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“Yeah, maybe,” she said, sounding contemplative.
Flynn didn’t feel so much contemplative as wary. Sabrina did deserve to feel that kind of bone-deep love, but she wasn’t going to find it with him. He was good for sex. He was a great friend, but the love part he was done with.
He wouldn’t risk diving into the deep end again, not after he’d nearly drowned. It was safer on the shore, with her. It was also completely unfair to tie her up with whatever this was between them when he knew she deserved better.
He cared about her too much to let her go, and he cared too much to keep her. That thought darkened his mood and kept his eyes open and on the ceiling for the next hour while she slept in his arms.
It’d been so long since she’d had a paintbrush in her hand, Sabrina almost didn’t know where to start. But once she was over the fear of the blank canvas and drew that first line of paint, she’d be fine.
Noise-canceling headphones over her ears, music piping through them, she danced as she painted those first simple strokes onto the canvas. By the time she’d shaded in the shape of the chickadee, a familiar, easy confidence flooded through her. She could do this. She’d done it dozens of times.
She painted the bird’s delicate taupe and tan and white feathers and used a razor-thin brush to fill in his tiny pointed beak and delicate, spindly legs. She placed him on a tender branch and added a few spring buds and lush, green leaves, finishing off the painting by adding a pale blue background.
Pulling her headphones off, she stood back from the easel to admire her work. Still wet, and far from perfect, but the painting was all hers. Created from her imagination and brought to life through acrylics. It was exhilarating to think about what she was capable of with a few simple tools.
Once she’d been completely confident in her painting abilities. She’d endeavored to sell them, or show them at an art exhibit. She didn’t let go of that dream all at once. It’d faded slowly. She’d put her brushes and acrylics in her closet, and then she’d tucked away her canvases, as well. She’d been distracted by life and friends and family—Flynn and Luke included—and there suddenly wasn’t enough time or room for hobbies.
She frowned, wondering how many other loves she’d sidelined over the years.
“What is that? Sparrow?” Flynn jogged down the stairs wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a laundry hamper hooked under his arm.
“It’s a chickadee.” She smiled, amused by the sight of Flynn in the midst of doing laundry. “I’m assuming you’re sending that out somewhere?”
“Yeah. I’m sending it to the washing machine,” he said with a displeased frown.
“I did your laundry in college. You always hated it.”
“Who the hell likes to do laundry?” He gave her a sideways smile. “You should feel reassured that I don’t need you to do my laundry.”
That was too close to “I don’t need you” for her to feel reassured about anything. Her very identity was wrapped up in being needed by Flynn, and now wanted by Flynn...a thought she definitely wasn’t going to explore deeper.
“I’m going to paint him a friend.” She tilted her head to study the painting. “He seems lonely.”
“Why? Do they mate for life or something?”
“No, actually.” She’d researched them when she’d practiced drawing chickadees in her journal. Sadly, her sweet little bird wasn’t a one-chick kind of guy. “They’re socially monogamous.”
“What the hell’s that mean?”
“They’re only together to procreate.”
“Typical guy. Only there for the sex.”
Her laugh was weak as that comment settled into her gut like a heavy stone. Sounded like her current situation with Flynn.
“If you have anything to throw in...” He tilted his head to indicate the laundry room before walking in that direction.
Sabrina’s mind retreated back to his college dorm room. To sitting next to him on his bed while he searched through a pile of clothes for a “cleanish” shirt. The memory was vivid and so welcome.
Remembering who they were to each other eased her nerves. She wasn’t some convenient girl and he wasn’t a random hot guy. This was Flynn. She knew him better than anyone.
She rinsed the paint off her palette and cleaned her brushes, considering something she had never considered before. What if they had real potential beyond best friends with benefits? What if they’d overlooked it for years? They could blame inconvenience since they’d been dating other people until now, or they could blame their friendship. They’d accepted their role as friends so completely, it hadn’t occurred to them to take it to the next level.
But now that they had taken it to the next level, now that they had been naked together on more than one occasion—and she was looking forward to it again—was there more to them than just friends or just sex? And if there was a possibility to move into the next realm, was she brave enough to try?
Wide hands gripped her hips and she jumped, dropping her paintbrushes. They clattered into the stainless steel sink where she’d been cleaning them.
“Oh!” She spun to find Flynn looking pretty damn proud of himself. She gave him a playful shove. “I’m not sure I like this version of you.”
