“For you, yeah.” Jena hooked her arm with Abby’s as she turned to walk back up the high street. “You don’t do casual, honey. And right now you’re under a lot of pressure. I’m worried you aren’t thinking with your brain. I’m worried you’re thinking with your—”
Abby smacked a hand over her best friend’s mouth. “Don’t say it. I beg you.”
Jena grinned against her palm. Abby dropped her hand. “Say what? Hoo-ha?”
“You went there.” Abby hung her head. “You just had to do it.”
“So tell me.” Jena nudged her with her hip. “How does he kiss? I bet it’s good. I imagine dirty and forceful. Am I right? You can tell me.”
“Jena Donaldson, are you perving over your cousin-in-law?”
“Yeah, that does sound a little twisted.” She smiled wickedly. “It was good, though, huh?”
“He makes me lose my mind,” Abby confessed, her cheeks heating at the memory. “I melt. I can’t think. I get desperate. It’s like I’m being set on fire from inside.”
“Wow.” Jena heaved an exaggerated sigh.
Abby snapped herself back to the present. “But this isn’t the time to lose my mind. I need all of my faculties to deal with mother’s latest plan.”
“I get it, but you still deserve a little time for you. Some time to get your mind blown—even if it is with Flynn.” Her smile let Abby know she understood the appeal. “How are things with Victoria? Are you coping? If you bring her by the hardware store, we’ll put in a good word for you.”
“Please, don’t! Everywhere we go, someone feels the need to tell Victoria how virtuous I am. In the bakery this morning, Morag McKay said she was so impressed with me that she wouldn’t mind having me as a member of her morality society.”
Jena barked out a laugh. “Do all the members have to get poodle perms and wear polyester coats? Because if they do, say no.”
“You’re wicked.”
“I know.” Jena grinned widely. “But how are you really?”
“Don’t worry. I’m coping. I came up with a new way to deal with the stress.”
Sympathy wafted off Jena. “Denial? I hate to tell you, honey, but that method is tried and true.”
“Not denial, organisation. I scheduled my worries into my planner. Today I’m scheduled to worry about getting the business off the ground. Tomorrow I’m going to worry about Victoria and Mother. The following day I’m going to worry about Katy starting school. And so on. See, it’s perfect. Each day is booked, the worry is spread out and there’s no danger of my head exploding.”
Jena slapped her palm against Abby’s forehead. “No fever. So it’s not that.” She frowned in concentration. “Are you hallucinating? Have you eaten something suspect recently? Dodgy mushrooms, maybe?”
“I’m not hallucinating. There’s nothing wrong with my brain. In fact, I’d say it was working brilliantly, seeing as I came up with an amazing plan to reduce stress.”
“Yeah, you scheduled it. That’s not normal, honey.”
“Like you can judge normal!” Abby grinned as she pointed at Jena’s purple sparkly platform sandals—or as Jena liked to call them, her work shoes. “You do DIY dressed like a stripper. Normal people don’t wear stripper shoes to plaster a wall.” Which Jena had been doing all morning.
Jena’s eyes sparkled. “As I keep telling Gordon, I’m bringing sexy back to DIY.”
As Abby listened to Jena talk about her latest renovation project, Abby’s eyes strayed back towards the loch. One week. She could push Flynn from her mind for one long week. How hard would it be to fight hormones? Women did it all the time. Right?
“Is it possible to die from sexual frustration?” she asked her best friend.
“No,” Jena said. “But I hear it makes women stupid.”
“Good to know.” Abby decided she’d worry about that particular problem the following Wednesday.
19
"I like the comfort of jeans, and the elegance of a suit. But above all, I love the sensuality and sexuality that emanates from leather. It multiplies one's sensations tenfold."
Emmanuel Petit, former French national player
How was it possible to crave a woman so badly after just a few kisses? Flynn suspected it was a case of reverse psychology. Ever since Abby had declared they couldn’t touch, all Flynn could think about was touching. Touching, tasting, teasing…aye, he was going crazy with the images inside his head.
