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.
She painted the bird’s delicate taupe and tan and white feathers and used a razor-thin brush to fill in his tiny pointed beak and delicate, spindly legs. She placed him on a tender branch and added a few spring buds and lush, green leaves, finishing off the painting by adding a pale blue background.
Pulling her headphones off, she stood back from the easel to admire her work. Still wet, and far from perfect, but the painting was all hers. Created from her imagination and brought to life through acrylics. It was exhilarating to think about what she was capable of with a few simple tools.
Once she’d been completely confident in her painting abilities. She’d endeavored to sell them, or show them at an art exhibit. She didn’t let go of that dream all at once. It’d faded slowly. She’d put her brushes and acrylics in her closet, and then she’d tucked away her canvases, as well. She’d been distracted by life and friends and family—Flynn and Luke included—and there suddenly wasn’t enough time or room for hobbies.
She frowned, wondering how many other loves she’d sidelined over the years.
“What is that? Sparrow?” Flynn jogged down the stairs wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a laundry hamper hooked under his arm.
“It’s a chickadee.” She smiled, amused by the sight of Flynn in the midst of doing laundry. “I’m assuming you’re sending that out somewhere?”
“Yeah. I’m sending it to the washing machine,” he said with a displeased frown.
“I did your laundry in college. You always hated it.”
“Who the hell likes to do laundry?” He gave her a sideways smile. “You should feel reassured that I don’t need you to do my laundry.”
That was too close to “I don’t need you” for her to feel reassured about anything. Her very identity was wrapped up in being needed by Flynn, and now wanted by Flynn...a thought she definitely wasn’t going to explore deeper.
“I’m going to paint him a friend.” She tilted her head to study the painting. “He seems lonely.”
“Why? Do they mate for life or something?”
“No, actually.” She’d researched them when she’d practiced drawing chickadees in her journal. Sadly, her sweet little bird wasn’t a one-chick kind of guy. “They’re socially monogamous.”
“What the hell’s that mean?”
“They’re only together to procreate.”
“Typical guy. Only there for the sex.”
Her laugh was weak as that comment settled into her gut like a heavy stone. Sounded like her current situation with Flynn.
“If you have anything to throw in...” He tilted his head to indicate the laundry room before walking in that direction.
Sabrina’s mind retreated back to his college dorm room. To sitting next to him on his bed while he searched through a pile of clothes for a “cleanish” shirt. The memory was vivid and so welcome.
Remembering who they were to each other eased her nerves. She wasn’t some convenient girl and he wasn’t a random hot guy. This was Flynn. She knew him better than anyone.
She rinsed the paint off her palette and cleaned her brushes, considering something she had never considered before. What if they had real potential beyond best friends with benefits? What if they’d overlooked it for years? They could blame inconvenience since they’d been dating other people until now, or they could blame their friendship. They’d accepted their role as friends so completely, it hadn’t occurred to them to take it to the next level.
But now that they had taken it to the next level, now that they had been naked together on more than one occasion—and she was looking forward to it again—was there more to them than just friends or just sex? And if there was a possibility to move into the next realm, was she brave enough to try?
Wide hands gripped her hips and she jumped, dropping her paintbrushes. They clattered into the stainless steel sink where she’d been cleaning them.
“Oh!” She spun to find Flynn looking pretty damn proud of himself. She gave him a playful shove. “I’m not sure I like this version of you.”
He lowered his face until his mouth hovered over hers. “I don’t believe you. I think you like this version of me just fine.”
Unable to argue, she lifted her chin and placed a sweet kiss on his lips. Just a quick one. He didn’t let her get away with quick, though, kissing her deeply and wrapping his arms around her waist. Lost in the pleasure of his mouth, she clung to his neck.
When they parted, she sighed happily, opening lazy eyelids. “We have plans later. We can’t only paint and do laundry and make out in the kitchen.”
“What plans?”
