Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance

by Sabrina Stark

  "Admit it, you still think they're a good thing."

  "And you know this how?"

  "Because you had them delivered just yesterday."

  It was true. He had. He'd even ordered scrambled eggs and toast for me. It was the same thing I'd ordered during the one time we'd actually gone out for breakfast, and I'd been embarrassingly touched that he actually remembered.

  It was nice. And now, I wanted to do something nice in return.

  Waffles were nice, right? We didn't have any strawberries, but I had found some blueberries in the fridge.

  Flynn said, "But you hate waffles."

  "I do not."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Definitely." I paused to add more batter to the waffle maker. As I closed the lid, I said, "It's just that when I was around them all the time, I got kind of sick of them, you know?" I pointed to the lone completed waffle. "By the way, that one's yours if you want to start eating."

  He shook his head. "Not 'til you do."

  "You mean out of politeness?"

  "Hell no," he said. "Out of fear."

  Now I couldn’t help but snicker. From what I'd seen so far, he wasn't afraid of anything. "Oh, shut up."

  "No joke," he said, pointing to the waffle in question. "I'm not putting that thing near my mouth 'til I see you do the same."

  "Wuss."

  He grinned. "You know it."

  True to his word, he didn't take a single bite until all of the waffles were done. And even then, he'd insisted that we share each individual waffle.

  I didn't know if it was merely to hassle me or to justify the fact that he'd waited.

  Or who knows, maybe he did think I was out to poison him.

  As we ate, I told him a few waitressing horror stories, and he shared some details of what happens on a movie set. Turns out, the whole thing wasn't nearly as glamorous as I thought.

  His stories were a lot more interesting than mine, but I had to give him credit. He at least pretended to listen to me, which was an improvement over our rocky start.

  As we finished breakfast, I felt compelled to say, "Hey, can I ask you something? Is there a reason we're not going anywhere?"

  From the other side of the table, he said, "Like where?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Just out, I guess."

  When he made no reply, I added, "I mean, we're into the second month."

  "So?"

  I forced a smile. "So I'll be leaving before you know it."

  He didn't smile back. "Want some advice?"

  Did I? Based on his tone, I wasn't so sure. Still, I nodded anyway.

  "Enjoy the break," he said, getting to his feet. "Leave the dishes. The cleaning people are on the way."

  I stared up at him. "But wait. You can't just leave."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you didn't answer my question, not really. I mean, there has to be some reason we're hiding out here alone."

  His mouth tightened. "If you wanna go someplace, go. You're my employee, not my prisoner." And with that, he turned away for good.

  His words stung, but I couldn’t quite figure out why. When I'd arrived several weeks ago, I'd actually felt like a prisoner, even if I was being paid for my incarceration.

  Now, I wasn't even sure that I felt like an employee.

  What I did feel like, I had no idea.

  But somehow things felt different. A lot different.

  As for his house, the exterior was looking different, too. During this past week, workers had finally finished the brick wall that surrounded his yard.

  The final additions were two iron gates – a narrow one out back, along with a much larger one that blocked unauthorized access to the driveway. I'd driven through that gate only a couple of times, mostly because I'd been sticking so close to the house.

  Maybe I should've felt stir-crazy, but the truth was, spending time with Flynn was proving to be a lot more fun than I'd ever thought possible.

  We watched movies in his media room with pizza and popcorn. We sat on his back porch, watching the wind rustle through the trees. We'd even taken to watching baseball together even though we rooted for different teams.

  Now, after his sudden departure from breakfast, I sat at the kitchen table for a long moment, wondering what exactly was going on.

  Was he tired of having me around?

  Or was he worried that I couldn’t live up to my end of the deal? The theory wasn't that far-fetched. After all, our last outing had been a total disaster even before that fiasco in his back seat.

  More confused than ever, I decided that I'd be smart to get away, if only for a few hours. So I dashed upstairs, threw on a little sundress, and drove away in the car that he'd provided.

