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“Beer and football some night?” Flynn called after Lawrence as he followed Victoria.
Lawrence flicked a glance at Abby before grinning at Flynn. “It would be my pleasure.”
And then they were gone.
11
"Rugby is a game for barbarians played by gentlemen.
Football is a game for gentlemen played by barbarians."
Oscar Wilde, amateur football player
“What do you think you’re doing?” Abby’s hysterical question hit Flynn as soon as the door shut on her sister. It distracted Flynn from his speculation about the sister. There were skeletons in her closet. Possibly ones that would help Abby’s cause.
“I’m helping. Like I told you I would.”
“This is helping?” Her voice became a high-pitched screech. Not attractive.
“Flynn’s in trouble, Flynn’s in trouble,” Katy sang. “Make him sit on the naughty step. He never sits on the step.”
“What did we talk about, kid? You’re supposed to be nice to me.”
“Only when Aunty Victoria is here, and she’s gone.” She turned back to her mother. “Make him sit on the stair!”
“That’s it,” Flynn told her. “No story tonight. If you can go back on the deal and freak the hell out, I don’t need to read stories.”
“Children!” Abby shouted then flushed red when she realised what she’d said.
The look on her face would have been funny—if he hadn’t been the one she was calling a kid.
Katy smirked, and Flynn resisted the overwhelming urge to stick his tongue out at her. Huh, maybe Abby had a point?
“I mean,” Abby said with forced calm, “you two stop it.” She pointed at Katy. “She has an excuse. She’s a preschooler. What’s your excuse?”
Flynn couldn’t resist. He pointed at Katy too. “She made me do it!” He burst out laughing.
Abby ran her fingers through her hair, obviously forgetting it was tied in a bun at the base of her neck. Her fingers caught and the hair came loose, hanging lopsided at her shoulder.
“Damn it.” She pulled out the rest of the pins.
Katy’s hands flew to cover her mouth, her eyes wide. “She said the D-word,” she whispered to Flynn.
“Aye.” Flynn pretended disappointment. “Her behaviour is deteriorating. Maybe she should sit on the naughty step?”
Katy’s giggle told him she thought it was a brilliant idea. Meanwhile, Abby was muttering something about cats and hatters. Flynn actually began to worry; yet another emotion he was unfamiliar with. He wasn’t sure how many more times Abby could lose the plot before she lost it for good. She was English. The English dealt with trauma by drinking tea. He could make tea.
“Sit down,” he told the pacing woman. “It’s all going to be fine. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and you’ll feel a lot better.”
“I’ll help,” Katy shouted.
Whatever. Flynn headed for the kitchen counter with the terrorist at his heels. Abby ignored his soothing advice and continued with her muttering and pacing. Although, he had to say, he enjoyed the pacing. She wore a pale pink dress that skimmed her curves and ended below her knee. It had a high neck, long sleeves and was in no way revealing. Yet on her, it was sexy as hell. Especially seeing as it cupped her curvy backside with every angry step she took. And damn. Those heels. The pink peep-toes were sex in shoe form. He almost groaned at the sight.
“You fill the kettle,” Katy said. “I’ll get the tea bags.”
Flynn dragged his eyes away from her mother, to see Katy climb on a stool and retrieve some tea bags from the cupboard. There was an open box of tea on the counter. Flynn pointed at it.
“Why aren’t we using this tea?”
