Flynn’s face went blank. “No. This is what I’m saying: I’m twenty-nine, and it’s time to grow up. Time to take responsibility for my actions. I can’t change the past, but from here on in I’m going to try to live a considerate life. I’m reforming. I’m going straight. No more bad boy of British football. Now there’s just going to be Flynn Boyle. Nothing more.”
He stood from the stool, buttoned his jacket and tugged at his cuffs. “We done?” he asked, but was walking away from the camera crew before anyone could answer. As he reached the camera guy, he smiled into the lens. “For the record, there was only one sex tape, and it was a piece of art.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “This is him turning over a new leaf?” she asked Matt.
Matt chuckled. “Aye, this might be as good as it gets. So don’t go expecting great things.”
“I wonder if that tape is on the net?” Jena said.
Matt cocked an eyebrow at her.
“What?” Jena demanded.
Matt just shook his head at his wife.
They waited as Flynn limped over the uneven ground towards them. He was breathtakingly handsome in his suit. Abby had seen a meme on Facebook once where a photo of a guy in a suit was accompanied by the words “suits are to women what lingerie is to men.” The sentiment was spot on. She licked her lips as Flynn came to a stop in front of their little group.
“How’d I do?” His grin was cheeky.
“I thought you did an excellent job,” Lawrence said. “You might have been a bit hasty in your dismissal of a career in television.”
Flynn looked appalled. “That’s as long as I could control myself. I’d only be of use if the show that hired me lasted fifteen minutes tops.”
“What’s sex tape?” Katy piped up. “Is it like Sellotape? Is it good for art? Do we need some? I like making art.”
Abby felt her cheeks flush as everyone else smothered their smiles.
“It’s not for art, it’s—” Flynn started.
Abby jumped right in, shouting over him. “It’s a different kind of tape. Nothing little kids can use.”
Flynn gave her a wry look. “I was going to say it was a sport thing. Not an art thing.”
Matt turned his laughter into a cough.
“Okay.” Katy had already moved on to the next topic in her little head. “Don’t forget my bedtime story, Flynn. You can’t hide anymore. You promised you’d do it today.”
“I know.” Flynn let out a sigh. “I told you I’d be there, kid. Take a chill pill. I’ll bring the reading material. You do the sleep part.”
Abby heard an alarm go off inside her head. “What reading material?”
“Don’t worry,” Flynn said, making her worry. “I loaned my latest copy of Playboy to Matt here. I’ll have to bring something else to read.”
“Your reading material had better be age appropriate.”
“Yes, milady.” He affected a bow.
“My sister-in-law is Lady Montgomery-Clark. I’m just plain Abby.”
Flynn’s smile was wicked. “There’s nothing plain about you, Abby.”
Abby rolled her eyes at him, gathered her daughter into her arms and headed back to her house. All the while a part of her hoped Flynn would wear the suit when he came over for Katy’s bedtime story. Her cheeks were flushed by the time she made it into the house, and it wasn’t because Katy weighed a tonne. It was from the memory of the gorgeously sexy Mr Boyle.
As her eyes caught Victoria watching them from the front porch, an uneasy acknowledgement coursed through Abby. She was dancing with fire spending time with Flynn, flaunting her familiarity with her neighbour in front of her sister. She squeezed Katy tight. Now wasn’t the time to rebel. It wasn’t the time to attract any attention to areas of her life she’d rather her sister didn’t see.
She looked over her shoulder at Flynn. It definitely wasn’t the time to get involved with a bad boy. No matter how irresistible that bad boy might be.
16
"Without being too harsh on David Beckham, he cost us the match."
Ian Wright, former England national player
It was a surprise when Flynn actually turned up to read to Katy. Abby expected him to run and hide. Instead, he’d shown up wearing butter-soft faded jeans, a long-sleeved crew-neck tee in royal blue and beaten grey Converse on his feet. He sauntered into her house like he owned the place, rooted around in his gym bag for a minute, came out with a magazine then dumped the bag by the table.
“Where’s the terrorist?”
