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Abby rested her forehead against the cool wood of her front door. This was so much worse than she’d thought it would be. There was no way she could keep Victoria away from Katy, and there was no way she could censor Katy’s conversation. It was hopeless. They were doomed.
Being good sucked. Flynn had only been doing it for a couple of hours and he could already tell it wasn’t nearly as much fun as being bad.
“I don’t understand,” one of the Ball Babes whined. “Why do we have to leave?”
He’d been having this same argument with the three women for half an hour and his head was beginning to hurt. It wasn’t that they were stupid—one of them was on summer break from uni, where she studied physics, of all things. He considered the three wide-eyed bleached-blondes and hoped to hell the one studying physics never got near anything nuclear.
“I explained this, honey.” Flynn was seriously losing his patience. “I’m through partying. It’s time to concentrate on my recovery, and to do that, I need quiet.”
“We can be quiet,” Mindy said. At least he thought she was Mindy. The three of them had names that rhymed. Something like Mindy, Sindy, Bindy. Who the hell knew? Whatever it was, they probably spelled it with an i and dotted the letter with a little heart.
Old. He felt old.
“I know you can, honey, but it’s time to move on. I’ve arranged for you to go hang out with Michael. He’s renting a house down in Edinburgh. There’s more life in the city anyway, and you girls definitely need more to occupy you than a beat-up footballer.”
“But we like our beat-up footballer.” Mindy/Sindy/Bindy Number Two knelt up on her chair, pouted collagen-enhanced lips and ran her palm over his chest.
His abs twitched beneath her touch, and he wondered again if he should just keep them. They could be quiet. If they tried. No. He was going to be good if it killed him. He shook his head and gently removed the hand heading steadily south to his shorts.
“I’m sorry, honey, but all good things must come to an end. That’s the way the cookie crumbles. But every cloud has a silver lining.” Somebody needed to slap him upside the head. Could he squeeze any more clichés into this conversation?
“But I want to stay with you.” Mindy/Sindy/Bindy Number Three pouted.
“I know you do. But you can’t always get what you want, sometimes you get what you need.” He mentally rolled his eyes at himself as she nodded sagely. The vacant look in her eyes led him to suspect she was the one who didn’t attend uni.
“Can we come back and visit?” Number One said.
He was distracted momentarily by the fact her baby tee barely covered her ample rack. But instead of wondering about getting her out of the shirt, as he usually did when around women who were scantily clad, he was wondering if she shopped in the kid’s section. What was wrong with him?
“Course you can,” he crooned at Number One. “You know the Ball Babes are always welcome here.” Damn, wrong thing to say. “Except right now, when you have to go.” Smooth. Real smooth.
Number One’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You look really tense, Flynn. Maybe you shouldn’t make this sort of decision until you’re relaxed. The girls and I could give you a massage.” She licked her lips. “It would help clear your mind.”
Every cell in his body screamed, Yes please! They gave damn good massages. He’d been indulging in them for weeks, hoping their touch would help him heal. Mentally and physically. Yeah, he liked those massages a lot. He wondered if his family would appreciate everything he was sacrificing to please them. He doubted it. He closed his eyes and waited until his breathing slowed.
“That’s a really kind offer,” he said at last, “but I booked a car for you and it will be here in a little while. Anyway, wouldn’t you rather stay in an Edinburgh penthouse than in a dusty old van in the middle of a field?” He glanced around at his luxury, top-of-the-line, two-bedroom motorhome. Okay, maybe dusty old van was pushing it. “Now, go pack up your things. Michael’s really looking forward to your visit. He’s planning a team party around it.”
“He is?” Number Two perked right up.
“Absolutely,” Flynn lied. Well, it was kind of a lie. He was sure Michael would plan a party as soon as he knew the women were heading his way, which would be about ten minutes before they rang his doorbell. Flynn had this relocation timed down to the second, like a military manoeuvre.
“Well, if you’re sure.” Number Three hung her head in resignation.
“I’m sure. Now, I’ll just hang outside until you’re ready to leave.” Before they could say another word, he turned and hauled himself out of the van, pushing the camera guy out in front of him.
He was about to heave a sigh of relief when he spotted the weasel waiting. His arms were folded tight across his bony chest. The perpetual frown was in place. “You’re sending them away? Right now, they’re all this documentary’s got going for it. What are we supposed to shoot now? Your hairy arse lounging around all day?”
Flynn shrugged rather than punching the weasel’s face. The camera was still rolling, and he knew anything he did would be edited for effect. “I didn’t know you were that interested in my arse, Brian.”
The weasel grabbed his phone from his pocket and stabbed at it with bony fingers as he stomped to his car. Seemed like the whole town heaved a sigh of relief when the car sped away, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a peaceful gap where the man once stood.
The camera guy snickered as Flynn hobbled past him to his lounger. As he stumbled over discarded beer bottles and empty chip packets, he realised his mistake. He should have sent the women away after he got them to clean up. Now he’d have to hire someone to do it for him.
Half an hour later, the car arrived to take the women to Edinburgh. They came out of the van laden with luggage. Each of them primped and sparkled, ready for travel. He stood to accept hugs, kisses and fake tears of farewell.
As Number Two and Number Three climbed into the car, Number One gave him an extra squeeze. “Take care of yourself, Flynn. Don’t let it get to you.” She nodded towards his leg.
He smiled politely, because that was what you were supposed to do when people said stuff like that. “I won’t, promise.”
