They come in takeaway cups and Flynn frowns. “There’re no marshmallows. Or whipped cream.”
Sometimes I forget Flynn doesn’t know how to be human. “You didn’t ask for any.”
He lifts his hand to get the barista’s attention and I tug it back down. “Dude, seriously, you have to stop drawing attention to us.”
Flynn sighs. “Fine.”
I pick up one of the cups, thinking that’s that, but then Flynn takes the other cup and tugs on my hand again. “Come on.”
“Will you stop dragging me places?” I mutter, stumbling a little as he leads me around the side of the counter to a door markedstaff only. My stomach flips. “What are you doing?”
Flynn, of course, ignores me. He glances around the shop, waiting till the barista isn’t looking before letting go of my hand and opening the door.
“No.” I take a step back, but Flynn scoops his arm around my waist and corrals me forward.
“In you go, Lilac.”
I think my heart attack is coming back. Flynn follows me inside and locks the door behind us. I glare at him in the dark. “You can’t just come in here. It’s staff only.”
“So?”
“It’s against the rules!”
I can just make out the outline of Flynn’s body as he runs his hand along the wall. He must find the light switch because the fluorescent bulb above flickers to life. “And what have I ever done to make you think I care about rules?”
Okay, he has a point but still.Icare about rules, so I stand there in what is clearly a stock room as Flynn puts his cup down on a shelf and searches through the cooler.
“Aha.” He spins around, flourishing a can of whipped cream.
I blink at him.
He ignores my very loud silence and squirts a ridiculous amount of whipped cream onto my hot chocolate. Then, when I continue to just stare at him, he has the audacity to aim the nozzle at my nose.
I press my hand against his chest. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
He smirks and presses the trigger.
My mouth drops open as whipped cream slips off my nose and onto my lower lip. I blame human instinct for what happens next because I can’t help myself from snatching the canister off him and firing it like it’s silly string.
Lines of whipped cream stick to his shirt like abstract art. Most of it got on his T-shirt but some hit his open jacket and the cream slides off the black leather.
He looks down at the mess, like he can’t quite believe I just did that, and laughter bubbles in my chest.
Flynn smirks at me. “Oh, you are in so much trouble.”
He takes my hot chocolate, placing it on the shelf, before lunging for the can of whipped cream.
I squeal and dodge backwards, but Flynn’s long arm snags my waist, and he drags me back in towards him, anchoring my back to his front as he fights to reclaim the canister.
“No, no, no.”
“If you’re going to misbehave, Lilac, you’ve got to be prepared for the consequences.”
“You started it!” I tighten my grip on the cream, but Flynn manages to grab my wrist, squeezing until my hold slips. He catches the can and I wriggle in his arms.
“Okay, okay! I’ll be good,” I swear.
“I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?” My T-shirt somehow rose up in the struggle and Flynn’s thumb brushes my bare stomach. His touch stills me to my core. All I can feel is his hand on my skin. Fingers splayed. His pinkie brushing the waistband of my jeans.