She trickled a fingertip down his neck and along the collar of his shirt, deciding to keep that surprise to herself. “You’ll see. But first I’m going to have to do my hair and makeup—” he stole a kiss and hummed, a sound that thrilled her down to her toes “—and change out of these dirty clothes.”
“Allow me to help.” He yanked the paint-splattered, baggy T-shirt off her shoulder and kissed her skin. Sabrina’s mind blanked of all other thought. Whenever Flynn put his lips on her, she wanted to climb him like a cat on a curtain.
“Oh, but it’d be much more fun if you let me do it,” she purred, shaking off his hold. She backed out of the kitchen, lifting the edge of her T-shirt and revealing her stomach—teasing him and having a damn good time doing it. “I’ll just throw these dirty clothes in the washer.”
“You think this is going to work. You think I’ll just follow you wherever you lead because you have no clothes on.” But even as he spoke, he followed her every backward step toward the hallway.
She whipped the shirt over her head and tossed it to him. He caught it before it smacked him in the face and gave her the most delightful, reprimanding glare.
“Yup. I do.” She rolled down the waistband of her sweatpants and turned, revealing the back of her black lace thong. She peeked over her shoulder to bat her lashes and found Flynn’s gaze glued to her body. When that gaze ventured to her face, an inferno of heat bloomed in his eyes.
“You’re right,” he growled. He gave her a wicked grin, and then broke into a run. She yipped and giggled, dashing down the long hallway for the sanctuary of the laundry room. He caught her easily, before she was even halfway there, but she didn’t put up even the weakest of fights.
Sixteen
At Chuck’s comedy club, Sabrina pulled up to the valet. “We’re here!”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m completely serious. All of the kidding is done inside the building.” She looked completely pleased with herself at his surprise. She should be. She’d surprised him, all right. Flynn climbed from the car, catching up to her as she handed the keys to the valet.
Chuck’s was not a new establishment, but it was under new ownership. The club’s facade was fresh and stylish rather than its former seedy dive-bar state.
“We came here, what, three or four times?” Flynn smiled at the memories. “I don’t remember it ever looking this nice. When did they get a valet?”
“I know, right? I was flipping through one of my journals and there was an entry about us going to Chuck’s one night when you were dating someone and I was dating someone else.” She made a show of rolling her eyes. “Blah, blah, blah, details, details. Anyway, I checked to see if it was even open, and not only is Chuck’s still open, but I found a coupon online for tickets tonight!”
There was an argument about her using coupons for comedy clubs on the tip of his tongue, but he’d digress. It was bad enough she insisted on surprising him and paying for this evening. He’d argued and a
rgued and had finally given up. He’d buy her something to repay her—painting supplies maybe.
Since she’d had those brushes in hand, she’d been more focused on what brought her pleasure instead of trying to help him. She always did things for other people, but didn’t do enough for herself. He was struck with the need to make her life easier, better.
He reached for her hand. Their fingers wove together as easily as if they’d been holding hands since the day they met. He’d touched Sabrina in the past, but never in an intentionally sexual or romantic way. Until the kiss happened.
The kiss that changed everything.
Earlier today they’d had feisty, playful, incredible sex against the wall in the laundry room, and then he’d added her discarded clothes to the washer. Through the clear glass lid he’d watched her shirt and pants mingle with his clothes, twist around each other in an almost...intimate way. Which was how holding her hand felt now. How had he never noticed that before?
Sabrina wore an A-line red dress that flared at the waist. Her knees were exposed, her high-heeled shoes tall and sexy as hell, and the simple gold chain at her throat was distracting to the nth degree. When she’d stepped out of the bedroom ready for their date he could think of nothing other than getting her out of the dress. If it was up to him, she’d keep on the shoes and the necklace. Something to look forward to tonight.
