Page 60 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

Way. Way. Way. Too much.

But Flynn usually eats with me, and I’ve gotten used to having a little bit of everything—including the things I would never usually order for myself. So even though he’s working late tonight, I ordered all his favorites, too.

If he stumbles home super late and didn’t have anything to eat at the office, at least there will be something waiting for him here.

I climb from my stool at the counter with a groan and trudge over to the window to look out toward his still, dark house. Today was just as exhausting at work as I anticipated it being, and it’s already almost nine o’clock. Unless I missed Flynn coming home, he’s still at the office.

Unusual for him.

Even though he cleans up well and looks good in suits, they’re definitely not his favorite attire. He’d much rather be home in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt than in a tie strangling his throat. If something kept him there late like he said, it must be important, or he would have just brought his work home with him and done it comfortably.

Which means he’s likely miserable…and hungry.

I grab my phone and shoot him a text.

Hey, are you home? I have extra Chinese. Your favorites.

The three little dots I normally see within a few seconds of contacting him don’t appear. I stare at the screen for a few moments, but nothing.

Strange.

Unless he’s in a meeting or talking to a client, Flynn usually responds almost immediately, and I doubt he has meetings or client calls this late.

I hope everything is okay.

Worry unsettles the massive amount of food sitting in my stomach. I press my hand against my abdomen to calm it and fire off another text.

I’m gonna leave it in my fridge. Come on in and get it when you get home if you want to. I’m going to hit the sack early tonight.

Though, I’d probably sleep better if he came in to let me know he was home safely and had been fed.

Why are you worrying, Rach?

He’s an adult.

But that doesn’t prevent me from worrying about him the same way I do Bash and Jameson.

That innate “need to care for everyone” gene definitely passed from Mom to me. Even as a child, I was always mothering Jameson and trying to Bash despite him being older, stronger, and grumpy about it. Becoming a teacher for little ones just starting in school seemed so natural that I never even thought about doing anything else with my life. Now it’s impossible to turn that off—even where Flynn is concerned, even though he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

I close all the containers and place them into the fridge, but my gaze darts to the window again.

More than likely, absolutely nothing is wrong. He’s just at work. An unusually late night, but nothing to get into a tizzy about.

But my mental pep-talk doesn’t stop me from sending another text, this one to Alicia.

Have either of you heard from Flynn tonight?

Alicia replies almost instantly.

ALICIA

No, why? Is he missing or something?

Crap, now I’m worrying her for no reason.

No, he told me he was working late tonight. He just isn’t replying to my text.

Maybe he’s on a date?

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