His eyebrows lifted. "Those are bold words for someone who's sleeping at my house."
Maybe. But I was too far gone to back down now. "Yeah, so?"
"So if you're worried about a midnight stabbing, you might want to rethink your strategy."
I wasn't worried about a stabbing, not literally. But anyone with a half a brain would surely call me a moron for staying under the same roof as someone who hated my guts.
But hey, I had my reasons. Thousands of them, in fact.
In reply, all I said was, "Your turn."
His mouth twitched at the corners. "You're not talking about a stabbing, are you? Because I left my knife at home."
Ha freaking ha.
I replied, "Then it's a good thing we're at a steak place, right?" I smiled. "Don't worry. I’m sure they'll have plenty of knives – for both of us."
He gave a slow nod. "A challenge. I like it."
Obviously, he was messing with me. As usual.
After all, we both knew that I'd be no challenge at all. In the movies, he was a master swordsman. Yes, I realized that none of the sword-fighting was real, but I also knew that he'd trained with some of the best in the business and that he did almost all of his own stunts.
Me, on the other hand? If I wanted to use my on-the-job training against him, I'd have to settle for something stupid, like waffle-flinging.
But then, I felt an evil smile tug at my lips. Or coffee-scalding.
Yes, a mug in the lap would do nicely.
Funny, this wasn't the first time I'd considered it. What was wrong with me, anyway? Until Flynn, I never thought about using food or drinks as weapons. Or steak knives for that matter.
He was definitely making me crazy.
I gave him an annoyed look. "Well? About Felicity, are you going to tell me or not?"
He smiled. "No."
I wanted to throttle him. "What?"
"No," he repeated. "That's the answer to your question."
Well, this was just terrific. Even when he was cooperating, he managed to irritate me on purpose.
Still, I wasn't about to take any chances. "Just to make sure I understand, you're saying that no, Felicity won't show up tonight? Is that your final answer?"
"I don't know. Is this a gameshow?"
"I'm not kidding," I said. "I need to know."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
Did I seriously need to explain? "Because I don't want to be ambushed."
"Yeah, you and me both. But she's back on the coast, so don't worry." He glanced toward the restaurant. "You ready?"
I bit my lip. Was I?
No. Not quite.
"Wait," I said. "According to that script of yours, what phase are we at? I mean, dating-wise?"
He gave me a look. "We're not just friends, if that's what you're asking."
At this, my heart skipped a beat. "But what about PDAs?"
"PDAs?"
"You know. Public displays of affection." I cleared my throat. "I mean, you haven't forgotten that we're not…" Silently, I searched for the right way to say it.
"What, gonna fuck in a booth?" His mouth tightened. "Don't worry. Like I said, I'm not interested."
"Good," I snapped. "But that's not what I meant. I'm just saying, if we're supposed to be a romantic couple, will we be…" I felt myself swallow. "…holding hands and kissing? Stuff like that?"
Stuff like that?
Good grief. I sounded like a high schooler. But honestly, I was feeling like a high schooler – all nervous and uncertain, just like I'd felt before my very first kiss.
Flynn replied, "That's up to you."
Okay, I knew that I wasn't ugly or anything, but the way he looked at me sometimes, it was almost enough to give me a complex. I muttered, "I bet you'd just 'love' that."
"Hey, I've kissed worse."
I made a scoffing sound. Gee thanks.
His gaze hardened. "You got something to say?"
"Nothing you'd want to hear."
"Go ahead. Humor me."
From the look in his eyes, he wouldn't know humor if it stabbed him in the face.
I said, "Okay, who?"
"What do you mean?"
I thought of Felicity Saint Cloud, along all the other women that Flynn had been linked to. Every single one of them had been absolutely gorgeous.
I forced a laugh. "I mean, who have you kissed that's supposedly worse than me? Don't tell me you've dated any regular girls lately."
Flynn gave me a look. It was one of those long, inscrutable looks that always made me feel just a little bit nervous.