He’d thought a swim in the freezing waters of the loch would help take his mind off Abby. Instead, all it achieved was to make his unused muscles ache. He’d pushed himself too hard, forgetting his body didn’t work the way it used to. And now he was paying for it. His leg felt like it was on fire, and it took all his effort not to strike out at anyone who crossed his path. After a lifetime having absolute confidence in his own body, the weakness he felt was humiliating. He hated the fact his body had let him down. Hated it wasn’t perfect. Hated it all.
He opened the cabinet above his kitchen sink and pulled out the medication he’d been given. It was a combination painkiller and muscle relaxant. He’d been loath to take it, but now he had no choice. It was take the pills or spend the rest of the day in bed suffering.
“You in there?” A voice broke into his thoughts.
“No.” What did a man have to do to get some peace?
“Flynn?” It was Megan.
“I don’t have time for another lecture on how I’m screwing up everyone’s lives. Come back another day.” He was busy. He’d planned on spending the afternoon staring out at the garden, where the goat was currently eating his shirt, all the while brooding about having to keep his hands off Abby.
“That wasn’t me,” Megan said. “It was the rest of the family, remember? I’m on your side. I’m happy to support your screwed-up life.”
“Thanks.” Flynn swallowed the pills.
“Can you come out here? I need to talk to you.”
“No.”
“Flynn, stop being a grumpy old man. You really need to be out here for this.”
Damn, he didn’t like the sound of that. He limped towards the door, wondering why he’d fired his physio. He’d done it in anger straight after he’d gotten the word the club was letting him go. He hadn’t seen the point of physiotherapy when he’d never play again. Now he kind of thought it might be nice to have help to just bloody walk without being in agony.
“What is it?” He threw the door open and gawked.
Megan was grinning up at him and she was flanked by two ugly-as-sin donkeys. They looked to be about a hundred years old. Their ribs were showing and they were obviously depressed. Suddenly Eeyore made perfect sense. Megan held the reins out towards him.
“Claire said you’re taking in animals. So here you are. This is Derek and this is Boris. They’ve been mistreated and need a good home. They’re all yours.”
Flynn stared at her then at the donkeys. He looked back at his younger cousin. She was grinning, but it was nervous.
“Do I look like a bloody animal shelter?” Flynn barked.
Megan scowled. “You look like an inconsiderate deadbeat who should be nice to his relatives. I brought you a gift. A nice guy would say thanks.”
“You want me to thank you for two donkeys who are so old and knackered they should be turned into glue?”
She gasped before petting the animals. “Don’t listen to the mean man. I’m pretty sure they don’t turn donkeys into glue. He’s just being nasty.”
“Take them away.” Flynn was done with this conversation.
He turned to go, but Megan stopped him with a pout. After a lifetime dealing with the twins, he should have been immune to the pout. But he wasn’t. It was their superpower. One pout and men crumbled.
“Flynn, they need someone to look after them, and you have lots of space. You’re already taking care of a duck and a goat. I hear you’re doing a great job. You’re the best person to take care of the donkeys. They won’t be any trouble.”
“Yeah, well, donkeys only eat grass.” Megan worked at looking innocent. “Can you at least take them until I find another home? Please?”
“What are you doing with donkeys anyway?”
“A parent at Claire’s kindy asked her to find a home for them. She was too scared to bring them herself after offloading the goat on you.”
“Why is Claire suddenly the go-to person for homeless animals?”
Megan shrugged. “Word gets around. And Claire’s a soft touch.”
Flynn looked at the depressed animals and his shoulders slumped. Apparently Claire wasn’t the only soft touch in the family. “Okay, I’ll take them. But just until you and Claire find another home. And you better look for one.”
