In Like Flynn Page 5

  ‘Fishing for information,’ interjects a laughing Paisley.

  ‘Absolutely. I’m all about the customer experience.’

  ‘Well, this customer,’ replies Ella, her cheeks still pink, ‘is very satisfied.’

  ‘I’m sure you are.’ I lift my glass, chinking it against hers. ‘Mac clearly adores you, and you have two of the cutest children known to man.’

  ‘I am’—she inhales, pushing out a deep breath which ends in a wide smile and, if I’m not mistaken, tear-filled eyes—‘the luckiest, not to mention, the happiest a girl could ever be. And to think, it wasn’t all that long ago I was poised to move back into my parents’ house. Not to mention, a virgin.’

  Cola and hard liquor don’t feel so great coming out of your nose, let me tell you.

  ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry,’ I say, mopping up the spray from my chin. ‘Excuse me but how—how—could that be possible?’ Ella looks like a young Sophia Loren; all soft curves and olive skin. Her wavy dark hair is always stylish, and while I don’t go for girls, even a straight girl like me feels the urge to touch her fabulous boobs.

  ‘I had no confidence,’ she says with a short shrug. ‘I was also, unwittingly, a fag hag to my long-term boyfriend. And obviously a bit stupid.’ Both Paisley and I begin to protest. ‘It’s true,’ she continues with a rueful laugh. ‘God, I was such a disaster. And then I met Mac, and I discovered love.’ I can’t help the wistful sigh that escapes. ‘Along with the joys of sex.’

  ‘I think that’s a book,’ replies Paisley. ‘Pretty sure I discovered it under my parents’ bed when I was a kid.’ My ahhh turns to an ewww before morphing into a giggle. A giggle that’s infectious, it seems, as I cast my eyes to the other side of the table.

  ‘Imagine going from being a virgin to Mac.’ Paisley brings a hand to her mouth, but it doesn’t hide her laughter. ‘Lord, that man looks like he could break you in two.’

  ‘No comment,’ titters Ella.

  ‘No comment needed. I’ve seen him in his rugby shorts. The man needs a cup before he hurts himself. Sorry, Ella,’ she adds. ‘I haven’t been perving purposely. It’s just kind of hard not to see.’

  ‘Oh my God, this is so funny!’ Ella responds, her chest heaving with laughter as she wraps an arm around her friend. ‘I’ve told him he needs to strap that down, but he prefers a bit of free running!’ The end of her sentence ends in a bit of a screech, tears beginning to roll down her face.

  ‘Seriously, babe, he’ll put himself out of commission,’ Paisley advises, composing herself and straightening the wide neckline of her dress. ‘You’ve got to protect your own interests. If it was Keir—’

  ‘Keir is too much the gentleman,’ protests Ella.

  ‘That’s not what you would’ve said this morning,’ I quickly add.

  ‘He was a little handsy when he dropped me off,’ Paisley adds a little shyly. ‘And not very gentlemanly at all.’

  ‘Even the good ones have a naughty side.’ At Ella’s words, both sets of eyes turn to me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The sentiment totally fits you.’ Paisley’s mouth hitches in one corner as the pair continue to examine me. ‘You look like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth—like an angel—but you absolutely have a naughty side.’ It’s not an insult or even teasing as she leans across the table, her hand raised, inviting a high five.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t even get the benefit of naughty,’ I say as my palm meets hers. ‘Not very often, at least.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Ella says. ‘You must meet lots of fit guys in your line of business.’

  ‘Call me old fashioned, a hypocrite, or whatever’—I shake my head and the thought away—‘but I prefer monogamy. I know some adult actors consider themselves faithful to their partners and sex at work is exactly that—just work—but I can’t think like that. I’m not wired that way, maybe. I’d be too jealous. I’d be the crazy girlfriend, and no one wants to deal with that!’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it that way,’ she adds. ‘But there must be other men you meet.’

  ‘Not ones I want to date.’

  ‘Not true. What about the guy you introduced me to last year—the one who looked like Clark Kent? God, what was his name again?’

  ‘Troy,’ I supply. ‘And I can’t believe I went to the trouble of introducing you to a completely nice, not to mention hot, man when you were already in love with Keir. Sneaky much?’

  ‘What can I say? I thought I was protecting my heart.’

  ‘More like fooling yourself. We’ve all been there,’ says Ella.