  Twenty minutes later, I was at the apartment, the one I shared with my mom and Becka. I'd been there for less than five minutes when I realized that the trip had been a sorry mistake.

  Chapter 49

  Anna

  "But why can't we go?" my mom said.

  I gave her a pleading look. "Because I'd feel funny."

  She frowned. "You didn't feel funny with Flynn Archer."

  She was wrong. I'd felt funny all right, especially at the end. My mom had just suggested going to the steakhouse, of course, even though it wasn't yet noon, and I hadn't mentioned anything about taking her out to lunch.

  Mostly, I'd been hoping to catch Becka before she left for class. I made a mental note. Next time, call first.

  I tried to smile. "How about this? We'll order takeout. My treat."

  "I don't want takeout," she said. "That's for people who can't afford to tip."

  Oh, for crying out loud. Until last month, we'd been living off tips, mine from the waffle place, even if they weren't so terrific. Now, we were living off my income from Flynn whether my mom realized this or not.

  Oh, she knew that's where I'd gotten my recent influx of cash. But unlike Becka, my mom had no idea that the romance wasn't real or that Flynn was technically my boss. All she knew was that Flynn and I had somehow become an item.

  Ignoring her ridiculous comment about tipping, I said, "And besides, I just ate."

  "So?"

  "So…sitting in a restaurant would be kind of silly, don't you think?"

  We were standing in what passed for a living room. It was small and shabby like the rest of the apartment. But my mom was dressed like she still lived in a mansion.

  Her slacks were creased, and her blouse was stylish – or at least, it had been stylish years earlier when she'd first bought it. For all I knew, it was still stylish. Unlike my mom, I wasn't a big shopper.

  She replied, "But I haven't eaten."

  I glanced toward the kitchen. "If you want, I'll make you something. I mean, there's plenty of groceries, right?"

  Her shoulders sagged. "Never mind. Forget I asked." She glanced down. "Even if I am already dressed."

  True. She was. And it had been forever since we'd gone out.

  I gave my mom a closer look. The last few years hadn't been kind to her. Although she never spoke of it, the worry and desperation was etched into her eyes even when she smiled, which these days, wasn't very often.

  It was this sad realization that made me relent. "Or, if you really want to go out, let's pick someplace different. Like, what about that Italian place you like so much?"

  "It's not open for lunch."

  "It isn't? Are you sure?"

  Her chin lifted. "Well, I am a regular."

  This almost hurt to hear. She wasn't a regular, not anymore. By now, she probably hadn't been there in years.

  In front of me, she suddenly perked up. "But wait, is Flynn coming?"

  "Where?"

  "To the restaurant."

  "No. Why would he?"

  "Well, you'd think he'd want to meet me."

  No. He wouldn't. If Flynn hated me, I could only imagine how he felt about Gordon and my mom. After all, they'd played a much bigger role in his incarceration than I ever had.

  Pl
us, there was the little matter of my mom getting paid for that awful interview, the one where she'd let reporters into the apartment.

  Yes, Flynn had been right. I knew this, because when I'd asked my mom about it, she'd mumbled something about the reporters reimbursing her for – in her words – expenses.

  Like what? The coffee?

  Good grief.

  When I made no reply, my mom gave a sad little sigh. "I'm just saying, if you two are serious—"

  "We're not."

  "But you're living together."

  "So?"

  "So it just seems like you'd have me over for dinner or something."

  I couldn't even imagine. "I think it's a little soon for that."

  "But why?" she asked.

  Didn't she get it? "You do remember all that trouble, don't you?"

  "What trouble?"

  "You know. Back in high school? I mean, Flynn did end up spending a year in juvie."

  "It wasn't a year," she said. "It was barely ten months."

  Until that moment, I hadn't even realized she'd been counting. I replied, "Well, it was almost all of the school year."

  His senior year.

  I hated that.

  "So about lunch," she said, "is that a yes?"