Their seats were at a table in the middle of the room rather than up front. He’d been heckled by comedians a time or two in the past when he’d had front row seats, so the middle was fine with him. The headliner was someone he’d never heard of, and Sabrina admitted she hadn’t either. He ordered a beer and she ordered a cosmopolitan, and they made it through the opening act. Barely.
As they pity-clapped, he leaned over to whisper, “If that was any sign of what we can expect from the headliner, we should cut our losses and leave.”
“Nope. We’re here for the duration,” she whispered back. “That’s half the fun.”
It came as no surprise that she could enjoy even bad comedy. Sabrina enjoyed everything. He took a sip of his lukewarm beer and mused that she’d probably found a redeeming quality in her watered-down drink. Her superpower was that she found joy everywhere. Even in a formerly seedy club where the tickets were overpriced and the acts should’ve hung up their jokes years ago.
That same knot that had loosened in his chest before loosened a bit more. He pulled in a deep breath and took her hand again, shaking his head in wonderment at how lucky he was to touch her this freely.
The headliner was introduced and Flynn decided that no matter what crap joke the guy trotted out, Flynn would enjoy the show because he was here with Sabrina. She was contagious in the best possible way—infecting the world with her positivity. That, he’d known for years. That she enjoyed sex and he enjoyed it with her was a surprise.
This sort of ease with a woman shouldn’t be simple. Nothing was.
He applauded the opener, shutting out the thought that had the potential to ruin his optimism. Halfway through the guy’s set, which was much funnier than his predecessor’s, Flynn’s phone buzzed and buzzed again. A third insistent buzz had him reaching into his pocket to check the screen.
As if he’d tempted fate by wondering how things could be this simple, there sat Veronica’s name on his phone. Simple, she was not.
He read through the texts, wanting to ignore them and brush her fears aside as Veronica being Veronica—dramatic and attention seeking. Except he couldn’t. Even though he was 90 percent positive there wasn’t a decent bone left in her body, there was in his.
Under his breath he muttered an expletive before leaning close to Sabrina’s ear. He whispered that he had to step outside for a moment. When he stood, the target landed squarely on him and the comedian on stage ribbed him for getting up in the middle of his show.
Flynn amiably waved a hand as he exited the room, taking the insults in stride. Go figure. Outside the darkened club, he walked past the ticket counter and bar, forgoing a return text to call Veronica instead.
“Flynn, oh my God. Thank God you called.” Her voice was frantic, hushed. Part of him suspected that the text messages were merely to get his attention, but she sounded legitimately frightened.
“What’s the problem?” Other than a few veiled words about how his mother’s estate was big and Julian was gone and she was hearing things, Veronica hadn’t come out and said what she wanted.
“Julian is away at an art show in California and I’m stuck here in this massive house by myself.” Her voice shook. “I wasn’t sure if the sound I heard was someone breaking in, or if the house was settling.”
In that house a break-in was pretty damned unlikely. The neighborhood was gated, and the house itself armed with a security system.
“It’s a big house, and it’s old. Probably the latter. What do you hear?”
“Cracking. Popping. I don’t know.” What she described didn’t sound like a burglar to him.
“Can you come over and look around? I hate to ask, but...”
He sighed from the depths. She didn’t sound frightened but inquisitive and a touch desperate. She wasn’t afraid. She wanted to see him. And given the nature of the texts from earlier this week, which had revolved around her being sorry and saying that she missed him, this entire situation was damn fishy.
“Veronica, if you believe that someone is in the house you need to lock the bedroom door, call the police and wait for them to arrive. If I left now, I wouldn’t arrive for at least forty minutes.”
Silence stretched between them before she spoke again.
“I checked the camera system. And the alarm. Neither of those have tripped.” She admitted it sheepishly, like she knew if she’d started the conversation that way she’d be talking to dead air. He cared about her well-being; he did not care for being manipulated.
“If you’re afraid,” he reiterated, “call and have an officer come to the house to take a look around.”
“I just... I thought if you were here...we could talk.”
