Page 49 of Flash

Okay, I can do this.

I step out of the shadows into the circle of light cast by the garage. Arrow’s chair scrapes on the concrete and then clatters to the ground as he jumps up. An array of emotions flicker across his face rapidly, his expression twitching between a smile and a frown so quickly it almost makes me laugh. He reaches out towards me and then stuffs his hands into his pockets. My heart stutters and it takes everything in me not to just throw myself into his arms and kiss him until I forget any of this happened at all.

I bite my bottom lip and look past Arrow at all of his friends again. None of them have moved, but they’re all watching me with looks ranging from curious to guarded. There’s no open hostility or mocking, so that’s something, I suppose.

I drag my gaze back to Arrow.

“Do you think we could talk?”

He nods, then clears his throat and looks over his shoulder at his friends.

“Get the hell out,” he says gruffly.

There are a few snickers and smiles, but they stand up one by one. He’s talked about each of them before, and as they file past, patting him on the shoulder, I try to guess who’s who. Tex is easy, assuming he’s the one wearing the cowboy hat, and from everything Arrow said about Jag, I have no doubt he’s Neon Terrorist Barbie. Piston and Hero are harder to guess. Of the two, the man with the buzzed haircut and tattoos all the way up his neck and down both hands stops in front of me. There’s a steady calmness in his turquoise eyes that puts me at ease immediately, in spite of everything.

Piston. It has to be.

“He didn’t know. And Jag didn’t have a clue that you were the guy Arrow was falling for. If he had, he would’ve knocked it off with the prank bullshit.”

It’s hard to trust what he’s saying. He’s Arrow’s best friend, so of course he’s going to say whatever he needs to. I want to believe him though, especially the part about Arrow falling for me. I don’t have a clue what to say to him, but luckily, he doesn’t force me to come up with anything. He pats me on the shoulder the same way he did with Arrow, then climbs onto his bike just like the others do. Piston whistles and all their engines roar deafeningly before they ride out of the driveway and disappear down the street.

The silence the leave in their wake rings in my ears.

“You want a beer?” Arrow asks, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. When he lets it drop, I can see his knuckles are bright red and swollen again.

“Sure.” I follow him into the garage.

Gregory barks excitedly, circling my feet and wagging his tail. I reach down to pet him and then take the beer Arrow holds out towards me. He rights his toppled chair and looks around helplessly like he’s not sure if he should sit down or invite me inside. I tilt my head towards the door.

“Maybe we could go in and sit down?”

He nods again quickly. “Yeah, sorry, I feel like I’m on eggshells right now. If I only have one shot to not fuck this up, I’m probably not doing a great job so far.” He chuckles.

I step closer and take his injured hand gingerly. I don’t want to promise him anything. I can’t promise him anything right now, but the fact that he cares this much about fucking it up chips away at my fears just a little more. The gesture seems to calm him, even though I don’t say anything. He drags in a breath and then lets it out slowly.

“Let’s go inside and I’ll order something to eat,” he says decisively. “Do you like Chinese?”

I let go of his hand and grin. “Only if we order from Sunny Wok.”

“Obviously. It’s the only edible Chinese food in town.”

A warm feeling pulses through me and I laugh. We head inside with Gregory on our heels and Arrow places an order while I get comfortable on his couch. I put my feet up on his coffee table and bounce my knee while I sip my beer.

I should have asked Rowan to give me some notes about how a conversation like this is even supposed to go. I’ve never had a relationship worth talking through the fucked-up shit.

Relationship.

Is that what this is?

We’ve fucked a handful of times and been on one date. On paper it doesn’t sound all that serious, but there’s something about Arrow that feels different. I watch him quietly as he taps away at his phone, finalizing our order, and I try to imagine him making fun of me to his friends behind my back. I can’t make the picture fit with the version of him I’ve gotten to know. He’s a man who stops in the rain to help someone stranded on the side of the road. He rides his motorcycle with his fluffy little dog strapped to his chest, and the second he saw me getting jealous about Bas last night, he made it abundantly clear we were together, even though I had insisted it wasn’t a date.

He finishes with the order, sets his phone down on the coffee table, and then joins me on the couch.

“I didn’t know you owned the flower shop.”

My desire to believe him wars with the part of myself that wants to retreat from all the possible heartache that lies ahead.

“I just don’t understand how.”

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