Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  I sighed in frustration. "Listen, Flynn–"

  "Hold that thought."

  As I watched, he stood and – What the hell? – hurled my shoe deep into the woods behind me.

  With a gasp, I whirled to look. I couldn’t even see where it landed. I turned back to him and demanded, "What'd you do that for?"

  "So you'd stop telling me you can walk."

  I glared up at him. "I can still walk without a shoe. I mean, I have gone barefoot before."

  "Yeah? You try it on this path, and you'll have worse problems than a twisted ankle."

  I already had worse problems. In fact, my biggest problem was him.

  I wanted to say something sharp and cutting. When nothing came to mind, I muttered, "But I liked that shoe."

  It wasn't that I loved it or anything, but the truth was, I didn't have many shoes to spare.

  With something like a smile, he said, "Yeah, well…I'll find it tomorrow."

  Tomorrow.

  Would I even be here?

  I almost wanted to cry. The last twelve hours had been a total nightmare.

  I was living with a guy who hated me. I was still burning with humiliation from that scene in his back seat. And I'd come to the awful conclusion that unless something drastically changed, I'd never be able to live up to my end of the agreement – assuming that I even wanted to.

  I looked down. And now, I looked like a mud-monster. Good thing I'd worn black. With a sigh, I said, "I bet you're glad I wore my own clothes, huh?"

  "Fuck the clothes," he said. "It's you I’m worried about."

  I looked up. "Is that a joke?"

  His voice was quiet. "No."

  "Well that's funny," I said. "Because it seems to me that you find it absolutely hilarious when bad things happen to me."

  His gaze softened. "Anna—"

  "I'm serious," I said. "I think you actually get off on it."

  Slowly, he knelt down in front of me and took my muddy hands in his. He gave them a gentle squeeze. "Listen, there's something I need to say."

  "What?"

  "I'm sorry."

  I almost fell off the stump. "What?"

  "I’m sorry," he repeated, sounding just as sincere as the first time.

  "You are?"

  "Last night? You were right. I was an asshole. But if you stick around, I can promise you this." His gaze locked on mine. "It won't happen again."

  His eyes were dark and intense, and for some stupid reason, I didn't want to look away. Damn it.

  A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "As if I'd let you. I mean, I wouldn't fall for that trick again."

  Why was I laughing? It wasn't funny. Probably, I was only laughing so I didn't break down and cry.

  From the look on Flynn's face, he didn't see the humor either. In that same quiet voice, he said, "Tell me, how can I make it up to you?"

  The question – not to mention his tone – shocked me to the core. I'd been planning to demand an apology along a promise that he'd never pull such a stunt again.

  But he'd already given me both of these things, without me having to ask.

  And now he was offering to make amends?

  Why now?

  There was something I'd been wondering since the beginning, and I couldn’t stop myself from saying, "Has it ever occurred to you that you should've picked a girl you actually liked?"

  His gaze never wavered. "No."

  "Why not?'

  "The truth? I didn't want the complication."

  I knew what he meant, but it didn't make me feel any better. All I knew was that, once again, he found me so repulsive that I offered zero temptation.

  It shouldn't've bothered me. But it did.

  I pulled my hands from his. "Well, you surely realize this isn't going so great. I mean, we can't go on like this." I gave a decisive shake of my head. "And I won't."

  "Good. You shouldn't have to."

  I wasn't quite sure I believed him. What was this? Guilt talking? It had to be.

  When I said nothing in reply, he said, "So answer the question."

  "What question?"

  "How can I make it up to you?"

  The answer to that was easy. "For starters, you could at least act like you don't hate me all the time."

  He frowned. "That's no favor."

  "I'm not asking for a favor," I said. "I'm asking for your cooperation. After all, no one should be stabbed in their sleep."

  His eyebrows furrowed. "I wasn't planning on it."

  "Who's to say you're the stabber?" I tried to smile. "Maybe you're the stabbee. You ever think of that?"