  ‘Why don’t you ask him out? Or get hot Tate’s number?’ Paisley’s eyes slide to the bar, her eyes sparkling with mischief and her fingernails twirling the straw in her glass.

  ‘Don’t even think about it.’ I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I just want my orgasm back. And maybe a baby sometime in the not too distant future. There, I said it. Admitted it to myself. Time is a-ticking, and I’m tired of waiting for the right man to come along. Besides, the right man is a unicorn—a mythical beast. ‘Who’d want to marry someone who does what I do for a living?

  ‘Who said anything about marriage?’ Oops. A slight Freudian slip. ‘We’re talking dating here. And if porn stars can find partners, you sure as hell can.’

  ‘Really? You make me sound as appealing as a tin of Spam.’

  ‘What about online dating?’ Ella asks.

  ‘Tried it.’ I shrug. ‘It’s like that adage; the odds are good, but the goods are odd. Or married.’ Yep, that happened one time.

  ‘When did you try online dating.’

  ‘Before we met. In fact, I found Jesus there.’ Both women laugh as I slip my clutch onto the table from the empty space on the booth next to me. ‘It’s true,’ I say, pulling out my phone to show them the snapshot of the profile of the Spanish model I’d dated early last year. I say dated but banged for three days straight would be a better description. It was a three-day weekend. ‘His name is pronounced Jesús, but whatever.’

  ‘Swipe right if you need Jesus in you,’ Ella reads from the snapshot. ‘Oh my God, talk about talking yourself up. What a chancer!’

  ‘I can’t say I found redemption, but he nailed me well and good.’

  ‘Oh, the puns!’ Ella cries, clutching the blouse covering her ample chest. ‘The puns!’

  ‘He’s seriously hot.’ Paisley looks up from my phone. ‘What happened with him?’

  ‘I decided I couldn’t date a man who uses more hair product than I do.’ And that’s saying something because curly locks are no joke. Unimpressed, she shoots me her bullshit look. ‘He was just a bit of fun,’ I add with a tight shrug. ‘We found we weren’t really compatible on our next date. Young, dumb, and full of . . .’

  ‘Eww!’ Paisley protests.

  ‘I was going to say fun.’ My words are a touch smug as I pick up my glass. Ours wasn’t a meaningful connection.

  ‘Sure, you were,’ she responds, using the same superior tone. ‘But why is this just a screenshot? I can’t see the app on your phone?’

  ‘Jesús, María y José!’ I exclaim, taking my phone from her hand. ‘Nosy much? I no longer have the app because I no longer date online. I deleted it after getting this close’—I bring my forefinger and thumb together, leaving a tiny space between—‘to screwing a married man.’

  I take a fortifying sip of my drink. I’ve never really had close girlfriends before. Not the kind to confide in, anyway. My friendships pre-Paisley were shallow and consisted of coffee dates and evenings out. Certainly not the sharing and emotional kind. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe those are the friendships I’ve sought. Whatever the reason, I still sometimes feel a little strange admitting to my own problems and fears. To the mistakes I’ve made or, in the case of the married man, almost made. Though my biggest mistake of all I’ll always keep to myself.

  ‘God,’ Paisley replies in horrified tone. ‘But that’s on him, not you. You can’t let one asshole, one
bad experience, put you off.’

  ‘Oh, that was only one of a number of bad experiences.’ My tone is dry as I recall the date who invited me to slip into the bathroom with him to do a line of coke from his dick, and at least four others who mispresented everything on their profiles from jobs to heights and hairlines. ‘Online dating is not for me.’

  In fact, I’ve found that dating full stop isn’t for me. I’ve had one serious relationship in my life, and that was enough to put me off ever getting involved again, but I persevered. Like the family motto on our crest says, Virtute et labore. By valour or exertion. Let it not be said that I haven’t tried, because I have, but it just hasn’t worked. Quite frankly, I’m done. And in fact, as I approach my milestone birthday, I’m beginning to form other plans. Big plans. Exciting plans. Plans that prove that I don’t need a man. With the exception of the one little issue I’m currently dealing with. With that thought, I open my clutch to return my phone at the same moment it bings with a text.

  ‘It’s not a question of needing,’ Paisley protests, but I’m not listening. I might not need a man, but it seems my body wants one, I consider as I stare down at the phone in my frozen hand. Unfortunately, my hand is the only frozen part of me as the rest—from brain to body—turns to goo.