“We don’t have anything to talk about. Especially when Julian isn’t there.” Her texts had been hinting at some sort of resolution between them, which he didn’t see the point of. He didn’t love her and he didn’t trust her. He cared about her, though, which she must’ve known or else she wouldn’t have baited him into this call.
“Look, I’m on a date, so I’m going to go.”
“Who are you on a date with?” she asked, sounding wounded.
He took a breath, debated telling her, then decided to tell her anyway. “Sabrina.”
“I knew it.” There was venom in her voice, and the ugly, petty tone compounded with her next comment. “You two have always had a thing for each other.”
“We never had a thing for each other. I had a thing for you.” He walked to the exit in case this call required him to raise his voice. “You exclusively. There was a time when you had a thing for me, too. Before you had a thing for Julian.”
Pain seeped in without his permission, so he covered it with anger.
“Since Julian’s your guy now, I suggest you call him in a panic.”
“I was worried someone was in the house,” she snapped.
“Well, the someone who will not be in that house tonight is me.”
He ended the call, glaring down at his cell phone’s dark screen.
“Everything okay?” Sabrina’s tender voice asked from behind him. He turned to find her holding her clutch in both hands. “You were gone awhile so I closed our tab. We probably shouldn’t attempt to reenter that club given how much crap the comedian gave us both for leaving.”
“You don’t have to miss the show.” He regretted his ex-wife snaring him in such an obvious way. “I shouldn’t have taken the call, but her text sounded...” When he met Sabrina’s gaze, he noted a dash of surprise.
&nb
sp; “Her? You mean Veronica,” she stated flatly.
“She’s at Mom’s estate and was afraid someone was breaking in. I told her to call the cops.”
Concern bled into Sabrina’s pretty features, magnified through the lenses of her black-framed glasses. “If you need to check on her...” She winced like she didn’t want to continue, but then she did anyway. “It might not be a bad idea to make sure she’s safe.”
God. Sabrina. So damn sweet. She hadn’t liked Veronica before, and liked her less now that she and Flynn had divorced for the ugliest of reasons.
“You’d let me end our date to go to her?”
“If it would ease your mind, I would. And hers, I guess.” She quirked her mouth. “I want her to be okay. I just don’t want her to hurt you anymore.”
Ah, hell. That got him.
He tucked his phone into his back pocket and grabbed Sabrina and kissed her, losing himself in the pliant feel of her lips and the comforting weight of her in his arms. When they parted, he shook his head. In the midst of the unluckiest time of his life, he was lucky to have her at his side. “I’m sure Veronica’s fine.”
Sabrina must’ve heard the doubt in his voice. She pulled her coat on and flipped her hair over the collar. “There’s only one way to be sure. We’ll go check.”
“We?”
“We. I’m coming with you.”
* * *
Thirty-five minutes later, thanks to light traffic and Sabrina’s lead foot, they arrived at his mother’s estate. On the way, Flynn had texted Veronica to let her know that Sabrina suggested they come by. He expected Veronica to tell him never mind, or that a visit wasn’t necessary, but she didn’t. Either she was playing a long game when it came to winning him back, or she really did need to see a familiar face tonight.
After they’d been buzzed in at the gate, Flynn studied the house, sitting regally in the center of a manicured lawn. It looked the same as when he’d grown up here, save for the missing rosebushes lining the property—his mother’s passion. He hadn’t missed this house when he’d moved out just three years after she’d passed away. His father hadn’t stayed there either, moving to his downtown penthouse instead. Flynn would drive by his childhood home on the rare occasion, but only to remember his mother. It always made him think of her. It occurred to him for the first time that there had been no reason for his father to keep the house, except for a sentimental one. Flynn hadn’t thought of his father as a “sentimental” man, but why else would Emmons have kept the house clean and the grass mowed all these years?
Best Friends, Secret Lovers (The Bachelor Pact Book 1) Page 12