  To my surprise, he actually smiled back. "So that's how you're playing it, huh?"

  At his smile, my heart gave an annoying little flutter. But I refused to be distracted. "Look, you want people believe we're romantic, right?"

  "That's the idea."

  "Well, have you ever considered how difficult that is when you're so rude in private?" When he said nothing in reply, I continued. "I mean, I know you act for a living, but I don't. Maybe I can't turn everything off and on like a switch. You ever think of that?"

  On a roll now, I kept on going. "And here's another thing. I don’t even know your favorite color. Or your favorite food." My voice rose. "Cripes, I don't even know if you have a washing machine."

  His eyes filled with amusement. "So you've been thinking about my washing machine?"

  I froze. Damn it.

  Too late, it occurred to me that I should've picked another example to illustrate how little I knew of his house.

  My gaze narrowed. "If anything, I've been thinking about your knife drawer."

  "Good to know."

  Was it? Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, I looked once again to my lap. Between the lack of sleep and aching ankle, not to mention the fact that I was now freezing thanks to my face-plant in the mud, I was a total mess.

  And I still had to get back to his house. In spite of my claims, I didn’t truly see myself limping along in the mud, especially with no shoe, which meant that he'd feel obligated to carry me, whether he wanted to or not.

  I was still staring at my lap when he said, "So tell me, what can I do?"

  I looked up. "All right, you wanna know?" I met his gaze head-on. "From now on, you could at least pretend to like me."

  Chapter 47

  Flynn

  As our eyes met, it was hard not to feel like a giant shit-heel. She was covered in mud, shivering – though she tried not to show it – and in pain, which she wasn't hiding nearly as well as she thought.

  Still, I had to admire the effort.

  It was more than I'd expected.

  More than I deserved, too.

  The more I thought about last night, the more I hated myself for what I'd let happen. No – for what I'd made happen.

  Now, as I recalled that scene in my back seat, I wasn't sure what I regretted more – that I'd ended it the way I did, or that I'd ended it all.

  And as far as today, I'd known that the trails would be muddy. Hell, I'd been counting on it. But in that messed-up script of mine, Anna gave up after five minutes and high-tailed it back to the house to wait for my return.

  But, as I was slowly learning, Anna wasn't one to follow any script of mine – or give up that easily.

  As far as her request, it wasn't a lot to ask. In fact, it wasn't enough.

  From her seat on the stump, she continued. "I'm just saying, maybe if we weren't at each other's throats all the time in private, we'd get along better in public."

  When she finished speaking, I didn't hesitate. "Deal."

  She gave me a dubious look. "Are you sure you can live up to it?"

  I smiled. "What, you think I can't?"

  "Well…" She bit her lip. "I don't know."

  "Don't worry," I said. "I do."

  "But—"

  "Now c'mon," I said. "Let's get you back to the house." Before she could object, I gathered her up in my arms, preparing to carry her the rest of the way.

/>   "But wait," she said. "I—"

  "Can walk on your own. I know."

  "How'd you know that's what I was going to say?'

  "Because you said it ten times already."

  "You were counting?"

  I hadn't been counting, but the number seemed about right. But now, with Anna so close, I was having a hard time adding up anything.

  She'd asked me to pretend to like her, not to pretend that I wanted to carry her straight to my bed and make her shiver in a better way. At the image this conjured up, my steps nearly faltered.

  Anna in my bed? Now that was a dangerous line of thought.

  With an effort, I pushed it from my brain and hoped like hell that the brain down below would take the hint.

  Going for a distraction, I said, "Green."

  "Sorry, what?"

  "Green – that's my favorite color."

  "Really?"

  "What, you're surprised?"

  "Sort of," she said.

  Now, I was curious. "What'd you think it was?"

  "I dunno." But then, she snickered. "Wait. Pink. Definitely."

  I caught the obvious jab and didn't mind giving her one in return. "Hey, my bedroom's not pink."

