Cade set down his beer. “Wait. So you mean to tell me she wasn’t into it?”
Huddled up to the bar at Shooters, back facing the rowdy Friday night crowd, Flynn shoved his ball cap lower on his forehead and tried to figure out how to answer. Truth was, he didn’t know if Gabby had reacted to him or if he was just that damn delirious.
Flynn shrugged. “I don’t know.”
From the stool next to him, Cade whipped him a disbelieving look. “How do you not know? I mean, she responded or she didn’t, yeah?”
That was the thing. He’d tried to talk to her and she’d...blown him off. She’d never done that before, not once. Proving whatever he’d been feeling was one-sided. She’d stood in front of him in her living room and acknowledged she knew he wanted her, and then acted as if they’d discussed the weather.
Right then and there, he’d decided he’d gnaw off his arm before making another moment uncomfortable for her. He was the stupid ass who’d crossed the line. No way would he punish her for that. Determined to go on, business as usual, he’d find a way to get past it.
But then she’d pressed her soft curves against him and hung on like a woman starved. Talk about a mind fuck. There was no mistaking her hard nipples, her shallow breathing, flushed cheeks. And her open mouth against his jaw, tongue darting out to...
Lick. Him.
Any other woman and he would’ve had them horizontal, halfway to satisfied before doubt even registered. It had been awhile, but it wasn’t as if he’d forgotten how. But Gabby wasn’t any other woman.
He’d pulled away to look into her eyes, get some kind of confirmation, and instead he’d found... Shit. He’d never erase her gutted expression from his memory. As if he’d betrayed her.
“Things seemed pretty heated between you two at the Fling.”
Flynn rubbed his eyes and took a long sip of beer. “Guess not.”
Cade studied him from the corner of his eye, then pulled out his phone and clicked an app. A few swipes of his thumb and he turned the screen toward Flynn.
“You have a Pinterest app on your phone? Man up, little brother.”
Cade frowned. “When you have the Battleaxes gunning for you and meddling in your life, you will, too. Then again, you’re already there.” He wiggled the phone.
With a sigh, Flynn took it and froze. There, in one of the boards, was a picture of him and Gabby from the Fling—her in his arms, their faces close right after the balloon had popped. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear they’d been posed for some sensual perfume ad.
“No chemistry? You need a better lie.”
He passed his brother the phone, pulse pounding. “We’re just friends. Same as we’ve always been.”
“Are you okay with that?”
He’d have to be. What was the alternative? Lose her? “I’m fine. We’re fine.”
Last Monday morning, she’d acted as if nothing had happened. They went through the motions at work, everything as easy and fluent as always between them. Except there were the little things. How she hadn’t sung along to the radio, rarely made eye contact, and had failed to inform him of her date. Tonight.
Gabby and one of the local deputies they’d gone to school with were exactly three tables behind him. She was wearing a sundress the color of her eyes that tied around the back of her neck. One pull of that knot and the thing would slip off her body, drift to the floor.
From what Flynn could gather by watching them in the mirror above the bar, Wyatt had been very attentive to her, leaning in when she spoke and casually touching her hand. Gabby, for her part, had her smile cranked and laughed on cue. They seemed to be getting along swimmingly. Hooray.
He ground his molars. What asshat took her to Shooters for a first date? And why the hell was Flynn still here torturing himself?
“Fine, eh?” Cade shoulder-bumped him. “That’s why you’re shooting daggers in the mirror, because you’re fine? You haven’t gone five seconds without looking at her. Hell, you haven’t even noticed Emma Jane has been checking you out the past hour.”
Flynn’s gaze lifted to the bartender. Emma Jane was a petite brunette who he’d quietly hooked up with on a few rare occasions. “Quietly” because she had a three-year-old daughter and “on occasion” for the same reason. The last time they’d connected had been at least eight months ago.
Neither had an interest beyond sexual release and, really, it was more trouble than it was worth. He’d spent more time watching her face for cues she’d liked what he was doing than enjoying himself. True story with all his lovers. A lot of females tended to get creeped out he kept his eyes open. But because he couldn’t hear, and he was a good guy determined to leave them satisfied, he relied on sight. If a partner, at any time, wanted to change her mind or wasn’t into a particular move, he wanted to know.
Sex had become too much work. Not that he’d planned to give it up.
Emma Jane turned from pouring a tap and smiled. After wiping a wet spot on the bar and sliding an ale to Frank from the hardware store, she made her way over, towel slung over her shoulder. “How have you been?”
She knew just enough sign language to get by, so he kept his answers simple. “Good. You?”
“Another day in paradise.” She grinned at Cade. “Need a refill?”
“I’m done after this. Thanks, though.”
She nodded, gaze back on Flynn. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say more. No doubt, she was trying to figure out a way to hook up later without alerting his brother to the fact. Another time, Flynn might’ve texted her for a semblance of privacy while they made plans, but he wasn’t up for sex tonight.
Instead, a glutton for punishment, his gaze found a certain blonde in the mirror again. It was her birthday tomorrow. He had her present in his car. With the awkwardness between them, he’d been unsure whether to give it to her at work today or not. They’d always spent her birthday together, either with their group of friends or just them and takeout on her couch. At this point, he wasn’t even sure if he’d be welcome.