Just when I'd concluded that he wouldn't grace me with a reply, he said, "You remember the witch?"
I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. "Which witch?"
"The one in Swordstone."
My eyes narrowed. I did remember. She was a hideous, festering thing who'd refused to reveal a critical secret unless Flynn's character gave her – yup, you guessed it – a freaking kiss.
Well, this was just terrific.
His words from a minute ago hung between us like an ugly stench. "Hey, I've kissed worse."
Jackass.
So, if I understood him correctly, he placed me somewhere between Felicity Saint Cloud and someone with warts that literally oozed.
Technically, his assessment was accurate, and I wouldn't've found it so terribly insulting if I didn't strongly suspect that on that little spectrum of his, I rated scarily close to the witch.
I gave him a look. "Just so you know, I've kissed worse, too."
This was actually true. Everyone I'd ever kissed would pale in comparison to Flynn Archer, unless we were comparing personalities, in which case, no one – and I mean, no one – was worse than him.
Looking annoying unruffled, he said, "Yeah? Good to know."
It was definitely time to move on. "Just tell me. What, specifically, do you want me to do? In the restaurant, I mean."
He shrugged. "That's up to you."
"Me?"
"Yeah. Play it however you want."
Given my current mood, this was a dangerous thing for him to say. I almost smiled at the possibilities. "Oh. So I can improvise?"
"That depends," he said. "Are you gonna go for my nuts?"
I drew back. "What?"
"I’m just saying, you've got that look."
"What look?"
"Like you wanna chew them up and spit them out."
Actually, I'd been thinking of a good scalding, no chewing needed. But that was beside the point.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't worry. Your nuts are safe."
Probably.
Chapter 35
Flynn
I had to give Anna credit. For someone who'd looked scared shitless fifteen minutes ago, she was making a decent show of it.
But now, I had a different problem. Her show was too good, and I was having a hard time remembering to hate her.
The worst part was, she wasn't going about it in the usual way. She wasn't flirting, giggling, or acting like she wanted to jump head-first into my pants.
No. She was trying to get a rise out of me.
As I watched, she leaned across the table, making her cleavage – the perfect amount, by the way – shift in her little black dress. From what I could tell, this wasn't part of her act, but it hit me just the same.
She obviously didn't realize how sexy she was or what she was doing to me. No. She was going for a rise of a different kind.
"What you should do," she said, "is carry it all the time."
She was talking about my sword – the one I carried in the movies. The sword had a name, not that it mattered now.
I shifted in my seat. She was getting a rise out of me, all right, but not the kind she was going for.
As far as her dress, it had come from the closet that I'd had stocked in the pink bedroom. I knew this because I'd seen the dress a couple of weeks ago, when the shopper had carried it in.
It hadn't looked half as good on the hanger.
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The dress was nothing special. The neckline wasn't even that low. Still, the way it looked on Anna was giving me all kinds of ideas that had nothing to do with the sword – or at least not the sword I carried in the movies.
Trying like hell not to show it, I said, "Yeah? Why would I want to do that?"
"Oh, I dunno," she said. "Self-defense?"
I leaned back in the booth. "Yeah? Anything else?"
So far, she'd suggested that I grow out my hair, wear my armor full-time, and walk with a limp. I had to give her points for the limp thing. It had, after all, been part of the plot in Swordplay, the movie that had come out just last year.
But what Anna didn't know was that the limp was for real. I'd gotten injured doing one of my own stunts, and rather than get a body double, the director had opted to write the limp into the script, which meant that I'd had to keep on limping long after the leg had healed.
But hey, I wasn't complaining. After all, I'd done worse things for money.
Across from me, Anna said, "Here's an idea. The heads – do you get to keep them?"
"What heads?"
"The ones you lop off."
I gave her a look. "You know that's an act, right?"