  "Really?" she said with mock surprise. "I was sure it would be, since you seem to love the color so much."

  "Pink's not so bad," I said.

  But what I didn't say was that Anna looked obscenely good in it. Even that ugly-ass uniform of hers – she rocked it surprisingly well.

  Cradled against me, she said, "If it's not so bad, maybe we should switch bedrooms. You could take the pink one."

  "And kick you out? Nah, I’m way too nice for that."

  "Oh, how very thoughtful of you."

  The sarcasm was hard to miss. But even so, there was a playful quality that made me want to smile. Or maybe it was just the feel of her body so close to mine.

  That would make any guy smile, and not for noble reasons either.

  Me – I wasn't noble.

  I was far from it, as I'd so aptly proved in the back seat of my car.

  But that wasn't me. And I wasn't going to let that happen again – for her sake and mine.

  Regardless of what the head down below was trying to tell me, I wouldn't ever be taking Anna Burke to my bed – assuming she'd be willing, which I highly doubted after last night.

  This was a good thing – for her and for me. I didn't need a fuck-buddy. I needed someone who'd go quietly away when all of this was over. No complications. No mess.

  After all, that's the reason I'd hired Anna in the first place.

  There was only one problem. The thought of her going away – quietly or otherwise – well, it didn't make me happy.

  In my arms, she said, "Mine's yellow by the way."

  Shit. I should've asked. But hey, I could now. "Yeah? Why yellow?"

  "First you tell me. Why green?"

  I gave it some thought. "I guess it reminds me of nature…trees, bushes, that sort of thing." It wasn't a lie either. I loved the outdoors and hated being trapped inside, especially in an urban jungle with too much traffic and not enough fresh air.

  This was yet another reason I was living here and not in L.A.

  Anna nodded against me. "I could see that."

  "Your turn. Why yellow?"

  "I guess because it's cheerful, you know? Like sunshine or baby ducks."

  Now, I had to laugh. "Ducks, huh?"

  "Hey!" she protested. "I didn't laugh at you for trees and bushes."

  "Yeah, well, maybe you should've." It was, after all, a pussy thing to say.

  With a laugh, she replied, "I'll remember that next time. So….What's your favorite food?"

  "Steak."

  "I knew it!"

  "Easy guess," I said. "What's yours?"

  "Pie."

  "What kind?"

  "Any kind."

  "Good choice."

  We were just a few minutes from the house, and I was more relieved than she knew. Carrying her, now that was easy. But hiding the way it made me feel – that was a whole lot harder.

  Pun intended.

  The truth was, she felt right in my arms. And I liked the sound of her voice mingled with the wind rustling through the trees.

  Again, my steps almost faltered.

  What the fuck?

  Who thought that way?

  Not me.

  Or at least, not until now.

  We traveled for several moments in silence until she said, "Speaking of steak, I've got something to tell you."

  Judging from her tone, it wouldn't be good. "Yeah? What's that?"

  "At the steakhouse, remember when Mackenzie was under the table? Well, she uh…took a selfie." Anna cleared her throat. "With you in the background."

  Compared to other shit I'd seen, this was nothing. And besides, the news wasn't a surprise. "I know," I said. "I saw it."

  "Oh, my God," Anna groaned. "She showed you? Seriously?"

  "Nope."

  Anna hesitated. "So did Preston show it to you or something?"

  "Guess again."

  "Well, I know that I didn't show it to you."

  "Got that right."

  "So who did?" she asked.

  I gave a rueful laugh. "The real question is, who didn't."

  "But what do you mean?" she said. "I deleted it."

  "Eh, rookie mistake." If only Anna knew, in my world, nothing was that simple.

  Anna asked, "What do you mean?"

  "When you see it, you'll know."

  "But that's no kind of answer."

  She was right. It wasn't. But if wondering about that stupid picture kept her mind off her twisted ankle, that was fine by me.

  As for myself, I wasn't thinking only about her ankle. I was thinking about the whole package, inside and out, and wondering what would happen when our four months were up.

