Since Flynn already knew those things about her, he could concentrate on learning other things. Like she had sensitive nipples, or that she slept with her mouth slightly open. That she murmured in her sleep and clung to him like a sloth on a tree limb.
“What are you smiling about? Is it funny that I’m cold?” she complained next to him.
“I’m not smiling because you’re cold. Do you want to go home? Watch a movie? Paint?”
“I tried painting today. It didn’t work.”
“Not true. You took out the paint, but you didn’t put a single line of color on that canvas. How am I supposed to replace the artwork over the mantel if you won’t create one for me?”
“I’m out of practice,” she said when they reached his car. He opened the door for her and she slid in. That halted the conversation until he climbed in next to her and started the engine.
Revving it a few times while he adjusted the heat, he said, “You can’t put it off forever.”
“Says the man who’s supposed to be relaxing.”
“Relaxing is boring.”
“You spent most of the day on the laptop. Doing what? I know not checking your social media.”
No, not that. He’d spent most of the day writing a fresh business plan. One that combined his ideas and his father’s way of doing things. He wasn’t sure how to blend the two approaches yet, but there had to be a way. Sad that their collaboration had to happen on the wrong side of the grave, but Flynn didn’t have much choice. Sab had pointed out that he hadn’t taken time off for bereavement. He supposed now was as good a time as any to mourn.
“I was writing for my mental health.”
“Journaling?” Her lips pursed and her eyebrows went up.
“Kind of. And no, you can’t read it.”
“Understood. I have journals I wouldn’t want you to read either. Even though I read you the one about Fresh Burger.” She dug the journal and a pen out of her bag and drew a checkmark next to the entry. “It’d be cool to do some more of these things.” She turned a page. “Do you have Jell-O?”
“Why? Are we going to fill an inflatable swimming pool with it and wrestle?” He shot her a grin.
“No! For Jell-O shots.”
Ah, well. He tried.
“What about the time we repainted my dorm?” she asked as she flipped forward to another page. “Your place could use some color.”
“The only painting you’ll be doing is on canvas. You were the one who said you wanted to make art while you were off work.”
Like he was open to halting the transformation into his old man and becoming more like his old self—he also wanted Sabrina to find her old self. She used to be confident; certain about what she wanted. Evidence of both her confidence and certainty made an appearance now and then, but not often enough. He’d hoped her going back to doing what she loved, painting, would unlock that door for her.
She was hell-bent on taking care of him, but what she didn’t know was that he was returning the favor. He wasn’t the only one in need of change in his life.
So was his best-friend-turned-lover.
* * *
Halfway into making their second batch of Jell-O shots, Sabrina was feeling darn pleased with herself for convincing Flynn to give it a try.
After their burger-and-coffee date, they stopped at a supermarket to procure what they needed to make strawberry and lime Jell-O shots. Flynn had a liquor cabinet that was well-stocked, though he hesitated slightly before allowing her to put the Cabo Wabo tequila into the lime Jell-O. He insisted it was better enjoyed straight. Good thing she was convincing.
Plastic containers stacked in his fridge to solidify, Flynn excused himself to the bathroom while she wiped down the countertops with damp paper towels. She lifted his phone to move it when it buzzed in her hand. A quick glance at the screen showed a message from Veronica. A second buzz followed—another message from her, as well.
Sabrina caught the words “so sorry” and “mistake” before she placed the phone facedown on the counter and stared at it like it was a live cobra.
It wasn’t her fault she’d seen Veronica’s name or accidentally read a word or two, but she would be culpable if she flipped the phone over to read the messages in their entirety.
And oh how she wanted to...
But.
She wouldn’t.
She finished cleaning the kitchen and Flynn returned, cracked open a beer and took a long pull. She waited for him to lift his cell phone and check the screen, but he didn’t. Not even when she picked up hers.
“It’s supposed to be partly sunny tomorrow.” She showed him the cartoon sun and cloud on her cell phone’s screen.
“Good day for you to paint,” he said, taking another sip from his beer bottle.
She checked her personal email next, deleting a few newsletters from clothing stores before coming across an email from her mom. Her mother lived in Sacramento with Sabrina’s stepfather and checked in once a week. She was a technical writer and considered any form of communication other than the written one superfluous. Sabrina was keying in a reply when she noticed Flynn finally reaching for his cell phone.
He gave the screen a cursory glance, frowned and then pocketed it.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask “why the frown?” but she didn’t. When he didn’t offer any intel either, she returned her attention to her own phone. She finished the email to her mom and clicked Send, more than a little troubled that Flynn hadn’t confided in her that Veronica was clearly trying to weasel her way back into his life.
“What do we do while the Jell-O sets?”
“You have to ask?” He plucked the phone from her hand and gripped her hips, pulling her against him. He dipped his head to kiss her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, enjoying the slow slide of their lips and tongues.
She fit against him like she was designed to be there, her breasts against his chest and her hips nestled against his. How had she never noticed that before? He slanted his head to deepen the kiss, and a low male groan vibrated off her rib cage.
