Page 145 of Flipping His Script
Chapter 52
Anna
Twenty minutes later, we were in his car, driving away from my mom's apartment. We'd just dropped her off and were heading back to Flynn's place.
From the passenger's seat, I gave him a quick sideways glance. He hadn't said more than a dozen words since we'd left the restaurant. This was quite a feat, too, considering that my mom had talked to him almost nonstop.
Then again, she didn't always require answers.
Unfortunately for Flynn,Idid.
I turned in my seat to face him. "That scene in the restroom – what was that about?"
He kept his eyes on the road. "If you don't know, I'm not gonna explain."
I stiffened. "Look, you're the one who suggested that I go someplace, so if you're mad atme, maybe you should look in the mirror."
His jaw was set and his fingers were tight around the steering wheel. "Who said I’m mad atyou?"
"You'reactingmad at me." Under my breath, I added, "Well, me and that camera guy."
At last, Flynn glanced in my direction. "Hey, did I threaten to shove a camera upyourass?"
"No. But you've got a stick up yours now."
He made a sound that I couldn’t quite decipher. It might've been a snort, or it might've been a scoff. Regardless, it was far from jolly.
I said, "And why did you insist on driving us back?"
"Because I don't trust him."
"Who?"
"Ronnie."
"You mean the camera guy?"
"That's the one."
I thought of the car that I'd driven to the restaurant. "But who's gonna drive the other car back to your house?"
"It'll be handled," he said. "Not a big deal."
Now,thisI believed. He had lawn people, cleaning people, grocery people – and of course, me, his fake girlfriend.
I gave another scoff. "So, am I 'grounded' or something?"
"No."
In case he missed the sarcasm, I tried again. "Oh, so if I want to go out to lunch tomorrow, you're peachy keen with that?"
"Sure." His voice hardened. "As long as I'm with you."
That wasn't what I wanted to hear. "What, like I need a chaperone? So tell me, do I get a day off?"
He was still holding the steering wheel in a death grip. "What?"
"A day off," I repeated. "I'm living at your place seven days a week."