  ‘Flynn?’ My God, Paisley has the vision of a hawk. ‘Does that say Flynn?’ Her words are like little bullets of excitement as she tries to swipe the phone from my hand. But I’m quicker.

  ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’ she demands as I move the phone from her reach. ‘You dark horse! How long has this been going on? Don’t need a man, my ass,’ she adds gleefully. ‘Could that be because you’ve already got one?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I slip my phone into my clutch, steadfastly ignoring how my face has begun to heat.

  ‘Have you been holding out on me? Because if you tell me you’ve been seeing him since the wedding—’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. That was just one night—I told you.’ And since then, I’ve just been thinking about him. And cursing him—him and his magic penis. ‘Do you honestly think I could’ve hidden that sort of secret from you for months? I couldn’t even keep it from you for a day.’

  She smiles like the cat that got the cream—no, the cat that bathed in the cream, like some superior Cleopatra of cats! ‘So, am I to understand this happened last Saturday night—after the barbecue?’

  ‘No,’ I say again. ‘I came home from my walk yesterday morning to find him in my garden.’

  ‘That sounds a little sinister,’ Ella says. ‘I hope he wasn’t wearing camo and hiding in the long grass with binoculars.’

  Paisley snorts. ‘Flynn is more likely to be found dressed as a garden gnome or something equally ridiculous.’

  ‘You’re both wrong . . . though he was in costume, I suppose.’ My heart pitter-pats at the recollection. The bulge of his bicep as he’d swept a lock of hair from his face, the bloom of lust deep in my belly as I’d watched his thin T-shirt ride up, flashing me a peek of those washboard abs.

  ‘Come on, then. Don’t keep us in suspense.’

  ‘He was in my garden, gardening, I suppose?’

  ‘Why?’ Paisley asks. ‘Altruism seems a little farfetched. Besides, you’re not a pensioner . . .’ I feel a little smug as the realisations dawns across her face. ‘He overheard you talking about the potting shed shoot at the barbecue.’

  I incline my head. ‘And the rest. What else did we talk about on Saturday, hmm?’ I’ve no idea if Flynn caught only my smutty confessions. It’s not the kind of question I’m likely to ask. It’s not the kind of question any of us are likely to ask.

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaims, her hands flying to cover her cheeks. ‘No! He was eavesdropping on our conversation?’

  ‘Now who’s holding out, hmm?’ With a sniggering laugh, I take a sip of my drink.

  ‘Holding out? More like holding potentially embarrassing material. The total sneak!’

  ‘So he heard our slightly drunken conversation—our very smutty conversation. So what?’ As a description, I’d have gone with “insightful conversation”, especially from a business standpoint. But no matter. And strangely, while Paisley looks shocked, Ella looks rather serene.

  ‘What are you smiling about?’ Paisley begins. ‘Aren’t you worried?’

  ‘Why would I be? Mac already knows all my fantasies.’ She inhales deeply, her next words girlish and giggly. ‘And he already calls me his little girl.’

  Daddy kink. It should be absurd—the pair are married and have children. Technically, Mac is already a daddy. But I can totally see how it might appeal to the pair. While Ella doesn’t appear the least bit submissive, I can see the appeal in someone taking care of you. Taking care of your needs. But can I see myself calling a man daddy? Probably not. But I can foresee others being into it, so slot away the idea for further professional examination later.

  ‘Fuckkk . . .’ Paisley’s curse hits the air like an exhaled breath. ‘It’s okay for you,’ she says, ‘but I see Flynn on the regular. How am I going to be able to look him in the eye now?’

  ‘Please.’ I snort. ‘You and Keir can barely keep your clothes on in public.’ Tactile doesn’t even cover it, as seen in their display earlier today. ‘I’m sure Flynn is already privy to, if not the details of your sex life, then the frequency.’

  ‘Breadth, if not depth!’ Ella giggles. Maybe someone really ought to stop her drinking.

  ‘Are you attempting to sexually shame me?’

  ‘I’m just saying, if the ball gag fits.’

  ‘No dice, ladies, because Keir likes me loud.’ She cackles, bringing her glass to her mouth.

  ‘What man doesn’t,’ titters Ella.

