Suuure.
Wright
Is Detective Derek late?
Hazel
His name is just Derek. And I’m early.
Olivia
Do you actually like him though?
I read Livi’s message and put my phone on the table. I could like Derek. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s attractive, kind, has a steady job that doesn’t involve strangling people.
“What made you marry Dad, Mom?”
“Oh, well he wasn’t a murderer, sweetie.”
Yep, sounds like a great start to a relationship. I fold my arms on the table and let my head fall against them.
The chair next to me scrapes as it’s pulled out from under the table and I jolt up. “Hey, sorry, I was just…” My excuse trails off when I realize it’s not Derek sitting across from me.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss at Flynn.
“You’re here,” he says simply, like that’s enough of an explanation. He’s in his biker jacket again, which means I find myself once more trying to balance being mad with ignoring just how attracted to him I am. Stupid pheromones.
The bell dings and my gaze darts to the door.
Flynn follows my eyeline then his attention settles on me, heavy and impossible to ignore. “You’re meeting someone.”
“No.” I check my phone.
Flynn’s hand settles over mine. “Did you just lie to me, Lilac?”
I go still, like his palm is icy and not the warm, comforting touch it actually is. Memories of the last time his hands were on me flood back and I fight the rush of arousal that has my thighs pressing together. This is bad. I know full well that I should move my hand. But I don’t. “How do you know I didn’t just get a hankering for coffee on my lunch break?”
Flynn runs the tip of his finger over the back of my hand. “You don’t like coffee.”
I fight back a shiver and this time I do pull away. “It’s weird that you know that.”
“Who are you meeting, Hazel?”
Screw it, maybe telling him will finally make him back off. I angle myself so I’m facing him front on and cross my arms. “I have a date.”
I brace myself, but the anger I expect, never comes. Flynn just brushes his thumb over his mouth, his eyes twinkling.
Disbelief tugs at my jaw and I’m severely tempted to kick him under the table. “Are youlaughingat the idea that I have a date?”
“Not at all.” Amusement plays at his lips. Lips that I am definitely not paying attention to. His gaze shifts to the door as a man with an uncomfortably obvious toupee bundles inside.
“Is it him? Personally, the wig doesn’t do it for me but to each their own.”
Now I do kick him, jabbing the heel of my boot onto his foot. Except that just makes him splay his hand over my thigh, holding it in place in a way that has my core clenching.
“You can’t be here, Flynn,” I say in a harsh whisper. “My date is a cop. I don’t know how nobody has recognized you yet, but he will.”
“Aww, are you worried for me, Lilac?”