“Not so fast.”
She was trusting this guy with her child. So what if he came with stellar references from people she trusted? And okay, it was only a bedtime story—it wasn’t like she was letting him take Katy to Disneyland Paris for the weekend. Still, Flynn was an unknown element—an irresponsible unknown element. At the very least Abby wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to warp Katy’s little mind with his choice of reading material. She pointed at the magazine.
“What are you reading?”
Flynn’s smile was devilish and did things to her heart rate she was sure would cause a coronary. He held up the magazine.
Abby’s eyebrows rose. “Sports Illustrated?”
“Note, it isn’t the swimwear edition. I put a lot of thought into this. There’s a great article in here on the future of the Premier League.”
“Premier League?”
“Her education has been sorely lacking, Abby. There’s no way she’ll learn about football from you. Someone needs to step up.”
She shooed him away. “First door on the right at the top of the stairs. Here I was worried you’d wind her up and she’d be awake all night.” She pointed at the magazine. “If you read that to her she’ll be out like a light in under ten minutes.”
“Heathen,” he muttered as he climbed the stairs, holding tightly to the banister.
As Abby watched, she had a sudden flash of him racing up the steps three at a time. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to go from being confident in your physical ability to not trusting your own two feet.
“Leave the door open,” she ordered as Flynn hit the top step. “I want to hear if you freak her out.”
“No trust.” He shook his head before stepping into the room. “Hey, kid. It’s your lucky night.” His voice echoed through the house, and Abby realised she needn’t have left the baby monitor on in Katy’s room. She’d hear everything anyway.
She walked into the kitchen, hoping to keep herself occupied by tidying up. Katy’s voice came through the monitor on the bench.
“This better be a good story, Flynn. You owe me.”
Abby smiled. Her child was a terrorist. Not that she’d ever admit it to Flynn.
“This is the best story ever,” Flynn said with genuine enthusiasm. “It’s about the best sports league in the world.”
“Is there a princess?”
“Not unless you count Jesus Navas. He’s a bit of a pretty boy.”
“Boys can’t be princesses.” Katy was clearly disgusted.
“Whatever. Are you ready to learn something?”
“Yes.” Katy sounded so solemn it made Abby laugh.
She listened in astonishment as Flynn read about the struggles in the Premier League, stopping every couple of sentences to shout about something he didn’t agree with. He wasn’t rude. He didn’t swear. He also made no attempt to dumb it down for Katy. When there’d been silence for some time, Abby assumed her daughter had been bored to sleep. She was wrong.
“Jonathan’s mum said David Beckham is better looking than you. She said David Beckham is the greatest player in Scotland.”
There was silence for a minute. “Who is this woman?” Flynn sounded outraged. “I need to talk to her. Give me a name.”
“Her name is Jonathan’s mum.”
“Not helping, kid.” Abby heard him take a deep breath. “First, Beckham is not better looking than me. Did Jonathan’s mum tell you Beckham is obsessed with hair gel? No.
I bet she never mentioned that. Second, he couldn’t be the greatest player in Scotland because he’s English. And third, the guy is old. He retired years ago. Now all he does is model underpants.”
“Oh, okay then, who is Scotland’s greatest footballer?”
Abby rolled her eyes as she waited for Flynn’s obvious answer.
“Hands down, it’s Kenny Dalglish.” Abby heard the awe in Flynn’s voice, once she got over the shock of him not answering with his own name. “He’s the best goal maker in Scottish history. He should have been a midfielder. He would have been legendary in midfield, but he played as a striker and was still world class. No one could place a ball like Kenny Dalglish. Not even your precious Beckham. Seriously, what is your mother teaching you? You should know this stuff. It’s almost as important as knowing who Robert the Bruce is. Tomorrow, I’m going to bring over some of Kenny’s games. After you watch him play you’ll be able to tell Jonathan’s mother all about Scotland’s greatest player. Beckham?” He snorted in disgust. “Right, I’m done here. I’ll deal with your ignorance tomorrow.”
She heard chair legs scrape as Flynn moved.