  Would I be able to let her go?

  As I carried her across my threshold, it was a question I couldn't bring myself to answer – not then, and not in the days that followed.

  Chapter 48

  Anna

  After that day, things were different between us. I wouldn't say that Flynn and I were best-buddies or anything. But he'd definitely dialed down the animosity – and for that, I was grateful.

  Still, there was something that didn't make sense. Two weeks had passed since that unfortunate hiking trip, and during that time, we'd barely left the house.

  I didn't get it.

  My ankle was fully healed, and true to his word, he'd even found my missing shoe. On top of that, he'd surprised me with a replacement pair of the same size and style, brand new and still in the box.

  Still, something was definitely off.

  Flynn had hired me for one specific reason – to be his fake girlfriend. As he'd explained from the start, this would logically involve spending lots of time in public, where people could see us together.

  But during the last couple of weeks, we'd seen almost no one, not unless I counted the cleaning people, the lawn service, or the various delivery people who'd been bringing us whatever Flynn wanted, including dinner from places that didn't normally offer takeout.

  All this to say, we weren't performing for anyone except each other.

  For this, I was relieved. I wasn't good at faking things, and already, I was having a hard time separating fact from fiction. Sometimes things between us seemed a little too genuine, and I had to keep reminding myself that none of this was real.

  At Flynn's insistence, I'd been treating the whole house as my own, well except for his bedroom, that is. I still didn't know what color it was, and I had no intention of finding out.

  As far as the fiasco in his back seat, we never talked about it. And yet, for me, it was always there, festering in the back of my mind, reminding me that even if I was insanely attracted to him, I'd be smart to remember that the feeling wasn't mutual.

  One day, I was in the kitchen making waffles when Flynn walked in and stopped sh
ort at the sight of me. "What are you doing?"

  "Making waffles," I said. "Obviously."

  He eyed the waffle maker with grim suspicion. "What kind?"

  "Well, it's not spicy waffles, if that's what you're thinking."

  He edged forward and gave the waffle maker a closer look. "You sure?"

  I laughed. "I think I'd know."

  It was ten o'clock in the morning, and he'd just returned from yet another long hike. I knew this because he hiked every morning, rain or shine.

  And even if I didn't know his schedule, his appearance would've been a dead giveaway. He was wearing black running pants and a thin black shirt. The shirt was damp with perspiration, and it clung to his skin, defining his perfect pecs and washboard abs.

  Even worse, his arms were fully bare and glistening, showing off his defined shoulders and bulging biceps.

  Almost without thinking, I felt my tongue brush the bottom of my upper lip as I eyed him from a few feet away. But then, catching myself just in time – meaning before I started drooling – I gave a distracted shake of my head. "Sorry, did you just say something?"

  He pointed to my waffle station. "I said, what kind are they?"

  "Guess."

  He frowned. "I'm not sure I should."

  "Why not?"

  "Because your waffles are fuckin' scary."

  "Oh, please," I laughed. "That was just the one batch. And you survived those just fine."

  He gave an exaggerated shudder. "Says you."

  Just then, the light blinked on the waffle maker. I opened the top and studied my latest creation. It actually looked pretty good. And, all modesty aside, it smelled delicious.

  Flynn leaned closer. "What are the blue things?"

  I rolled my eyes. "As if you don't know."

  As he watched, I removed the waffle from the maker and put it on a glass serving plate. Flynn leaned over the plate and gave the waffle a tentative sniff. "So you're not gonna tell me?"

  "Oh, for God's sake," I said with a laugh. "They're blueberries, just like they look. I mean, seriously, what else could they be?"

  "You really expect me to answer that?"

  "Oh come on. They're round and blue. And berry-shaped."

  His lips curved upward. "Round and berry-shaped?"

  "All right, fine," I said. "I guess it's the same thing. But honestly, it shouldn't be this hard."

  "No kidding," he said. "Until you, I thought waffles were a good thing."