“I will. Promise.” She thrust the ropes at him and made a run for it, heading straight for the lime-green Mini Cooper she shared with her sister. The tiny car had a large horse trailer attached to it, which made Flynn shake his head. The trailer was three times bigger than the car. Matt would have a fit if he saw it.
Thinking of Matt made Flynn realise he wasn’t the only one with land. Jena and Matt’s new house sat on three acres. He’d been conned. Megan had chosen the easier relative, her wimp of a cousin over her scary big brother.
He looked at the animals. “As soon as it gets dark,” he told them, “we’re going to take a little walk over to Matt’s place. You’ll like it there. His grass is tasty.”
The one on the left nuzzled him, and he couldn’t resist patting it. He felt the bones under his hand and wondered who exactly had mistreated the animals. Once his leg was better, he’d pay them a visit. There was nothing wrong with his fists, and as soon as he could stand without toppling he’d put them to good use.
“Come on, guys. The grass by the stream is the best.” He led the animals to the spot he had in mind, followed closely by the goat, who wanted to see what was happening. That goat was a nosey bugger.
“Here.” He pointed to the grass as he looked around for somewhere to tie the donkeys. He stopped. Why couldn’t they wander? With a shrug, he clipped off the leads, earning another nuzzle.
As Flynn walked back to his RV, he wondered if there was a supplement or something he could get for the animals. Something to build them back up. As soon as he was in his van, he put a call through to the vet in Fort William. He was now on first-name terms with the guy. While he was on the phone, he asked him how long he should keep the duck’s wing in a splint. And what to do to stop the goat eating everything in sight.
As he listened to the vet’s advice, he spotted the bloody goat chowing down on his limited edition Nikes. Flynn wondered if goat curry would be a better solution for that particular problem.
20
“You can’t score a goal if you don’t take a shot.”
Johan Cruyff, Dutch national player
Flynn dragged his aching backside over to Abby’s house at seven o’clock sharp to read Katy a story. It would probably have been wiser to stay away, but he’d made a deal with the kid.
Plus, the more he thought about keeping his distance from Abby until her sister was gone, the more annoyed he became. Hadn’t Abby put her life on hold enough already? Was it right that Victoria was making them jump through hoops? He was annoyed Abby wasn’t strong enough to tell her sister to go to hell. No, he was annoyed he wasn’t getting his way. And his way meant having Abby naked and screaming beneath him.
“She’s upstairs, ready for her story,” Abby said when she opened the door to him.
The fake cheer made Flynn almost as annoyed as the distance she put between them.
“Great.” He knew it was a growl, and was unreasonably pleased when it resulted in a frown.
He felt like his skin was too tight. Like nothing sat right with him. He felt like the air was too heavy against him.
“Are you in a mood?” Abby cut through his bullshit, as usual.
“Aren’t you?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“You know keeping our distance is the responsible thing to do.” Her lips thinned.
“I hate being responsible.”
“How would you know? Have you ever tried?”
“Have you ever tried saying to hell with it and doing what you want instead of what you should?”
“I don’t need to. I can wait for what I want.”
“Good for you. I don’t have that much patience.”
“For goodness’ sake, grow up. It’s only a week.”
Flynn felt the hairs on his arms stand up straight. “Do you know what I hate more than having to be responsible? Being told to grow up.”
Abby’s eyes blazed as she pointed at the stairs. “Sooner you’re done, the sooner you’re out of here.”
“I shouldn’t have come.” He was being childish. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop it.
“Nobody put a gun to your head to make you, Flynn.” With a snap of her jaw, she turned and stalked away from him, making him focus on the lush curve of her behind. Damn, but she was breathtaking when she was mad.
Not exactly the right circumstances to help keep his hands off the woman. Which reminded him, how long was it since he’d touched Abby? Twenty-four freaking hours. He was pathetic. He was behaving like a teenager who was told to wait to get into his girlfriend’s pants. He had more self-control than that. Surely?
Annoyed, Flynn dragged himself up the stairs and into the kid’s pink room, and once again felt like he was swimming in a vat of Pepto-Bismol.
