7. Black Flagged
SEVEN
BLACK FLAGGED
Jackie
Wow. Flynn is a cowboy. A cowboy .
He didn’t even mind when I fan-girled over it earlier.
Instead, his eyes softened and both sides of his mouth widened when he smiled, scattering my self-conscious thoughts from my mind like a meteor shower through space.
It was almost peaceful going witless for a moment. Like a well-deserved nap for my brain.
“Are all the men in your family cowboys?”
“My brother is the most cowboy out of anyone in my family. He runs the ranch.” Flynn runs a hand through his hair. “I was raised roping cattle and riding horses, but I took after my dad and fell in love with the horsepower in engines instead.”
“Is your dad a mechanic too?”
Flynn’s face blanks for a moment. “Uh, no. He wasn’t. He raced cars, actually.”
My stomach drops. “Was?”
“Yeah, he and my mom died in a car crash a while back.”
I close my eyes and sigh. Really, how many times can I put my foot in my mouth on one date.
My face must mirror my inner turmoil, because Flynn’s quick to reassure me.
“Really, it’s okay. You didn’t know.” He squeezes my hand.
“We weren’t that close, really. They were always off on the racing circuit.
Gramps was the one to raise us. After Gramps and my parents died, Holt stepped up and got custody. ”
Silence deepens for a moment.
“My mother died right after I was born,” I blurt. “Cardiomyopathy. They didn’t know she had it. It wasn’t until her heart failed twelve days after I was born that they realized.”
He’s quiet for a minute, giving my hand another squeeze. “Jackie. I’m so sorry.”
I nod. I don’t usually tell people that, but I figure if I know about his parents, he should know about mine.
“It’s really okay. It’s hard to miss someone when you don’t have any memory of them.”
“But you can still miss not having a mom.” He brushes his fingers across my face, tucking a tendril behind my ear.
“I guess.” I’m not sure of what else to say. Leave it to me to bring out the depressing stuff on my first ever date.
“What about your dad?”
“My dad? Oh, he’s great. I mean, we don’t talk a lot or anything, but we have scheduled check-ins.
He is very regimented. Once every other week, with additional calls on our birthdays and Christmas if they fall on the alternate weeks.
Otherwise it’s just email.” He gives me a look, so I rush to explain.
“He’s really busy with his work. He’s a chemical engineer back East where I grew up.
” I smile, hoping he doesn’t think my relationship with my father is weird.
I get that others might think it is, but it works for my dad and me.
And really, Flynn doesn’t need to think me any weirder than he probably already does.
“We may not talk as much as other families do, but he’s never made me feel bad about being different. ”
“Different? You mean super smart?” he asks, his tongue slipping out to catch the straw in his mouth. My mind momentarily blanks.
“Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess that’s a good enough descriptor.” I concentrate on folding up my sandwich wrapper. Wondering if it would be too weird to fold it into something.
“Was it a problem being that smart?” He reaches for another chip. “I can’t even imagine.”
I talk while folding down the corners of the wrapper.
“At first it was just frustrating. It was like I knew everything before my teachers taught it. I was, and am , a voracious reader. I’ve always had my nose in a book.
” I fold the right and left sides back up, making a diamond shape.
“And when teachers would catch me reading instead of paying attention, they’d try to call me out on it, asking me questions.
But I only made them mad because I could answer any question they asked.
” I pause to push my glasses back up, then press down on the folds, sharpening the creases.
“I mean, it’s not like I’m that smart. I?—”
“Jackie.”
Flynn’s voice startles me and I look up into his serious expression.
“You are that smart. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You should be proud—it’s cool.” His fingertips graze my cheekbone. “And super sexy.”
I cough on my own inhale like the super smooth person I am, and go back to concentrating on my wrapper folding.
“Well, it isn’t cool when you get skipped up two grades and no one wants to be friends with the twelve-year-old who can outsmart them.
And it isn’t all that sexy when every dance, football game and weekend, I was home alone because I didn’t have a date or friends.
” I shrug and fold the bottom part of the wrapper up to meet the diamond, then flip the whole thing over.
“Then when I entered college at sixteen, people mistook me for the professors’ kid, when I was, in fact, their T.A.
” I tuck the top folds down into the pocket I made from the bottom fold and flip it over once more.
“Wow, Jackie.” Flynn picks up what is now a somewhat grease-spotted, but expertly folded, heart-shaped sandwich wrapper. “Can I keep this?”
“Uh, sure.” I shrug, my embarrassment lifting in the face of Flynn’s surprising awe over a bit of origami. “I can make you a better one, though, if you want. You know, with non-greasy paper and all.”
Flynn reaches back and pulls out his wallet. “No,” he says, while carefully sliding the heart inside. “This is perfect.”
I smile. He really is. Perfect.
Back at my apartment complex, my nerves resurge. Flynn has the ability to both calm my mind and get my electrical synapses firing, all at the same time. It’s a unique gift of his that defies all scientific logic and leaves me, frankly, bewildered. He is uniquely gifted that way.
He’s been nothing but a gentleman. Driving me home, walking me to the door, leaving after what I am sure was a platonic kiss on my cheek.
But tonight he mentioned a date. That we were definitely on a date.
That changes things. Once you classify an object there are certain details and assumptions to be made based on the definition of that classification.
Such as kisses. Dates usually have kisses, don’t they? And not the cheek kind.
I should’ve read up on this.
“Wait,” he says, jumping the last two steps onto the landing.
I pause, not realizing I have basically run up the stairs to my door. “Oh. Sorry.” I’m out of breath again. I run up these stairs all the time without issue, but I’m still blaming them for my lack of oxygen.
