Page 15 of Flash

Maybe if I play it cool—like, absolutely glacial—we can keep things going just a little bit longer. I don’t have Rowan’s optimism that this is going to turn into some epic love story. I’ll settle for more of what happened last night and an eventual amicable parting of ways. Even that sounds like a fairytale compared to all the crashes and burns I’ve dealt with so far.

“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself, hitting the button to start a new message.

ARROW

Tools clang, the pop and hiss of another beer being cracked open fills the air, and Gregory comes tearing in through Jaguar’s open garage door to cower behind my legs. There’s a squirrel hot on his tail, scurrying after him and chittering. I don’t speak rodent, but it’s clear he’s talking mad trash to my poor little dog.

“Dude, you’ve gotta stand up for yourself.” I bend down to scoop him up off the ground. “He’s only tormenting you because you let him.”

“Are you being a little terrorist?” Jag coos, clicking his tongue affectionately at the squirrel as it scurries up his leg like it’s a tree and perches on his shoulder. The squirrel chitters again and Jag reaches into his pocket, pulls out a shelled peanut, and hands it to the fuzzy critter.

“He takes after his dad,” I say dryly. “Running around and stirring up trouble like it’s his job.”

“Moi?” Jaguar gasps, putting a hand dramatically over his chest.

“I don’t think faking innocence is going to work on this one,” Piston says wisely, and Jaguar drops his hand and his feigned virtuous expression.

“Yeah, okay.” He flashes a toothy grin. “But if you’re talking about the flower shop thing, as far as I’m concerned, we’re even. He acted like a dick, I got him back with a prank, all is right and balanced in the universe.”

Somehow, I doubt that, but I’m not about to argue with him about it.

I set Gregory back down and he takes off out of the garage again, no doubt to find more trouble to get into. He takes after his Uncle Jag just as much as that damn squirrel does. I crouch next to my bike with a grunt and reach for the open toolbox next to Tex.

Working on my bike centers me in the same way tattooing always has. My hands know exactly what they’re doing, and the task itself requires just enough brain power to keep my mind from really wandering. Not that it doesn’t try anyway. Thoughts of Lewis’s soft skin and hungry, addictive kisses dance at the edges of my mind while I try to focus on the banter going on around me. Hero bitches about the name of our little motorcycle club for the millionth time and Tex mentions a charity ride we might want to sign up for next month. I nod along, grunting or laughing in the appropriate spots while keeping most of my focus on my bike.

My phone vibrates against my thigh and my fingers still. My heart jumps into my throat and I glance around covertly. The guys are all here, and my brother, Henry, mentioned that he had some special date night planned for him and his man tonight, so I doubt he’s texting me. It’s probably just spam. I get more political texts and 20 percent off offers from websites I bought one item from three years ago than texts from actual people I want to talk to. But there’s a chance it’s Lewis, and that tiny possibility has my heart racing. I wipe my hands off on a nearby rag and reach into my pocket.

UNKNOWN: Hey.

That’s it. A single word from an unknown number. I drag my fingers through my beard to scratch my chin. Is it him? I stare at the text for a solid minute, trying to find some clue in the solitary word. My phone vibrates in my hand again and another message pops up.

UNKNOWN: Sorry, this is Lewis.

UNKNOWN LEWIS: From the bar

LEWIS: Ha, wow, that’s not very specific, is it? You’ve probably given your number to a dozen guys at different bars this month alone.

LEWIS: From Wooley’s last night… the blowjobs

LEWIS: Holy hell that was so cringe. I’m sorry.

LEWIS: Okay, if you haven’t blocked me at this point, I just want to tell you that I’m usually not this much of a mess. You throw me off. And I’ve maybe had a couple of daiquiris, so this is technically a drunk text and none of what I say can be held against me.

I rub my hand over my mouth to stifle my chuckle and hide my grin. I throw him off? That sounds promising. Definitely a hell of a lot better than the ‘get lost’ vibe I thought I was picking up on last night. Maybe he’s just really into head games. Fuck, I hope not. I hate that shit. I’ve never had the patience for it, and I don’t like pretending that I do. Goddamn if Lewis isn’t pretty enough to lead me around by my dick if he wants to though. I blow out a slow breath and type a response.

ARROW: No, I’m glad you clarified, there are a lot of Lewises and a lot of bars, but honestly not a hell of a lot of blowjobs like that one.

I hit send before I can overthink it. Something about him is throwing me off too. The nervous twist in my stomach while I wait for his reply is definitely new, or maybe it’s just been so damn long since I’ve felt this kind of chemistry and excitement that it feels new again.

LEWIS: Glad to hear it. Be sure to leave a review of my exceptional skills, we always strive for customer satisfaction.

ARROW: Easy five stars. Hot, eager, and exactly the kind of filthy you want from an unexpected blowjob in the manager’s office at a bar. Highly recommend and have every intention of returning to this establishment in the future.

As soon as I send it, my muscles tense. Shit, I’m definitely overplaying my hand here. He was eager to get the hell out of there before my balls had even stopped tingling, and here I am hinting at another hookup. Even if he said he would be up for something casual, I need to pump the brakes.

“Who’re you texting?” Hero asks, making me jerk my gaze up from my phone instantly.

“Air.” Jag gives me a teasing smirk.

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