Page 62 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

The convo with HRD4U wasn’t far from my mind today. It hurts as much as it gives me hope that guys like that are out there. I’m not sure I would have still said yes to Dan’s second date request if it weren’t for what HRD4U said. Coupled with Alicia’s insistence to give it a chance, it felt like I was giving up too soon to say no just because we didn’t throw ourselves at each other and tear off each other’s clothes on the first date.

Sex on the first date isn’t really my thing anyway, so I shouldn’t so easily dismiss Dan because he was respectful and didn’t try. It doesn’t mean it won’t be incredible when it does happen.

Right?

That question rattles around my head as I brush my teeth and climb under the covers. The key clicking to unlock the front door echoes down the hall and into my room, the quiet of the house making the sound even more noticeable. I stiffen on the bed for a moment before I relax.

Flynn.

He’s the only one besides Alicia and Cade who has a key, and there’s absolutely no reason they would be here this late, especially after I just spoke with her.

The sound of the fridge opening and closing reaches me, and then his footsteps move down the hall toward my room. He appears in the doorway, still in his suit pants and what was once a crisp white button-down work shirt, the top two buttons open to expose his neck and top of his chest, but he appears to have ditched the tie long ago. His mussed dirty blond hair is even more disheveled than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes almost make it look like he’s been punched, but it’s clearly just sheer exhaustion.

He holds a take-out container in one hand and a fork in the other. “Hey. I figured you were still up since your text didn’t come that long ago.”

“Uh, yeah.” I shift myself up until I’m sitting against the headboard. “Just got into bed, actually.”

A loaded fork full of lo mein makes its way to his mouth, and he chews as he pushes off the jamb and walks over to the bed. He lowers himself next to me on the mattress and reclines against the headboard.

“This is good.” He holds up another forkful. “I needed this after the day I had.”

His exhaustion weighs heavily in his words, and I can’t detect any hint that he was lying to me about where he was tonight. Maybe it is just work making him so touchy and moody lately.

I drop my head to the side and watch him eat. “You okay? I was a little worried when you didn’t respond to my text.”

He swallows and tilts his head to face me. “My phone died hours ago. Forgot to bring a charger to work. I plugged it into my car charger and saw your message when I got home.”

“Ah.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “You don’t need to worry about me, Mom.”

I smack his chest. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

The slow grin that lights up his face makes my chest warm. “It is nice you care enough to worry, though. I’m sure my mom appreciates you taking care of me since I stopped letting her a long time ago.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for not getting pissy about me being a worry-wort.”

“Never.” His eyes darken for a split-second, perhaps remembering the way he snapped at me the other day for worrying and asking too many questions. “Thanks for dinner.” He holds up the container. “As soon as I finish this, I’m crawling home to climb into bed myself.”

“You look like you’re about to pass out right here.”

He grins at me. “I might.”

It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed, but it has been a long time and none of those incidents were really on purpose. More like both of us passing out while watching a movie or TV and being too lazy or tired to move.

I wouldn’t mind snuggling with Flynn most nights, but he looks like he needs a good night’s sleep, and I need a hell of a lot more tonight after all the stress of the day.

I’ll open my laptop once he leaves to see if I can get it somewhere else.

15

FLYNN

The lock clicks into place behind me after another Friday night out with Rach, and I trudge over to the couch and drop onto it with a sigh. I ate way too much tonight…and drank too much…

Fucking tequila.

I should’ve known better than to agree to go for Mexican with Rachel. She always insists on the bottomless pitcher of margaritas. And me and that much tequila no es bueno. Me and any tequila is bad—let alone copious amounts—but I still drink it for her. Because she loves it.

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