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“Perfect?” I prod, my nipples furling further, the tightness begging to be touched and relieved.
“Goddammit, cover yourself.” I’m hit mostly in the face with a fluffy towel, and I bury my face in it long enough to chuckle before resting the thing over the top half of me. “I thought you were over these stupid games?”
That stings, but so did kissing me then pushing me away. I guess it’s a good thing I’m used to being tossed to the side, huh? It’s made me resilient, given me thick skin, and that’s the story I’m sticking to no matter how many times I’ve cried myself to sleep the last couple of days.
“I want to go to a club. I don’t want to be trapped inside for my birthday.”
“You aren’t going to give up on this are you?”
“No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “Why should I? It’s your job to keep me safe and out of trouble.”
“One condition,” he concedes, and my spirits fall a little.
I was hoping he’d refuse, which inevitably would lead to me sneaking out and him having to chase me. Recreating that night he kissed me has been on my mind since I walked away from him on that sidewalk. Despite the hateful conversation I heard and knowing he’d rather be anywhere else than here with me, I somehow just want to spend more time with him. Thankfully, he’s been a little more talkative since the kiss. I get more than dismissive grunts, but he makes damn sure not to be in any position of comfort alone with me.
“What’s the condition?” I narrow my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.
His eyes dart away. “Remi.”
Looking down, I notice I’ve moved the towel and my right breast is once again exposed. With a smirk, I reposition the towel, waiting for him to turn back to face me without saying a word. His hands clench, open and close, open and close over and over for long moments before he turns back to face me.
“It has to be more than just me.”
“Who do you suggest?”
“Guys from Blackbridge, and you have to—”
“One condition,” I say, holding up a single finger. “No more.”
His jaw clenches, the muscles tightening and it makes me miss the scruff that formed there the days he was sick. It made him look older, but so rugged and out of control, unlike now. He’s all buttoned up looking like the secret service or a politician. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still handsome as ever, but seeing him a little frumpy will always be my preference. When he’s a little disheveled, I feel more on equal footing with him. Dressed like he is now, with that strait-laced attitude of his, I feel like a high school student getting in trouble at the principal’s office, which in some storylines has its appeal, but isn’t what I’m looking for.
“Fine,” he grunts, sitting in the lounger beside mine with a huff. He’s acting like he just came out of battle, and all I can do is smile.
Yeah, I want my party at a club. I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t want to celebrate here at the house. It’s a big deal. There have been moments in my life when I didn’t even know if I’d live to see legal-drinking age.
But mostly I want to cut loose, let music flow through my veins while Flynn watches me dance. I don’t want to dance with others and make him jealous. I want to clasp his hand when my favorite song comes on and have him not put up too much of a fight when I drag him out to the dance floor. I want to feel his body roll against mine, need to feel his hands on my back, twitching with the need to grip my ass.
I want—
“I’ll see you later,” Flynn says, clearing his throat and hauling ass away from the pool.
Saddened to watch him go, I’m also thankful for the time he spent talking to me. Okay, it was arguing with me, but at this point, I’m not going to be picky. Either is better than being ignored.
It doesn’t take long for boredom to settle in. I drank too much coffee this morning to be able to nap, and I have no desire to leave the house.
I tie my bikini top back on and pull my cover up on and wrap it around my body. I don’t mind teasing Flynn with my tits, but the gardener has been in and out all day checking on house plants, and that guy is a little creepy.
Flynn isn’t in the living room or kitchen. He doesn’t answer my knock on the security office door, but I know he has to be around here somewhere.
Looking takes longer than it should because honestly this damn house is too big, but I eventually find him running on the treadmill in the workout room. His eyes are laser-focused on the television in front of him, but no matter how enthralled he is with flipping CNN, I have no doubt he sensed me approach.