“What about my kiss goodnight? You’re supposed to kiss my forehead and tell me to sleep well. Don’t you know anything about little kids?”
“Nope. Nothing. I’ll send your mum up to do the kissing thing.”
“Scaredy cat,” Katy taunted. “I’m telling Jonathan’s mum you were too scared to put me to bed properly.”
“Why me?” Flynn groaned. “You are driving me nuts, kid.”
Abby heard him thump around, and there was a short, sharp kissing noise. “Right. Go to sleep.”
“Sleep well,” Katy reminded him.
“Fine. Sleep well. Just sleep, will you?”
There was more thumping. “Am I supposed to shut the door?” Flynn asked.
“I’m sleeping,” Katy said.
“I don’t know why I bother asking you anything,” Flynn grumbled. “I’ll let your mum sort it out.”
“Flynn?” Katy called. “Have you met Kenny Dog Leash?”
“It’s pronounced Dal-gleesh,” he corrected. “And yeah, I have.” Abby could hear the grin in the words.
“Maybe you could take me to visit him, then I can tell Jonathan I met Scotland’s greatest footballer. Do you think Kenny Dog Leash likes little kids?”
“I don’t know about visiting him, but I’m fairly sure he likes kids. He’s known for being patient with them and showing them how to play better.”
There was a pause. “Do you think he’d make a good daddy?”
Abby’s heart stopped dead. Her hand fluttered to her mouth.
“You looking for a dad?” Flynn’s voice was calm as Abby’s heart broke. “I think Dalglish is too old for your mum. You might want to look elsewhere.”
“I thought about Uncle Matt, but he married Aunt Jena.” There was a pause. “Can I tell you a secret, Flynn?”
“Nope. Time to sleep. Shut your eyes. And shut your mouth. Sleeping goes a lot better when you don’t talk. ”
“But I want to tell you my secret,” Katy whined.
“I keep telling you, kid. Tell your secrets to your mum. That’s what mums are for. You don’t tell secrets to the guy who lives next door. Don’t you know anything?”
Abby blinked back tears as she grinned at Flynn’s admonishment.
“I’m telling you my secret and you can’t stop me.” She rushed the words before Flynn stopped her again, or walked away. “I moved Muma’s stuff, and hid things so she would have to call the police. I wanted her to see Uncle Mattie. I thought if he saw she needed a policeman he’d move in here and marry her.”
Tears slid down Abby’s cheeks. For months she’d thought she was losing her mind. Things had moved from where she’d left them. She’d even thought someone was stealing from her, and her business. And it turned out it was her matchmaking baby. No wonder it’d stopped when Matt married Jena.
“Marriage doesn’t work that way, kid. Grownups need to fall in love with each other. You can’t make it happen. Your mum will find someone she likes one day. And if he’s a nice guy she’ll fall in love with him and they’ll get married.”
“If you know any nice guys can you tell me? I want to find one for my Muma. She wouldn’t be so sad all the time if there was a daddy around here to help her.” There was silence for a minute. “Jonathan has a daddy. He takes Jonathan to the park. He makes Jonathan’s mum laugh.”
“If he’s so great, why does Jonathan’s mum have a thing for David Beckham?”
Abby laughed through her tears.
“Will you look for a man for my mum?” Katy persisted. “A good one.”
“Whatever it takes to make you go to sleep.”
“I have a list of things a daddy needs to be able to do.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You can’t do any of them,” Katy said. “I checked.”
“I can’t even begin to express my relief. Now, I’m going downstairs. This conversation is hurting my head.”
“Don’t tell my Muma my secret.”
“I will if she asks. Little kids shouldn’t have secrets from their mums. If they do their heads explode and it makes a mess of the walls.”
Abby heard a door shut and Flynn stomp down the stairs. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hands, but they still felt wet. So she splashed her face with cold water and patted it with the purple hand towel she kept on a hook by the fridge. She fought to put Katy’s words out of her mind until she was alone. Until it was safe to think about her daughter’s need for a father who was long gone. A father who would have adored her and taken her to the park. And a husband who was a good man and never failed to make her laugh.