"Well, sure," she said. "But they did show the heads – you know, as they hit the ground. What you should do is buy them from the movie people."
Now, this I had to hear. "Why would I want to do that?"
"So you could carry them around, maybe in a sack or something." She smiled. "Nothing says 'Hey, I'm a bigtime movie star,' like a sack full of severed heads."
A bigtime movie star? I almost laughed, but not because it wasn't true. Yeah, I was a movie star. And yeah, the gig had been very good to me. But the whole point of moving back here to my hometown was to put a stop to all that.
The truth was, I fucking hated it.
Don't get me wrong. I wasn't ungrateful. But I was done.
As far as Anna's suggestion, I made a show of giving it some thought. "So this sack of yours, is it see-through?"
Her smile faltered. "What?"
''I'm just saying, if people can't see what's inside, what's the point?"
"Well..." Her tongue darted across her lips. "Maybe the sack is…"
Just then, a perky blonde appeared beside our table. "Oh, my God," she squealed, looking from me to Anna. "What are you two doing here?"
The blonde looked familiar, but I couldn’t seem to place her. Standing behind her was a lumpy brown-haired guy maybe a decade or two older. He wore a dark suit and tie – not too pricy, but not the cheap stuff either. From the look on his face, he wanted to be anywhere but here.
My gaze drifted to Anna. The way it looked, she was feeling the same.
Anna still hadn't replied when the blonde practically gushed, "It's been way too long." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder and said, "This is Preston, my fiancé, by the way."
Anna gave Preston a tentative smile. "Oh. Congratulations."
The blonde smiled. "Thanks. We're planning a November wedding." Without looking behind her, she said, "Isn't that right, Preston?"
Preston gave an obedient nod.
The blonde beamed at Anna. "Hey, I know. Why don't we join you?"
Anna hesitated. "Um, actually…"
This was too good to pass up. I said, "Sure, grab a seat." To drive the point home, I moved deeper into the booth, making room for Preston or whoever.
But it wasn't Preston who dove in beside me. It was the blonde. As she slid closer, she leaned her head close to mine and whispered, "I just love your movies, by the way."
"Thanks." I looked to Anna, who was sliding over to make room for Preston. She looked stiff and uncomfortable, which is exactly why I'd invited them in.
Obviously, the blonde was someone Anna knew. Whether she was a friend or acquaintance, or hell even a waffle customer, I didn't care. All I knew was that Anna needed to get used to playing her part, and it would be better to start here in front of a friendly audience than in front of the hostiles she'd be meeting later on.
Anna didn't know it, but we were going to the coast in just a few months for the premiere of the new movie. This was half of the reason I'd started the process here, in the middle of nowhere.
Better than most people, I knew the importance of rehearsals, and I was determined to make sure everything was running smoothly by the time we ventured beyond Anna's home turf.
Call it a dress rehearsal.
From beside me, the blonde looked to Anna and said, "Well? Aren't you going to introduce us?"
It was a funny thing to say, considering that blonde had practically introduced herself, aside from her name, that is.
Still, I kept my mouth shut as Anna went through the process of telling me that the blonde's name was Mackenzie and that she was an old friend from high school.
When Anna finished, Mackenzie giggled. "I'm not that old." With a big eye-roll, she looked to Preston and said, "I mean, if anyone's the geezer here, it's him." But then, her eyes brightened. "Preston's in banking."
Of course he was.
I was no expert in relationships, but even I could see that theirs wouldn't be a marriage based on mutual respect and admiration – unless the guy had a cock the size of Texas.
Preston said, "Actually, I'm in finance."
Mackenzie snapped, "I know. That's what I said." Afterward, she turned to me and said in a friendlier tone, "If you ever need financing for a new movie, Preston's your guy."
I gave Preston a quick once-over. If I needed financing – which I didn't – I sure as hell wouldn’t be seeking it from a guy so dense that he'd marry someone who only had eyes for his wallet.