  I sighed. I didn't know why I bothered. She'd never understand, and I was done trying to explain.

  In the end, we did end up going to lunch, and to the steak place too, where things went from bad to worse.

  Chapter 50

  Anna

  "See?" my mom said. "Isn't this so much better than a booth?"

  No. It wasn't. Booths were nice and private, but my mom had requested a table smack-dab in the center of the steakhouse where there'd be no hiding from anyone.

  It was nearly noon on a Friday, and the place was growing busier with every passing moment. Already, we'd ordered our food and were in the process of picking at our salads – me because I wasn't hungry and my mom because she picked at everything.

  Across from me, she gave a sudden smile. "Oh wait, you need to tell me where you were sitting."

  I wasn't following. "When?"

  "When Mackenzie took that selfie."

  Oh, God. The crotch selfie. Turns out, my deletion of that stupid photo had been all for nothing. By then, Mackenzie had already posted it online and texted it to at least a dozen of her closest friends.

  It had gone viral from there.

  Across from me, my mom laughed like this was the jolliest thing ever. "She is such a riot."

  Yes. She was. And equally destructive.

  Now, I couldn't help but recall Flynn's words after I'd assured him that I'd deleted the selfie. "When you see it, you'll know."

  Oh, I'd seen it all right.

  By now, it had made the rounds not just locally, but globally. Usually, it was accompanied by stories of how Flynn and Felicity were on the outs while Flynn Archer took up with some local girl, me, who was nobody special.

  Oh, they didn't put it quite that way, but their stories were peppered with phrases like, "waffle waitress" and "college dropout," along with sly innuendos that I was personally responsible for breaking up the world's prettiest couple.

  Maybe this was the reason that Flynn had been keeping us away from crowds. Maybe he was ashamed to be seen with me.

  But if that were the case, why wouldn’t he just fire me and start over with someone new?

  At the thought, something in my heart twisted. I didn't want to be replaced. But why? Because of the money? Or because I'd actually miss him? If I were smart, I wouldn't even speculate.

  Across from me, my mom said, "So….?"

  I shook my head. "So…what?"

  She sighed. "Which booth was it?"

  Reluctantly, I pointed toward the notorious booth, where four guys in business suits were digging into their steaks.

  After giving the booth a long, speculative look, my mom turned back to me and asked, "How is Mackenzie, by the way?"

  "I wouldn't know. We're not really friends anymore."

  "But you just had dinner together."

  "Yeah," I muttered. "Don't remind me."

  "But you two were always such great friends. I still don't know what caused that rift."

  "Yes you do," I replied. "I told you years ago, remember?" At her clueless look, I added, "When we lost our money, she lost interest in being my friend."

  My mom stiffened like she always did whenever this topic came up. "We didn't lose our money," she said. "It's just in limbo, that's all. As soon as Gordon gets out, everything will be back to normal."

  I stifled a shudder. Normal? With that creep? Not hardly.

  I replied, "But that's still five years away."

  She smiled. "Oh, didn't I tell you? He's up for an early release."

  "He is?" My stomach lurched. "When?"

  She was beaming now. "In a few months."

  Shit.

  I listened with growing unease as she started talking about her glorious plans for the future. She was just mentioning the possibility of a new house when the sound of obnoxious throat-clearing made me look up.

  When I did, I saw a couple of middle-aged women glaring down at me. One was short with red hair and freckles, while the other was tall with spiky black hair.

  The redhead loomed closer and said, "I hope you're happy."

  I blinked. "Sorry, what?"

  The spiky one said, "You do know they were almost engaged, right?"

  I stifled a groan. I knew exactly where this was going. Still, like a total idiot, I mumbled, "Who?"

  Together, they eyed me like I was biggest dumb-ass on the planet. The redhead said, "Flynnicity, that's who."

  Next to her, the spiky one corrected, "You mean Flynnticity."

  The redhead gave her an annoyed glance. "That's what I said."