  ‘A common theme, maybe, but men all have their thing. The thing that tickles their pickle, so to speak, big time. I think it’s only fair we know something of Flynn’s secrets, wouldn’t you say?’ I frown. Is she talking to me? How would I know his thing? He might like being pegged by aubergines for all I know. Our kind of acquaintance doesn’t extend to those kinds of details.

  ‘Come on, babe, pick a side. You have to restore the balance—tell us a little of Flynn’s peccadilloes.’

  ‘No, no, no, no, no!’ Ella slaps the surface of the table with her palm before draining her drink. ‘Flynn can’t have a little pecker or a little dildo because life is too short to deal with mean penises and little men. Wait!’ she adds, almost visibly playing her words back. ‘Life is too short to deal with mean men and little penises. Because mean penises aren’t really a thing.’

  ‘I dunno,’ begins Paisley. ‘I’ve known a few mean dicks in my time. Mean dicks with small dicks. Robin,’ she fake-coughs her ex’s name into her hand.

  ‘I thought you said you were a virgin pre-Mac?’

  ‘Closeted gay boyfriends also have dicks,’ Ella says with a one-shouldered shrug. ‘They’re just a little mean with it. Still, I suppose I have him to thank for my awesome blow job technique.’

  I begin to laugh, doubly so as she makes a lewd gesture involving her hand, cheek, and tongue, right at the moment Tate choses to approach the table again. My first thought is that we’re being a little rowdy, that maybe his other customers are sending our table a lot of dirty looks, but his open, smiling expression seems to say otherwise.

  ‘Enjoying yourselves, ladies?’

  ‘Very much so,’ Ella says, her head moving like a nodding dog. ‘Brunch was delicious. A visit to this beautiful and very respectable establishment has made for a perfect Sunday.’

  ‘Respectable,’ Tate repeats, cocking a teasing brow in my direction, a strange sort of gleam in his eye. ‘Maybe Miss Landry would care to visit after closing hours. We’re not so respectable then.’

  He doesn’t wait for me to reply, which is just as well given that my jaw is on the table.

  ‘He surnamed you,’ Paisley crows, ‘I thought you didn’t know him?’ I don’t, but he does look familiar. From where, though?

  ‘And deliver
ed an invitation to a disreputable experience.’ Ella giggles, all comic wide-eyed.

  ‘That’s not what I heard,’ I reply, the tips of my ears fiery again.

  ‘Then you want your hearing tested,’ Paisley retorts.

  ‘Not interested in men, huh? Good for you it doesn’t work the other way around.’

  Chapter 9

  Flynn

  I send her a text. I get no answer, my expression twisting when I note it’s been almost immediately read. She might be busy, I reason, so I chuck my phone down on the couch cushion, telling myself I’ll leave it a while. I flick on the TV, a little fucked off.

  Two one-night stands months apart is hardly the foundation of an addiction, but maybe I should be examining this. Is my eagerness a warning? Bad enough that I’ve been thinking about her since the wedding. What’s that about? We fucked, and while I was sleeping, she fucked off. That should’ve been that. End of. Her prerogative to leave, and certainly no skin off my nose. Only, it wasn’t like that. Not then and not since. In St Lucia, at the wedding, I was frustrated that she wasn’t there the next morning, but I shrugged it off. Ate my brekkie under an endless blue sky that reminded me of home, then boarded a plane back to London, my second home. And then . . . I might’ve thought about her a little. Usually with my cock in my hand. But I haven’t obsessed. No way.

  But yesterday—what the fuck was I thinking? I sure as shit wasn’t thinking with my big head. Yesterday was all little head thinking. I didn’t consider the consequences of planning some half-cocked seduction, only that the ingenuity or the cuteness factor might get me laid again. If I’d thought about it properly, I might’ve realised I was running the risk of feeling like this again. Used. Not good enough. Because despite saying all was hunky-dory waking in an empty hotel room, I was still left with a sense I’d been dumped like a used cock sock—a used condom.

  It gives the adage “treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen” a whole new meaning. I mean, I’ve never had that mindset with women personally, but I can tell you it feels pretty shithouse being on the receiving end. The reverse psychology has totally worked on me because I feel like I need to see her again real soon. And what the fuck! I didn’t even get a full night out of it this time before she had me pulling up my jeans, saying her brother might walk in. She couldn’t get rid of me quick enough. So why am I so eager to get into her knickers again?