Still, I said the appropriate things and then looked to Anna, who'd been silent during this whole exchange.
When our eyes met, she visibly swallowed.
Fuck. If she couldn’t suck it up now, in front of friendlies, her odds of sucking it up later weren't looking so great.
The dumb-ass part of me almost wanted to rescue her, to take her away someplace quiet or to fill in the silence by saying something of my own. But, as I'd already reminded myself, I wasn't that guy.
And she wasn't that girl.
So I crossed my arms and waited.
Your turn, Anna Burke.
Earn your money. Or give it up.
Chapter 36
Anna
From the other side of the booth, I stared stupidly at Flynn. Already, my stomach was knotted so tight, I could barely breathe. Of all the people to join us, why Mackenzie?
I hadn't seen her in three whole years. And even then, she hadn't been nearly this friendly. In fact, our last encounter had been so awful that I couldn't help but wonder why on Earth she was even pretending to be my friend.
Yes, we'd been best friends in high school, but afterward, when my family had lost everything, she'd ditched me quicker than she'd ditched the president of the math club after blowing him in the back parking lot.
Oh well. At least he'd been happy.
As far as myself, her renewed friendliness shouldn't've been a surprise. I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly why she'd approached us, and it had nothing to do with fond feelings from high school.
As I watched, she slid closer to Flynn and practically cooed, "So, the two of you are an item, huh?"
Obviously, she meant me and Flynn, which told me that Mackenzie, like a million other people, had seen that whole stupid interview my mom had given in our crappy little apartment.
With my heart in my throat, I waited for Flynn to respond. And when he didn't, I forced myself to speak up. "Uh, yeah."
Yup, that was me. Miss Eloquence.
Across from me, Flynn looked decidedly unimpressed. I knew what he was doing. He was putting me on the spot, making me perform whether I felt like it or not.
But that's exactly what I'd signed on for, wasn't it?
Reluctantly, I tried again. "Actually, we're living together."
Mackenzie gave me a smile that was e
ven faker than her nose, which yes, had changed considerably since high school. "Oh really?" she said. "You mean at the mansion he's building north of town?"
Funny, Flynn never called it a mansion. He called it his house.
But hey, I had a role to play, and it wasn't my job to tone it down. "Oh yeah," I said. "And, um, the place is huge, really huge, with a really nice kitchen."
Good lord.
The sad truth was, even though I'd been staying at the house for a little while now, I hadn't wanted to snoop through his property. As a result, other than the kitchen and dining area, and yes, the hideous pink bedroom, I didn't know a whole lot about the place that Flynn called home.
Funny, I didn't know a lot of things.
I didn't know his favorite color or the kind of music he liked. As far as food, I knew he liked waffles – well, some waffles, anyway. But what else did he like?
We were at a steakhouse. Did that mean he liked steak?
Probably.
I mean, all guys liked steak, right?
We hadn't yet ordered, mostly because Flynn had told the waitress that we weren't in hurry and that we wanted to enjoy our drinks first. As for her part, the waitress had slobbered all over him, telling him in a breathy voice that she'd be happy to provide him anything he wanted, personally.
And then, she'd winked at him, as if I weren't sitting right here in the same booth.
Recalling my drink – a glass of red wine – I picked it up and gulped like there was no tomorrow. When I returned the glass to the table, half of the wine was gone.
Good.
If I had my way, the other half would be disappearing down my gullet shortly, assuming my stomach would cooperate. With sudden desperation, I said, "Bread – we need more of it."
Mackenzie frowned toward the bread basket that the waitress had dropped off ten minutes earlier. "But why?" Mackenzie said. "There's plenty left."
I reached out and plucked a slice from the basket. I tore off the crust and popped the center part into my mouth. I chewed like crazy and gave it a hard swallow. And then, I did the same thing with the crust.
When I was done, everyone was staring.
Mackenzie gave me a thin smile. "Gee maybe we should order some more."
Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance Page 14
