regret on his face. “If you’re still racing, my buddy, who’s still in the scene, said there’s a big one this weekend. Atlantic City. Lots of cash and cars.”
Marcus stiffened next to her.
“See you around, Joe. Glad life is treating you well.”
He smiled with a laugh and a nod. “Guess that’s my cue. Nice to meet you, man.”
“Likewise.”
“See you around, Flynn.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.
Marcus watched him go and then held out a hand. “You want to tell me about that while we head to the car?”
She took it as he grabbed her bags.
“Nothing much to tell. As you put it, that was the motherfucker. He’s also the one who taught me about street racing.”
“That punk?”
“Yeah.”
“And he just randomly found you in Jersey on a Monday morning and told you about a big race?”
“Yep.”
“Life’s fucking crazy sometimes,” Marcus said as they reached the valet stand.
“You’re telling me.”