“She was interested.”
Flynn forced his focus from Gabby and onto his brother. At first he thought Cade meant Gabby, but then realized he was talking about the bartender. Emma Jane had left to refill orders and he didn’t want to talk about her, so he changed the subject to Cade’s upcoming wedding.
They discussed nonsense another twenty minutes before he called it a night. Flynn left Shooters, Gabby still immersed in her date, and went home alone.
By the next morning, he hadn’t slept an iota and disturbingly graphic visions of what Gabby might’ve been doing with Wyatt burned his retinas. Gut twisting, he turned his head toward the window and the murky rays of light peeking through his blinds. Frustrated from lack of sleep and what he was beginning to refer to as The Gabby Effect, he rubbed his chest.
Fletch shoved his cold, wet nose against Flynn’s arm, a silent demand to get moving. The golden retriever had been his solid companion since Flynn adopted him five years before. Originally trained as a therapy puppy, he’d been too skittish around elders to stick.
“I suppose you need to go out.”
Fletch tilted his head, ear twitching. The only time Flynn spoke aloud was when they were alone and sometimes Flynn thought the dog preferred sign language. Not that he understood either form of communication.
He scratched Fletch’s scruff and procrastinated. Getting out of bed meant deciding what to do today. And if those plans included Gabby. She turned thirty today. He was on call for the clinic this weekend, but his pager hadn’t gone off. Wondering if his luck would hold out, he rose to start a cup of coffee and, while it brewed, he showered.
As he took his first sip of caffeine while leaning against his kitchen counter, Fletch already let out and fed, he stared at his cell screen. No missed calls. Gabby always texted to tell him how a date went. Though it was only eight, she was an early riser. Perhaps Wyatt had worn her out? Or they were still in bed...
He tossed his phone aside and rubbed his eyes. Hell to the no, it wasn’t his damn business who she hooked up with. He’d promised her what happened last weekend wouldn’t happen again. And he meant it. Even if she had responded to him, and he was still uncertain if she had, they couldn’t cross that line.
But damn it. He missed her. The entire week she’d been distant, remote. And she shouldn’t spend her birthday alone. Her family wasn’t big on celebrating, so if he didn’t head over, she’d probably eat a pint of mint chip while watching some girl drama on TV.
Unless Wyatt had spent the night.
Shoving off the counter, he tapped his thigh for Fletch to follow him out. He’d do a drive-by to check for another car outside her house. If she was alone, they’d do their thing. Hang out. Talk. Eat cake or what the hell ever. He was determined to whittle the tension away and force normal down their throats.
Five minutes later, he was standing on her porch, Fletch next to him with Gabby’s gift bag dangling from his mouth. There were no cars outside her house or in the driveway, but he pulled his cell out anyway and shot off a text.
You awake?
Gabby: Yes
Are you alone? For the love of beef jerky, please let her say...
Gabby: Yes
He let out the breath he’d been holding. Open your front door.
Caramel hair up in a high ponytail, face fresh and wearing jeans with a sweater, Gabby swung the door wide. Her smile came as if an afterthought. Which wouldn’t do.
He stepped inside, Fletch on his heels, and shut the door behind him. “Happy birthday.”
The smile upped a notch, but didn’t hit her eyes. She glanced at the dog and...Christ. There was the smile he’d missed all damn week. At least Fletch got one out of her.
She knelt in front of the retriever and scratched his ears, taking the gift bag from his mouth. She looked up at Flynn from her position and did a double-take. And here he thought he’d schooled his face neutral.
“What?”
He shrugged. “You turned thirty. I was expecting gray hair and sagging breasts. At least a massive amount of crow’s feet. You look the same.”
She laughed and rose, holding the bag up in question.
“Open it. You know you can’t wait.”
He hadn’t finished signing and she was tearing through the tissue paper, pulling out an eight-by-ten frame. The tradition started sometime back in high school when he’d noticed she had an adorable fixation for fairy tales. Every year since, he’d searched for photos of castles and gave her a different one for her birthday. Her living room and bedroom walls were adorned with them.
She pressed a hand to her chest, studying the print. “I love it. Where is this one from?”
“Scotland.” Not that he was into that sort of thing, but this one was his favorite. It was a castle partly in ruin with the lush green backdrop and mountains. Inside the castle walls, a warm yellow light illuminated. The photo was taken near dusk. Very whimsical. He saw it, thought of her, and bought the print in two clicks.
She set the frame down on a table and launched herself at him. He barely had the wherewithal to catch her and stumbled back a step before wrapping his arms around her. Any residual strain from the past week dissolved with her against him. Her honey scent and soft curves so close brought his heart aching relief.
She eased her head back and cupped his cheek. “Thank you. I love it.”
Because his hands were occupied, he mouthed, You don’t say. I couldn’t tell. Smile still in her eyes, she stared at him while he tried to find a logical way not to let her go. She made no attempt either. His own grin slipped from his face as the blood roared through his veins. His damn Gabby, heart in her eyes. I’m sorry, he mouthed. Sorry his stupid actions nearly pried a wedge between them and that he’d been too weak to let it go.