Wait. That last vibration was his phone.
She pulled her lips from his when the buzz came from his pocket again. “Do you need to get that?”
“No.” He rerouted them from the kitchen to the stairs, climbing with her while kissing her. Their lips pulled apart several times during the clumsy ascent, their laughter quelled by more kisses.
She shouldn’t be jealous of Veronica, for goodness’ sake. Veronica wasn’t in Flynn’s bed—Sabrina was.
“Your room or mine?” Her voice was a seductive purr.
“My bed is bigger.” He kept walking her backward, his eyes burning hers and his mouth hovering close. “I have a plan for you and it’s going to require a lot of room.”
“Oh, really?”
“Probably. Are you a squirmer?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I have to taste you, Sabrina. I have to know.”
Her mouth dropped open as a spot between her legs fluttered to life.
“Yeah?” He smirked.
Speechless, she nodded.
In his bedroom, he stood over her and the bed and slowly stripped her. The thin sweater and T-shirt she wore underneath went first. Then he thumbed open her jeans and slipped both hands into them, his palms molding her backside.
“Thong,” he praised. “That’s more like it.”
“I packed some this time.”
“Why didn’t you before?”
“I... I’m not sure. I guess I was trying to stay in my friend role.”
“You’re still in the friend role, Sab. It’s just that now there are added perks.”
“Perks, huh?”
“Do you prefer bonuses?”
“No.” She laughed with him as he yanked her jeans to her fee
t. He helped her with her shoes and socks and then she stepped from the pant legs.
“Ready to feel good?” From his position on his knees, he looked up at her, his expression as sincere as his offer.
The moment she jerked her head up and down in the affirmative, he put a kiss just under her belly button before dragging his tongue along the waistband of her panties.
Pressing her knees together, she wiggled her hips. He was right. She was a squirmer.
He rolled the thong down to her thighs and she rested her hands on his shoulders when he prompted her to step out of them. Then he tossed them over his head and held her calf gingerly with one hand.
“Throw your leg over my shoulder,” he instructed. She did, opening herself to him, her heart thundering as he took in her most private place. He did so approvingly before cupping her backside and leaning in for a slow, intentional taste. That’s when her other knee buckled.
He held her to him like he was sampling the sweetest fruit and then feasted on her while she fought to hold herself upright and not dissolve.
When he finally took her over, she folded from the power of her orgasm, coming on a cry that could’ve woken the dead.
The next thing she knew she was on her back in his bed and his talented mouth was sampling her breasts. She held his head and writhed, sensitive from his earlier pampering. Her hips lifted and bumped against his jean-clad leg between her thighs.
“Please, Flynn.” She fumbled with the stud on his jeans and cupped his erection. He drove forward into her hand, allowing her to massage him until she was holding several inches of hard steel.
Shoving his chest, she pushed him to his back and lifted his shirt, revealing abs and a happy trail of hair leading south. She reveled in the thought that it was her trail to follow down, down until she reached the promised land. She rolled his jeans and boxer briefs to his thighs and his erection sprang to life, very happy to see her indeed.
Before she gave it a second of thought, she lowered her head and licked him from base to tip.
His hips bucked, accompanying a feral growl. She opened wide and took him into her mouth, running her tongue along the ridge of his penis and slicking him again and again.
He guided her with his hand on the back of her head, his fingers twined in her hair. When she dared look up from her work, she saw the most exquisite combination of pleasure-pain on his face. His desperate need for her turned her on more than what he’d done to her earlier. She doubled her efforts, but he stopped her short, gentling her mouth off him and catching his breath.
He was a sight to behold, shirt rucked up over his bare chest, pants no farther down than his thighs. She liked this uncontrolled, unplanned disarray. It wasn’t a way she’d ever experienced him. That there were still new ways for them to be together was exciting.
Before she became too smug, Flynn threw her for another loop.
“On your back or on your knees?” He gave her a wicked grin. “We’re doing both, but I’ll let you pick where we start.”
Fifteen
“It never once occurred to you to have sex to scratch an itch?” Flynn asked.
They’d started with Sabrina on her knees, which thrilled him—he’d known she had confidence stocked away for emergencies—and then finished with him on top, her on her back. Her eyes had blazed into his as he’d thrust them into oblivion. They were very, very good at pleasing each other, that was for damn sure.
They were in his bed, sheets pulled haphazardly over their bodies. Between them, his right hand and her left were intertwined, his thumb moving over hers while they talked.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” she turned her head to ask.
He turned his head and shot her a dubious look. “You are a live firecracker and you dare ask me that question? What have you been doing to get by all this time?”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. He’d flattered her. He liked flattering her. Almost as much as he liked having sex with her. Hell, that was a lie. He liked having sex with her more than anything.
“I managed. I haven’t seen you taking any strangers home since you and Veronica split.”