Flynn’s chest ached from the conversation that would not end. He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt like he was in pain. Maybe it was the fact Katy thought Matt would make a good father and he wouldn’t. There was no way his cousin would beat him in the fatherhood stakes. When the time came, Flynn would be a great dad. He’d be the freaking cup winner of fathers. He’d beat Matt’s ass at fatherhood any day of the week.
When Katy had gotten all doe-eyed and terminally cute, Flynn had shut it right down. Football he could discuss—and he would be discussing it at length, seeing as Katy didn’t have a freaking clue about the sport—but emotional need? He wasn’t equipped for that. What the hell did you say to a five-year-old so desperate for a dad she tried to set her mum up with Matt? Matt? Surely there were better options.
Abby was covering leftovers with cling film when Flynn entered the kitchen. Her eyes were puffy and red. He glanced at the baby monitor on the counter. He didn’t need his brother’s genius IQ to figure out Abby had heard everything her kid said. Yet again, he was chest deep in the emotional world of the McKenzie females. He wondered for a second if he was supposed to be polite and pretend he didn’t notice she’d been crying. Then he remembered he was Flynn Boyle. He might be trying to be good, but it didn’t mean he needed a complete personality overhaul.
“I’d cry too if I heard she was trying to set me up with Matt.”
Abby burst out laughing, but a tear ran down her cheek. As her laughter turned to sobs, he gave into his need to comfort her. He cursed under his breath and crossed the room to pull her into his arms.
“I like this shirt,” he said against her hair. “Try not to get snot on it.”
She let out another strangled chuckle that turned into a sob. Flynn held her tight as he stroked her back. Strangely, holding Abby, comforting her, made the pain emanating from the exposed space within him ease. At last her sobbing tapered off. She hiccupped and looked up at him, still in his arms.
“I’m sorry?” she said.
He grinned. “You don’t sound very sure.”
Her smile was rueful. “I’m not sure if I really am. I appreciate you comforting me while I had a complete meltdown.”
“You call this a complete meltdown? Sugar, you haven’t seen a Premi
er League player lose his cool in the final when the referee makes a bad call. That’s a meltdown. This is just a little emotional seepage.”
“Emotional seepage?” She grinned widely, looking strangely beautiful, even with her puffy eyes and red nose.
“It’s a technical term used for when women can’t hold it together. You’re English, shouldn’t you stiff-upper-lip the life out of any feelings you have?”
“You can see why my family disowned me. I never did live up to the English ideal.” Her eyes turned sad again and Flynn kicked himself for opening his mouth. It was just more proof he wasn’t meant to deal with emotional crap. He was in over his head. A place he seemed to permanently live since meeting Abby.
“You look pretty ideal to me, Abby McKenzie.” He waggled his brows and loaded the sentence with as much innuendo as he could muster.
With a playful slap to his chest, she pushed out of his arms. Flynn was confounded by just how much he didn’t want to release her. Pushing away the need to grab her and return her to his embrace, he jammed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the counter. He should run before she decided to talk about her feelings. Or go over the conversation she’d overheard, picking at it like a dog with a chicken carcass. But for some reason he didn’t want to leave her. Although he still didn’t want to talk about any emotional stuff. He spotted the leftovers she’d been covering.
“Food looks good. Got any going spare? I’m starved. Your daughter takes a lot of energy.”
For a second he thought Abby might reprimand him for bad manners. Which, to be honest, kind of made him hot, but she didn’t. Instead she smiled.
“Sure, I have shepherd’s pie.”
“I love shepherd’s pie.”
“Flynn.” She sighed. “You’re a guy. You just love food.”
“Not all of it. I don’t like wheatgrass. Wheatgrass is just wrong. Should we really be eating something cows enjoy? Shouldn’t we just leave it for the cows, and once they’ve eaten it, we eat them. It’s life’s perfect cycle. Taking the cow out of the equation messes with nature.”
Bad Boy (Invertary Book 5) Page 13