“I brought you a book.” He tried not to sound like a grumpy old man.
“Yay!” Katy sat up in bed and started bouncing. “A book, a book, I love books.”
“Great. This one is called Famous Footballers.” He pointed at the cover. “Tonight we’re going to learn all about someone called Pelé.”
“That’s a weird name.”
“Some people think Katy’s a weird name.”
“Not smart people.”
He shook his head, pulled up a chair and started to read the section on Brazil’s greatest footballer. Possibly the greatest footballer ever.
“Are you still kissing my mum?” Katy said in the middle of his reading, proving she had no respect for the topic.
“Not right now.” It came out like a blast from a cannon. Luckily, his tone had no effect on Katy.
“Jonathan says kissing somebody is how you get Germans.”
“Why me?” Flynn appealed to the ceiling. “Not Germans. Germs. They’re tiny bugs you can’t see. They can make you sick.”
“Invisible?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you know they’re there if you can’t see them?”
“Okay, maybe not invisible, just really tiny. People with big magnifying glasses can see them.”
“How do they make you sick?”
“They crawl up your nose, then fly through your body kicking stuff until you feel sore. Then they have a party, overindulge and puke up a lot. That’s what snot is. It’s germ puke.”
Her eyes went wide. Her hands flew to her nose. “How do you stop them getting up your nose?”
“You stop breathing.”
She gasped. “If I don’t breathe I’ll die.”
“And if you do breathe you’ll get germs. Then you might get sick and die anyway. It’s a chance we all take. It’s life, kid.”
“Flynn!” Abby’s voice echoed through the house. “Get down here.”
“I need to go.”
She pointed at her forehead. “What do you do at bedtime?”
He rolled his eyes, kissed her forehead and told her to sleep well. Bloody terrorist. He left the football book beside her bed and went to see what’d wound Abby up this time.
He found her in the kitchen. She was chopping potatoes as though she had a personal grudge against them.
“You can’t tell a five-year-old not to breathe.
Are you insane? Do you want her to hold her breath until she turns blue? Or suffocate herself because she doesn’t want to breathe in germs? Fix this.”
Flynn barely resisted the urge to salute her. He bit his tongue as she pointed at the door, aware she had a knife in her hand. Beyond irritated, he thumped back up the stairs and opened Katy’s door.
“Kid,” he said. “Don’t stop breathing. You need air. Don’t worry about the germs. Your mum’s got some special medicine that will kill the little buggers before they party in your nose.”
“Flynn!” Abby shouted. He ignored her.
“Do I need to get the medicine now?”
“No. You’re covered. Germs are scared of pink, and this room is full of it.”
“Flynn! Get down here.” Where she had a knife? He didn’t think so.
“Thanks, Flynn,” Katy said, and for some reason he wanted to pat her head and tell her it was all going to be fine.
He squelched the urge and dragged himself back to deal with her mother.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Abby said as soon as he entered the kitchen. “Don’t try to fix things. From now on, limit your conversations with Katy to football. That would be safest.”
He was pleased to see she’d put down the knife. Her eyes blazed, her mouth pursed and her cheeks flushed with irritation. He found himself taking another step towards her.
“You’re overreacting. She’s not dumb. She wouldn’t do anything stupid.”
“She’s five. She lives for stupid. It’s the mission statement of all five-year-olds—find stupid, do stupid. She doesn’t need any encouragement.”
His brain told him to get out of the house before he did something stupid. Unfortunately, his mouth wanted to pick a fight. “Did you have to paint her room pink?” And apparently any topic would do.
He studied the counters for leftovers, even while he waited for her curt reply. Guess the rumours were true: men could really eat under any circumstances.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. There’s a container in the fridge. Pop it in the microwave. And yes. It had to be pink. She’s a girl. She likes pink.”
Bad Boy (Invertary Book 5) Page 15
