Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Flynn
“Why are you here?” I whisper, holding June in my arms just as the sun rises.
“In bed?”
I feather my fingers up and down her arm. “In Minneapolis. Giving bike tours. Your family lives in California. Just seems odd.”
“As odd as being a muse?”
I chuckle. “Not quite, but close.”
“After the abduction, I needed to escape. Find a new normalcy. Search for a sense of safety again. And come to find out, I was looking for you.” She kisses my chest.
“Liar.”
She giggles, sliding her leg between mine.
“I’m not lying. Maybe I didn’t know your name or what you looked like.
But I absolutely believe life is a journey, and thinking we’re in control is just an illusion our ego thrives on.
Tell me you think this—us—we were meant to be. ” She tries to tickle my sides.
It doesn’t tickle, but I laugh at her attempt. I’ve never wanted anything more than to believe that June Malone is meant to be with me.
“I think I need to spray some WD-40 on your frame. It squeaks too much,” I say.
“Whose fault is that?” She slides on top of me, grinning as her face hovers over mine.
“The bed frame’s fault. I’ll lube it, then pull it away from the wall. It’s too close.”
“Lube …” she giggles.
“You and your dirty mind. It’s a lubricant. It also protects against rust.”
“Well, this bed is no doubt a little rusty.”
“What does that mean?”
She dips her head and teases my lips. “Nothing.”
“Has it been a while since you’ve had sex?”
She blushes. “No. I had it like … twenty minutes ago. Am I that forgettable?”
“Well, I’m not great with words. I dropped out of school before learning all of them. But I’d say you’re the opposite of forgettable. So unforgettable? Memorable?”
June grins.
“Feel free to share better words,” I say.
She slowly shakes her head. “Your vocabulary is just fine. I don’t need to finish your sentences or speak for you.”
“You like me just how I am?”
“Yes,” she whispers before kissing me.
I tell myself she will feel this way after I tell her about my time in prison, but I don’t totally believe it. Everyone has their limits. If I told her I was a pedophile (I wasn’t), there’s no way she’d shrug and kiss me like it was no big deal.
“What time do you work?” I ask, rolling her onto her back, then kissing a trail down her body.
“One.”
“Perfect.” Half my body hangs off the end of the bed as I settle between her legs. “We have time for a little low-key sex before I run and grab that WD-40.”
She giggles, fingers in my hair. “Low-key. Like lazy?”
“Like”—I kiss her inner thigh just to watch her squirm—“low-key as in you shouldn’t be so loud this time.”
“I’m not loud.”
I grin even though she can’t see me. “Challenge accepted.”
After June goes to work, I get a haircut, then sneak into the Rawlings’ garage and move at top speed to get ready, using the car’s side mirror and window reflections to see how I look.
My new jeans and shirt are wrinkled, and they probably need laundering.
I tuck in the price tag, but I’m not sure I could return it after this many wears.
Then I make dinner reservations and head to June’s apartment.
“Come up,” she says, answering the call when I buzz her.
The door clicks, and I throw it open, sprinting up the stairs. Before my fist hits her door, it opens.
“Jesus …” I whisper as she punches the air from my lungs with her black dress, thin straps tied around her neck. Black high heels that make me weak in the knees. Hair braided. Lips glossed.
“You have some explaining to do,” she says, stepping aside to let me in.
I’m underdressed. Even if my clothes were freshly cleaned and pressed, I’d be underdressed. “You said you were wearing a skirt and blouse. Not—”
“I was,” she says, closing the door.
Heaven help me, the back of her dress exposes so much skin.
“But,” she says, “thirty minutes ago, a woman I’ve never met delivered those two black garment bags. She verified my name and told me to have a lovely evening.”
There’s an unzipped black bag on the back of the sofa beside one that’s still zipped.
“This dress was in one. The other is yours.”
I shake my head. “I know nothing about this.” I grab the bag and unzip it. “Shit,” I whisper, staring at the suit I tried on the other day and the shoes in a smaller cloth bag at the bottom.
“Someone guessed my size correctly. Why do I think it was Callie and not you?”
I continue to shake my head. “I didn’t ask them to do this.”
“I don’t doubt that.” June chuckles. “I was only kidding when I said you had some explaining to do. Go put it on,” she says with excitement in her voice.
Was I wrong? Should I have purchased the suit and thought to buy her a beautiful dress?
“Okay,” I murmur, feeling too uneasy to look her in the eye.
After I put on the suit, including the suspenders, I step out of her bedroom.
