Page 24 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

I love my students. I love my students. I love my students.

Sometimes, I need to remind myself.

Over and over again.

Like right now.

Wrangling twenty five-year-olds can be trying on a good day, and today wasn’t a good day.

Not by a longshot.

There are definitely times when dealing with other people’s kids makes me question my desire for my own. Though not really. I love kids so damn much; it would be hard for me not to have a little brood. Still, some days all I want to do is go home and drink, and that is definitely today.

Mondayest Monday ever!

Though, my mood probably has a lot more to do with my fight or whatever it was with Flynn than anything. I haven’t been able to get that look in his eyes out of my head—like he was drowning in something.

I didn’t think he could surprise me anymore. But the way he snapped certainly surprised me…and not in a good way. This weird tension between us just feels so wrong, especially because I don’t know why he reacted like that.

Maybe if I knew…

Maybe if I understood…

But that reaction wasn’t Flynn at all.

He’s the one who is always so even-keeled and composed. He doesn’t lose his cool easily, and never with me.

It’s left me unsettled in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. In a way that I really hate. One that makes me want to jump on a plane to fly back home to Michigan. Only that isn’t home anymore, and no one is there.

Dad’s gone. House sold.

Bash is in Vegas, blissfully happy with Greer.

And Jameson is in New York, trying to build his restaurant empire after his win on Prime Chef.

This is the only home I have. And Flynn is such a huge part of it. Having things weird between us makes everything feel off.

And hopefully I didn’t take that out on the kids today.

I pull into the driveway and pause to stare at his house. It’s too early for him to be home, but I still look for lights in the windows. It’s hard not knowing whether he even wants to see me or not.

My chest tightens, and I force myself to pull into my garage and climb from my car before I dwell on it too much and make my shitty mood even shittier.

Give him space.

Don’t breathe down his neck.

My phone rings as I turn off the ignition.

Please be Flynn.

I didn’t even realize how badly I want to talk to him until now, until I’m not sure if I can. I glance at the screen with hope blossoming and sigh.

Jameson.

“Hey, Jamo, what’s up?” I climb from the car and grab my bag.

“Rach…” Something clanks in the background behind him, and his muffled yell tells me he’s probably in the kitchen, like usual. “Do you have a minute?”

---