  "No you didn't. You forgot the 't' in the middle."

  The redhead frowned. "There's no "t" in Flynnicity."

  "Yeah, because it's not 'Flynnicity.' It's Flynn Ticity." As she said it, she stressed the "t" like it was the most important letter in the alphabet.

  The redhead glared at her friend. "I think I'd know what it's called."

  I spoke up. "Look, whatever it's called, you've made your point. So maybe you could debate it somewhere else, okay?"

  In unison, they both turned once again in my direction. The redhead gave me the squinty-eye and said, "Oh, we're far from done, sister." She leaned a fraction closer. "You've got a lot of nerve breaking them up."

  I almost didn't know what to say. Yes, I knew that certain rabid fans had high hopes for the reunion of Flynnicity – or whatever it was called. After all, I'd seen the comments on far too many of those news stories.

  They hadn't been flattering, to me in particular.

  But I never expected to encounter such rabid fans here, in Sugar Falls Michigan.

  Usually, people here were pretty sane.

  In theory, anyway.

  "Well?" the redhead said, "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

  I glanced at my mom, expecting to see her looking just as horrified as I felt. But she didn't look horrified at all. She looked oddly pleased, even as the spiky one told me, "And you're not even his type."

  If she only knew.

  I glanced around the restaurant and felt myself swallow. Everyone was staring.

  But was anyone doing anything to diffuse the situation?

  No.

  Even our waitress, who'd been delivering drinks to a nearby table, merely stared as the women glowered down at me like I'd just been caught tonguing a goat.

  Apparently, I was on my own.

  In the calmest voice I could muster, I said, "Listen, whatever you think, you don't have the full story, all right?"

  And this is when my mom piped up, "And besides, Flynnicity's yesterday's news." With a smugness that was hard to miss, she announced loud enough for everyone to hear, "Now, it's Flanna, and you'd better get used to it."

  Huh? It took me a m
oment to realize what she meant.

  Flynn and Anna.

  Flanna.

  Good Lord.

  I made a sound of frustration. "It's not Flanna. It's not anything."

  The redhead gave a little swagger. "Got that right."

  And just when I thought things couldn't get any more embarrassing, I caught sight of a burly-looking man two tables over. He was holding some sort of video camera pointed straight in our direction.

  It wasn't just a phone type of camera either. It was something a whole lot bigger and more official looking.

  Sitting across from him was a stylish brunette who looked vaguely familiar.

  With a start, I suddenly realized where I'd seen her. She'd been sitting near us at the waffle house, too, just before that scene with Felicity.

  I felt my gaze narrow. What was this? A setup?

  I glared straight at the camera even as the two fan-girls argued back and forth with my mom.

  "And besides," my mom was saying, "Flanna sounds a lot better than Flynnticity."

  The redhead gave a huff of annoyance. "For the last freaking time, there's no 't'."

  The spiky one muttered, "Says you."

  I was still glaring at the camera, hoping the guy holding it would take the hint.

  He didn't.

  He was still filming and not bothering to hide it either.

  With an irritated sigh, I pushed back my chair and stood.

  My mom stopped arguing long enough to ask, "Where are you going?"

  I wasn't quite sure. If I were here by myself, I'd simply pay up and leave. But unless I wanted to drag my mom away kicking and screaming – because yes, that is what it would take – I was severely limited in options.

  I heard myself say, "To the restroom."

  I needed some alone time and fast.

  But to my infinite frustration, when I turned and began heading in that direction, the two women followed after me.

  And then, as if this weren't bad enough, the cameraman jumped up to follow along behind us – with his camera.

  I picked up the pace, ignoring all of them, even as the redhead scoffed, "Flanna, what a joke."

  Yeah. It was.

  And bigger than she knew.

  When I strode into the restroom, the two women followed after me, leaving the cameraman to wait outside – or if I was really lucky, to take the hint and leave the restaurant entirely.