Page 36 of Flash

“Is tomorrow night good?” he asks.

“Tomorrow night is perfect.”

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up feeling lighter than I have in ages. I stuff my phone into my pocket and rub my good hand over my face, trying and failing to wipe the massive smile off my lips.

“Good phone call?” Piston startles me, skirting past me to get into the storage area.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Fucking great phone call.”

He opens the closet and rummages around, pulling out a fresh roll of paper towels and a bag of ink caps. He pauses and gives me an assessing look that only someone who’s known me as long as he has could pull off.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” I say with a nod.

“This casual guy you’re seeing, is it the rainstorm guy?”

Did I tell the guys about the hot twink in the rainstorm? Hell yeah. But the way our body heat fogged the window, the desperate movements of our hands and mouths, Lewis’s murmured pleas and the face he made when his cum splashed over my stomach, that’s not for anyone except me. A greedy feeling flares in my chest and I glance over my shoulder into the shop to make sure the rest of the guys aren’t listening in. I’m not sure why I’m so reluctant for them all to know that Lewis is the same guy—maybe because I already embarrassed myself enough moping around when he didn’t call.

“Why?” I ask.

Piston shrugs. “Just curious.”

I narrow my eyes. Piston is never just curious. The dude has a way of seeing shit no one else can. I’m just glad he isn’t into gossip and drama the way Jag is. I clear my throat and nod.

“Yeah, it’s him.”

His expression is too stoic for me to read his reaction, but after a second, he nods too. “And you haven’t checked his social media?”

I pull my eyebrows together and cock my head. “You know I don’t bother with that shit. Why? Did you find him? Is there something fucked up I should know about?”

“No.” He holds his hands up. “I was just curious,” he says again.

That’s obviously all I’m going to get out of him. He slips past me again and greets a customer who just came in. Whatever he was getting at, I’m not going to bother stewing over it. I have an unofficial date with Lewis tomorrow night, and that’s more than enough to occupy my thoughts.

Maybe I should breach enemy lines and go next door to pick up some flowers for him. He loves plants, so flowers seem like a no-brainer. It’s probably better to get them fresh though. I’ll swing by tomorrow and pick up a bouquet right before I go to Lewis’s.

I have a date. I smile to myself again.

This might just turn into something more than casual after all. A guy can hope, right?

Chapter 12

ARROW

Instead of pulling around the back, I park my bike right in front of the flower shop. There are a surprisingly large number of cars in the parking lot considering it’s nearly the posted closing time for Little Shop of Flowers, and unless the guys had a fuck ton of walk-ins today, all these customers shouldn’t be for Ink Slingers either.

I set my bike helmet on the seat and run my fingers through my hair. Anticipation has been buzzing under my skin since Lewis called yesterday, but the closer it gets to the time we agreed on, the more I feel like a live wire.

The sweet smell of flowers tickles my nose as I step inside the shop. It’s not a scent I would have found particularly arousing before, probably more pleasantly neutral, but it reminds me of Lewis now, earthy and floral. It makes me want to nuzzle my face into that soft spot on his neck and feel the flutter of his pulse under my tongue. My cock thickens and I shake my head to try to dispel the thoughts before I get thrown out of the flower shop for lewd acts.

There are a dozen customers milling about inside, which is more than I was expecting. Maybe that social media campaign Jag inspired actually worked. Is it naive to hope that could mean an end to the pranks in favor of a truce? Probably.

I look around the shop, at a complete loss. I’ve never bought anyone flowers before, and if I had, I probably would have gone classic and picked up a dozen roses. That doesn’t feel right for Lewis though. He deserves more thought. He deserves something special. Maybe the guy who owns the place can give me a solid recommendation. He’s gotta be the expert, right?

I wander up to the counter and wait while another customer checks out. The guy behind the counter definitely isn’t the twink Jag described. He’s a bulky dude with a shy smile and a mass of auburn hair. The woman ahead of me picks out a rubber duckie from the bin and seems thrilled with both the discount she earns and with getting to keep the duck, and as she leaves with her flowers, I step forward.

The name tag on his chest reads ‘Rowan,’ and I nod a greeting. His friendly expression fades as he takes me in.

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