Page 66 of Flipping His Script
"Sorry, what—"
"He gotyouout ofyourshifts, right?"
In reality, I had no idea who Flynn had talked to. But why quibble now? "Well yeah. I guess."
"But fuck Carla, right?"
"I never said that." I gave him a pleading look. "You want the truth? I didn't even want the time off. I didn't even realize that Flynn was doing it. If he'd asked me, which he totally didn't, I would've told him not to."
Was I babbling? I felt I was babbling.
In fact, I wasstillbabbling when the guy cut me off, saying, "But instead, you brought him here for breakfast." He flicked his cigarette onto the ground. "And you wanna know what sucks ass?"
By now, I was almost afraid to ask. "What?"
"Carla – she's a big fan. She probably would've pissed her pants to meet him."
Once again, I glanced toward the restaurant. Absently, I mumbled, "Trust me, she's not missing much."
The words had barely left my mouth when I recalled that Flynn and I were supposed to be old friends.Would I really be running him down if that were the case?
Quickly, I added, "I mean, he's a lot different in real life."
But was he?
The character he played on screen was a stone-cold ruthless bastard. In real life, he wasn'tthatmuch different, well, except for the accent and the sword, that is.
Next to me, the guy was saying, "You wanna know whatIthink?"
From the look on his face, I wasn't so sure. Still, I said, "What?"
He looked past me and said, louder now, "I think he's a pussy."
What could I say to that?Honestly, I had no idea.
I was still trying to form a response when a familiar male voice from behind me replied on my behalf. "Yeah? You wanna say that to my face?"
I whirled to look. And sure enough, there he was, Flynn, looking nearly as ominous as he did in the movies.
Talk about bad timing.
I was still looking at Flynn when the cook replied, "Ididsay it to your face, just now."
With my gaze still on Flynn, I forced what I hoped was a smile. "So, are we ready to go?"
He looked to the cook. "In a minute."
I made a sound of frustration. "Why in a minute?"
"Because Sammy and I aren't done talking."
Sammy? Who was Sammy?
The cook?
It had to be.Even now, I was embarrassed that I couldn’t recall his name. But soon, my embarrassment faded to nothing as the whole "pussy matter" was settled beyond a doubt.
The hard way.