She bites her lower lip for a second. “My God, you look so handsome. But you forgot to tie your tie.”
“Uh,” I glance down at it, tugging on both ends. “I don’t know how to tie it.”
“Front, back, through, pull,” she says as her heels click along the wood floor toward me.
“Huh?”
She smiles, taking both ends of my tie. “It’s what my dad always said. Let me.”
“You smell good,” I say, inhaling her floral perfume.
“Thank you.” She flits her gaze to me for a brief second before refocusing on the tie. “You smell good too.”
“It’s Dr. Squatch soap, that I …” Stole from Monroe. “Used,” I grin.
“I like it.” She finishes my tie, making a few little adjustments.
“Is that your stomach?” I ask.
She laughs. “Yes. I’m hungry. We should’ve made reservations somewhere so we’re not late to the orchestra, but there’s a little place down the street that might—”
“I made reservations.” I tip my chin up with a little pride.
“You did?” She gets that look in her eyes like she did telling me about the clothes being delivered.
I nod.
“Love you,” she whispers, gripping my jacket.
I kiss her. That little sigh she gives me is my undoing. But we have reservations, so I end the kiss and blow out a breath. “I have Rupert’s Chevelle. He let me use it, but I have to get it back to his house tonight. So …”
“That was nice of him.” She turns and grabs a small black purse from the kitchen counter before meeting me at the door.
“Yeah. He’s …” I run my hands down the front of my expensive suit. “He’s full of surprises.”
During dinner, June beams. I’m glad she’s happy, but this isn’t my life. It won’t last forever. Will she be fine with chicken fingers and fries in the future? But how ridiculous of me to assume we’ll have a future when she finds out about my past.
“Do you like this?” I say, nodding around the restaurant.
She swallows and blots her mouth. “Yes. The food is excellent. How’s your steak?”
“No. Well,” I glance down at my half-eaten steak, “the food is fine. It’s good.
But I mean this place. Do you like nice restaurants?
Dressing up like this? The orchestra?” I shake my head.
“That’s not fair. Of course, you like the orchestra.
But you seemed fine with us wearing more casual clothes, yet you looked pretty excited about the clothes we have on now. ”
June sets her fork down and reaches for her wine glass while her gaze moves around the room. “I mean, sure.” She shrugs. “Who doesn’t like to look nice and eat good food?”
“Don’t you think about how this one meal could buy five regular meals, maybe ten? The money from these clothes could buy clothes and shoes for a lot of kids who have never owned a new piece of clothing?”
Her smile fades.
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I love being here with you. And of course I want you to enjoy dinner and the orchestra, but I guess I just wonder if you dream of this kind of life.” I gulp half of my water and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Flynn …”
“It’s fine. I just feel like a hypocrite being here. I hate people who can afford to live like this.”
She winces.
“I mean,” I shake my head, “I don’t hate them in the way I hated most of my foster parents who were awful to me and other kids.
I just mean I hate how rich people brag about giving to the poor.
Ya know? But if you can still afford to eat like this and buy clothes like these, then maybe you’re not giving enough. ”
“Economic equality?”
I shrug, cutting my steak. “I guess. Yeah.”
“I’m not sure that’s ever been fully achieved in any society.
A Marxist approach. No private ownership or class divisions.
It sounds good in theory. Are you really wanting to discuss the flaws in it, including human behavior and economic incentives?
The risk of totalitarianism? Seems like heavy dinner conversation. ”
“Well, I don’t know what you mean by a Marxist approach or that total …
whatever thing. I’ve just known many people who have worked their asses off only to eke by.
And people like Rupert and Callie sit around all day and do nothing to contribute to society, but they have so much money. It feels wrong.”
“I’m sure they’re charitable.” June sips her wine.
I grunt. “That’s my point. If you live in that house, then you aren’t being charitable enough.”
“So who should live in that house or other big houses? Who should drive the fancy cars and wear the designer clothes?”
“No one. Their house could house several families. Designer clothes are only expensive because they can be. If rich people stopped overpaying for things just because they can, then all companies would have to charge a fair price for their products.”
She slides her hand across the table and takes mine, squeezing it. “I love the world you dream of.”
“So this doesn’t matter to you?” Again, I look around the restaurant.
She laces her fingers with mine. “No.”
“Then let’s get out of here. Go to the orchestra because it’s your porn. And then let’s ditch these stupid clothes.”
She smiles. It’s soft at first, then it swells as she nods.