I gape at him. “It’s notthatbad!” Determined to prove him wrong I drink from my own mug. Bitter, acrid chocolate hits my taste buds and I force the liquid down.
“Well?” Flynn asks.
“Delicious.”
Flynn laughs, the joyous sound rumbling through me. “Oh sweetheart, you’re a bad liar.”
I scowl and open the cupboard next to the sink to grab the half-eaten packet of mini marshmallows. I drop a handful into my mug in the hopes that it will make the cocoa vaguely palatable. I debate offering the bag to Flynn but decide to draw the line at sharing marshmallows.
He takes another sip from his mug and if I wasn’t already sure he was crazy, this would be the indicator because the psychopath continues to drink the vile cocoa like it’s your average cup of joe.
I hold my bag of marshmallows close and frown at him. “If you’re going to insist on hanging around, can we at least relocate to the living room?” My best friend, Wright, dragged me to her self-defense class yesterday (oh the irony) and my legs are currently on the outs with gravity. The adrenaline from work and then from the whole man-climbing-through-my-bedroom-window thing has kept me going but now it’s wearing off, I’m about sixty seconds from collapsing.
Flynn extricates himself from the chair and picks up his chocolate. “Lead the way.”
I round the table, keeping my eyes on him as I pass by to go through the open archway into the living area. I scrunch my toes into the fluffy rug before sitting on the old 70’s yellow couch. The rug is the only thing I’ve changed since my gran died and I can’thelp thinking what she would say if she saw Flynn sitting on her couch.
Oh my god, she’d totally try to set us up. At least until she realized where she recognized him from.
I scrunch myself into the corner of the couch and squish a cushion between my knees and my chest, resting my mug on it.
Flynn sits across from me, one arm splayed on the armrest as he sips his hot chocolate.
I drag my nail over the embroidered floral patterns on the couch as Flynn’s gaze sweeps over the room. The way he looks is so focused, so intense, like he’s cataloguing even the tiny scratch on the time-warp box TV and the mug stains on the pine wood coffee table.
“Are you done?” I ask, snagging two more marshmallows from the bag I brought with me.
Flynn’s lip twitches. “Your taste is rather… eclectic.”
I throw a marshmallow at him.
The soft pink chunk of floof bounces off his cheek bone and every cell in my body freezes. I can’t believe I just did that. Panic shoots through me, hot cocoa splashing over my hand as I twist around, ready to run, until a strong hand curls around my foot.
He pulls my leg straight, his hand clamping down on my ankle, pinning me to the couch. “No.”
My breath shakes out of me and I stay put. I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter but then he loosens his grip, the tips of his fingers trailing up my bare leg. Tiny little fireworks follow his touch and my core squirms in a way I really shouldn’t like. I clench my thighs together only to wince as my hand brushes against the back of the couch.
Flynn’s scrutinous gaze flicks to my wrist, the skin pink and sore where the hot chocolate splashed. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s fine.”
His brows knit together, so dark on his pale skin. “Wait here.”
I don’t know what compels me to do what he says, maybe I’m still shell-shocked. Or maybe it’s the feel of his fingers imprinted on my ankle, but I don’t try to run. I just watch through the archway as he makes my tea towel wet and wrings it out.
He’s so tall he has to duck when he comes back through the arch. I crane my neck as he stops in front of me but then he crouches down, and his perfectly sculpted face is right there, powder blue eyes dusting over my skin. “Give me your wrist, sweetheart.”
I blink and hold out my arm.
His touch is gentle, the tendons in his fingers playing like strings on a guitar as he wraps the cool towel around my wrist, securing the ends better than most of the paramedics I’ve met.
“Better?”
The cold soothes the burn. “Yes. Thank you.”
Flynn slides his hand down till his fingers are touching mine and the last of the pain disappears as my attention narrows to the pads of his fingers.
My heart kicks, each breath brushing the air.