At the mention of his ex-wife, his mouth pulled into an upside-down U. The truth was, he hadn’t wanted anyone after he’d found out Veronica was cheating on him. As emasculating as it was to learn she didn’t love him anymore, that had compounded when he found out she’d been fucking Julian. He didn’t know which one of them to hate more so he settled on hating both of them. The hate had faded, but the anger was still there. She’d texted him several times today in an attempt at the lamest apology on the planet, which had downgraded his anger to disgust. Though, it might’ve been more of a lateral move.
No doubt she’d grown tired of Julian the Artist. He looked good on paper—or canvas, as it were—but where real responsibility and presence were required, he was a no-show. Julian cared about Julian more than anyone. It probably shouldn’t, but it gave Flynn a shot of satisfaction to know that Veronica was likely comparing the two brothers and noticing that even with his money and inheritance, Julian wasn’t measuring up.
“She contacted me,” he told Sabrina.
“I know.”
Guilt shadowed her face. “I was cleaning the countertop and saw her name pop up on your phone. I didn’t read the messages, though.”
“She’s sorry. Which I already knew.”
“Didn’t we all,” Sabrina said, droll.
“I didn’t run out and get laid after we split because I was heartsick and wounded.” It was the most truth he’d admitted to anyone—himself included. “She was my world before we fell apart. I should’ve seen it coming—read the signs. I don’t know how I missed it. Guess I was preoccupied with Monarch, which is a lame excuse.” Veronica had always told him he couldn’t focus on work and her at the same time. God knew he’d tried to satisfy her. Where she was concerned, filling her “needs” seemed to be a bottomless pit.
“Lame, but nonetheless true.” Sabrina squeezed his fingers before letting go of his hand and rolling to face him. He stole a peek at her breasts, beautiful and plush resting one on top of the other. He had to force himself to look into her eyes while she talked. Something she’d noticed, given her saucy smile.
“Were you in love with her when you found out she’d been unfaithful? Or had you two been growing apart?”
“We’d been growing apart...like, I don’t know, two ships drifting in the ocean. Wow, that is a bad metaphor.”
“Horrible.”
He allowed himself a small laugh. “We used to be in love. So in love we were stupid with it. We didn’t eat or sleep, we just...” He bit his tongue rather than finish the sentence. Best friend or no, he doubted Sabrina would appreciate hearing about past sexcapades with his ex-wife. “We wanted to be together all the time. You know how it is.”
“I don’t, actually.” Her eyes roamed the room, not landing on one spot in particular while she spoke. “The day we went through our list of exes, I was thinking about how sad my experience has been with relationships. I was enamored with a few, and smitten by one or two, but I never uttered the L word.”
“Never?” He didn’t like hearing that. Everyone should feel loved and love in return—at least once—even if it was misguided.
“No. I didn’t think it would change what was between us for the better.”
“And none of those guys expected you to be in love with them? I would’ve thought Phillip might’ve been chirping those three words like a smitten lovebird.”
“Oh, he did.” Her laughter softened the hard knot in his chest that had been there for too long. “He knew I wasn’t that into him, I think. Which hurt his feelings.” She bit her lip like she was debating what to say next. “When we broke up, he said it was because he couldn’t be second place any longer. He thought I was holding out for you. Wouldn’t he have the last
laugh if he saw us now? Sleeping together and living together.”
Now, obviously, Flynn knew he and Sabrina had just had sex. Also, obviously, he was planning on having more sex while she, yes, lived here. But hearing that she was both sleeping with him and living with him stated in plain language sounded almost...ominous.
What would anyone say if they knew? If Gage and Reid knew the whole truth. If Veronica knew. If Julian knew...
“Yeah. Unbelievable,” Flynn murmured, his mind on the fallout. Fallout he hadn’t let himself consider before this moment. He’d been too preoccupied with enjoying himself for a change. It was nice not to play the role of Atlas bearing the weight of the world on his back.
After a long pause, he admitted something else he hadn’t planned on saying aloud. “You deserve that, Sab. That stupid love. You deserve to feel it at least once.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said, sounding contemplative.
Flynn didn’t feel so much contemplative as wary. Sabrina did deserve to feel that kind of bone-deep love, but she wasn’t going to find it with him. He was good for sex. He was a great friend, but the love part he was done with.
He wouldn’t risk diving into the deep end again, not after he’d nearly drowned. It was safer on the shore, with her. It was also completely unfair to tie her up with whatever this was between them when he knew she deserved better.
He cared about her too much to let her go, and he cared too much to keep her. That thought darkened his mood and kept his eyes open and on the ceiling for the next hour while she slept in his arms.
* * *
It’d been so long since she’d had a paintbrush in her hand, Sabrina almost didn’t know where to start. But once she was over the fear of the blank canvas and drew that first line of paint, she’d be fine.
Noise-canceling headphones over her ears, music piping through them, she danced as she painted those first simple strokes onto the canvas. By the time she’d shaded in the shape of the chickadee, a familiar, easy confidence flooded through her. She could do this. She’d done it dozens of times.
Best Friends, Secret Lovers Page 11