Flynn steps closer to me, his hand pushing back the end of my ponytail. Goosebumps blanket my skin.
“I’d like to see you again.”
“Really?” Had he not been on the date I’d been on? I’m pretty sure bringing up multiple family deaths, traumas of my childhood and crafting with trash at the table are not the standards to which Flynn should hold his dates.
He steps back, running his hand through his hair. “I mean, if you want to. I don’t want to force you on another date. Especially as it didn’t seem you knew you were on the first one.”
“No!” I half-shout, while jumping up on my toes. His head jerks back. “No, I mean, yes,” I say quieter, “I would like to go out on another date with you.” Somehow my head is bobbing along to the bounce of my feet.
Holy Mercury . What is wrong with me?
A large smile overtakes Flynn’s face and now I couldn’t care less if I’m doing the Macarena in front of him. He has the best smile.
“Good.” He steps closer again. “That’s good.”
Then his nose is nuzzling the side of my neck, skimming upward to my ear.
“This okay?” he whispers.
I nod my head once, trying to remind myself to breathe.
“You smell so good, Jackie.”
“Pheromones.”
Flynn pauses, pulling back a bit. “I’m sorry?”
“Pheromones.” I look up at the ceiling, trying to focus my thoughts.
“Men and women send and receive subconscious odor signals. These odor signals are called pheromones, which are airborne chemical messengers released from the body that have a physical or emotional effect on another member of the same species.”
From the corner of my eye I see Flynn tilt his head to the side. “I’m smelling pheromones?”
“Yes.” I nod. “You are probably sensing my pheromones through the vomeronasal organ, which is then relayed to the hypothalamus, which, as you know, is responsible for emotions, hormones, and sexual behavior.”
“Ah yes.” Flynn dips back down to my neck, inhaling again. “The hypothalamus.”
I shiver. I don’t know if he knows he’s doing it, but ever since he’s encroached on my personal space, Flynn’s Southern twang has deepened.
Between his proximity, the vibrations of his accent and the gentle scrape of his stubble against my neck, I’m going to need to change my panties ASAP.
My hypothalamus is definitely working overtime right now.
His left hand cups the side of my head, the touch forcing my gaze to his.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
I feel my eyes widen. I’m ninety percent sure he doesn’t mean on the cheek.
“You okay with me kissing you?”
I can’t find my voice in order to seek clarification on the placement of said kiss, so I simply nod.
He leans in slowly, eyes not leaving mine until the last moment, right before our lips meet and I close my eyes. The kiss is gentle, light, like the ones I’ve felt before. But then he presses deeper and my whole body jolts, stiffening with shock. He pulls back, a question in his eyes.
“Uh, sorry?” I say, not entirely sure why I’m apologizing, except for the fact that he’s probably kissed more girls than I have guys. Girls who probably don’t overthink and freeze up when they’re turned on. Girls who know what the heck they are doing .
Instead of being annoyed, or worse, laughing at me, Flynn smiles softly, his eyes gentle. Then he makes me giggle when he rubs the end of his nose against mine. I love Eskimo kisses.
“Want to try that again, darling?”
With his playful kisses and kind words, some of the tension drops from my shoulders and my nerves float away. I want this. I want him . I somehow need to show him how very much I want him, even if my kissing technique is unpracticed.
Keeping my eyes on his, I drop my keys, the metal clanging on the concrete. Slowly, but firmly, I drag my hands up his arms, along his neck and up into his hair, my fingers lightly digging across his scalp, angling his head lower.
“Yes,” I whisper before I press my mouth to his. My touch probably lacks finesse, but Flynn doesn’t seem to mind. And when his tongue slides across the seam of my mouth, something breaks inside me and I moan.
Suddenly my hands are everywhere. Gripping his shoulders, dragging down and up under his T-shirt. My God, the feel of his skin, it’s indescribable. I don’t have long nails, and I’m thinking that is a good thing for Flynn, otherwise he’d have claw marks all over his torso by now.
Flynn brings one hand to my ass and hauls me against him. This time the moan rips from his throat. My glasses are skewed when Flynn finally draws back from our kiss. Gently, using the tips of his fingers, he rights them before once again touching his nose to mine.
“Never thought a genius could kiss like that.”
All good feelings vanish. Suddenly I’m transported back to college, overhearing the boys outside of my class asking my new boyfriend if the nerd he was banging was any good.
How he’d laughed and said, “Not yet, but she will be when I’m done with her.
” There hadn’t been any question about who they were talking about.
Who the nerd was. I’m always the nerd. The genius. The odd one.
I look down at the toes of my Chucks, peeking out from the hem of my khaki pants. “I see.” My voice is stilted, my body back to being rigid.
Sensing the change, Flynn frowns, ducking down to try and meet my eyes.
I don’t let him. Instead I squat down, swipe my keys up from the floor and pop up in one quick move.
“Now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, I’m sure you have more important things to do than kiss the nerd.” I unlock my door, thankful I get the correct key on the first try. I step inside and turn back, the vision of Flynn burned into my mind right before I slam the door.
Stalking into my bedroom, I sit on the edge of my bed, listening to him knock on my door and call my name a few times, mumbling about this not being over. Thankfully, I soon hear his boots stomp away from the apartment.
At that moment all I can think of is that I really should move as the doors don’t seem very secure if you can hear so well through them.
But later, when I’m in bed, running through the whole date, looking for the signs I may have missed about Flynn being disingenuous, I find nothing. Instead, I see his face, right before I slammed my feeble front door on it.
He hadn’t looked smug or satisfied. He’d looked confused and upset.
And I have a horrible, sinking feeling that I’m not as smart as I think I am.