Her tender gaze swept over his face, pausing on his mouth. “You’re attracted to me.”
Since she was stating the obvious and he had no idea where she was going with this conversation, he didn’t respond.
More silence stretched until she—fuck him dead—slid down the length of him, rubbing their good parts together in the process and creating enough friction to stall his lungs. With her feet on the ground, their bodies aligned toe to toe, chest to chest, and her warm hand still cupping his cheek. Her thumb traced his jaw and it dawned on him he forgot to shave. He wanted to close his eyes and savor the touch, but he settled for fisting the back of her sweater.
“We should talk about it.”
What changed her mind? He’d wanted to get it out in the open a week ago so they could move past it, go back to the way they were, but she’d blown him off. The ache in his chest returned with the memory because the Gabby he’d known most of his life would never have done that, proving this might be something they couldn’t come back from.
“You said you didn’t want to discuss the matter.” He was pretty sure if they did now it would make the situation worse.
“Things are uncomfortable between us. I don’t like it.” She chewed on her lip and a bead of sweat broke out on his back with the restraint not to lick that spot. “I’ve had some time to think about things.” She gently pressed her hand to his chest and stepped back, pointing to the couch.
She may as well have put the Grand Canyon between them. That’s how this “talk” felt. Like more and more distance between them, and they’d hadn’t even begun. But this Dr. Phil step was more like them. They’d never held back from whatever was on their minds, so he took a seat on the couch.
Popsicle strutted past Fletch, flicking her tail in the dog’s face. Fletch, used to the cat’s antics, lay down, one eye watching her. It took less than a blink for the cat to curl up next to the dog and both fell asleep.
Gabby sat right next to him instead of on the other side of the couch. She twisted to face him.
He sighed, bone-deep tired. “How was your date last night?”
She propped her head in her hand, elbow resting on the back of the couch. One shoulder shrugged as if to say meh. “We spent most of the night reminiscing about school. It felt more like a class reunion, party of two, than a date.” Her smile was self-depreciating. “We smacked foreheads when he leaned in to kiss me.”
He laughed. “No second date in the future?”
She shook her head, smile gone, gaze distant. He knew the moment her thoughts shifted back to them because a tiny wrinkle formed between her brows and she was hesitant to meet his eyes.
He waited her out and glanced around her living room. Her house was a cookie-cutter two-bedroom ranch which, unlike his color schemes of cool gray and green, she decorated with warm yellow and red. Her furniture was big and cozy, littered with accent pillows. She had glass figurines and vases where he had naturist art. It suited her, the house.
In Gabby fashion, she eventually looked him dead on and spoke her mind. “When did you start feeling this way about me?”
High school, not that he’d admit it to her. Back then, he’d been able to lock the emotions away and live in blessed denial. Why now the lock busted, he hadn’t a clue. He shook his head, at a loss. “I don’t have any answers for you, Gabby.”
“It bothers you that you’re attracted to me.” Not a question. A statement.
Hell if that didn’t look like hurt in her eyes. For a woman who’d stood in front of him and acknowledged his feelings, but in no way reciprocated, what right did she have to look so gutted? Unless his initial vibe was correct. She had snuggled up against him and pressed her face to his neck. There had been other more subtle signs as well. He thought he’d been delusional, reading too much into it at the time. But now, he wasn’t so sure.
“Am I alone in this, Gabby?” Not the direction he’d expected the conversation to take, but if she was even halfway near the place he was hovering at, then things just got lethal.
Her gaze lowered to her hands and she seemed to be fighting for an appropriate answer. His heart all but leapt out of his chest, cracking ribs and tearing tendons along the way. If she had to think this hard, then he wasn’t alone. He stopped breathing, waiting for clearance from her, but when her gaze met his, the floor dropped out.
Tears shimmered in her eyes and she drew in a ragged breath. “I’m having a hard time accepting that all of a sudden you’re seeing me in front of you. I’ve been here all along, Flynn.”
Did she seriously doubt he’d never known she was there? Didn’t recognize that nearly every waking minute she was wrapped around him, entwined in all aspects of his life? So much so that untangling them would cause massive bleeding. That was why he’d put his desire in a box years before and stored it away. That was why, now, when the box got dumped onto the floor, scattering the fragmented pieces, he was fighting so damn hard not to act. She was goddamn everywhere. Work. Home. Family. Friends. In dreams. Awake. In...his...head.
And she still hadn’t answered his question.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel. You don’t want this. Not really. You wouldn’t be this upset if—”
He stood so fast her cat toppled to the floor. He hadn’t noticed she’d jumped in his lap. Tufts of orange fur floated down.
Was she serious? He didn’t really want her?
He froze, staring at her wide, holy hell blue eyes and fisting his hands to keep them off her. Keep himself from dragging her to the nearest flat surface and demonstrating just how much he disagreed with her assessment. Air burned through his lungs. His temples throbbed.
And screw it. She wanted answers. He’d give them to her.
Taking her elbow, he pulled her to her feet. “My car. Now.”
“What? Where are we—?”
He cut her off with a deadpan glare and then looked at the dog and pointed for him to stay.