Page 28 of Flash

LEWIS

Slumping on my couch with my bare feet propped up on the coffee table and an episode of Good Omens I’ve watched a dozen times already playing in the background, I open and close the text thread I have with Arrow, trying to decide whether I should text him or not. It’s perfectly reasonable for me to ask if he’s planning to come back over tonight, so why does it feel like such a clingy thing to do?

Maybe it’s all about the phrasing. If I keep it flirty, it won’t sound desperate, right? I chew on my bottom lip and stare at my phone, trying to conjure the exact right words, but my mind is a complete blank. Well, that’s not true. It’s just not full of anything helpful. If I wanted to text Arrow and tell him that I can still taste him and my dick has been hard for hours since his friend cockblocked us, I definitely have the words for that. If it even was a friend. “Daddy’s busy.” I grit my teeth and chew on my thumbnail, my teeth clicking together.

If I wanted to really embarrass myself, I could tell him I’ve been thinking about him all fucking week and I’m wondering if he’s thinking about me at all too. Or I could tell him about the boiling pit of jealousy in my gut about whoever kitten is.

I groan, tossing my phone down on the cushion next to me.

This calls for a drink. I haul my ass up off the couch and shuffle into the kitchen. In the cabinet over the fridge I find the rest of the bottle of rum that Row left here a few weeks ago. I pull it down and unscrew the cap, but before I can bring it to my lips, the obnoxious, shrill beep of the door buzzer makes me jump. My gut explodes in a flurry of butterflies and my heart breaks into a gallop against my ribcage. Fuck, Arrow cannot know how much he’s starting to get to me.

I hurry through the living room to the door and press the intercom button.

“Hello?” I answer sweetly.

“If you pretend not to know who this is again, I might start developing a complex.” Arrow’s voice is a low purr. How does he sound sexy even through an intercom? These things usually make everyone sound like a robot with a sinus infection.

“Of course I know who it is…” I smirk, dragging my tongue along my bottom lip. I tap my finger against the panel for a second before I hold the button down again. “It’s Daddy, right?” The jolt of jealousy I felt earlier rises in my chest again. I didn’t even mean to bring it up, but apparently my mouth had plans of its own.

There’s silence for a second before he answers.

“It’s just a joke between my friends and I. If you want to be my kitten though, I think you’d look cute wearing a collar with a little bell on it.”

Arrow follows his response with a rumbling, confident chuckle that raises the hairs on the back of my neck… among other things. I bite my bottom lip and lean against the wall by the door for a second. Do I believe him? Experience has taught me how easily some guys lie, but for some stupid reason there’s something in Arrow’s voice that makes me want to trust him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. With a sigh, I hold down the button to speak again.

“No pet play necessary.” I press the button next to it to unlock the door downstairs and then I pull open my apartment door and wait.

The heavy clomp of Arrow’s boots coming up the stairs echoes in the hallway. I swear I can smell the familiar combination of lavender and motor oil before he even reaches the top of the stairs. As soon as he comes into sight, a slow grin spreads over my lips before I can even try to play it cool. I rake my fingers through my hair and lean against the doorframe, dragging my eyes over him like I didn’t just see him a few hours ago. He’s still wearing the thigh hugging jeans and a Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt under his unzipped leather jacket.

He reaches for me as he closes the distance between us, and my gaze snags on his hand.

“What the hell happened?” I catch his wrist with my free hand, realizing I’m still holding the bottle of rum in the other.

Arrow winces as I turn his hand over to look at the back. The skin is deep red, and his knuckles are swollen. When his friend called him earlier, I heard him say there was “club business.” Are these guys some kind of criminals? Is he in a motorcycle gang full of sexy hitmen or a bunch of petty drug dealers? My gut clenches. That is so not the flaw I was hoping Arrow would have. Fucking fuck.

I hold my breath and search his eyes, bracing for a lie, an evasion, some excuse for his fucked-up hand.

“I’ll tell you about it for an ice pack and a drink.” He nods at the bottle.

I only hesitate for a second before letting go of his wrist and stepping back to let him inside.

“Make yourself comfortable.” I gesture towards the living room then go into the kitchen to get an ice pack and pour a couple of drinks.

Arrow is sitting on the couch when I come back, his boots and jacket left in the hallway, his socked feet up on the coffee table, and his attention fixed on the episode of Good Omens that’s still playing. He chuckles quietly at Crowley’s antics and the knots in my stomach loosen. Whatever he’s into, he’s not a criminal. Maybe I’m being naive, but I just can’t see it. I set the drinks down on the coffee table and then sit down on the couch next to him.

“Here.” I grab his wrist gently and put the towel-wrapped ice pack on his hand.

He hisses through his teeth again and his fingers twitch.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, then frowns. “Fuck, if that dickhead broke my hand, I’m going to sue him for all the missed work while I heal.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what he does for work. I can feel myself dancing right on the edge of something dangerous. If I open the floodgates and start asking about his life, will there be any turning back? I hold my curiosity at bay while I focus on his hand for a minute, looking down at the ice pack in my grip, even though I’m sure he’s perfectly capable of holding it himself.

“So, who’s the dickhead?” I ask, watching his face while I wait for the answer. Is he going to lie? Change the subject? Try to gaslight me into dropping it or distract me so I stop asking? “Some kind of club business?”

“My motorcycle club,” he answers, shifting closer to me.

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