Page 84 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

A tiny, resigned breath slips from her lips, and she pushes away her almost-empty plate and shoves our copy of the receipt into her purse. “I do when we’re in public.”

That makes me flinch, but I don’t move away from her, just slide my hand back onto her thigh and squeeze it gently.

“So, is that a no to the video?”

Her body goes rigid against mine, and she averts her gaze, suddenly very interested in the drink menu on the table even though we’re done and already paid for our dinner.

She’s been avoiding answering my question for the past two days while we lived in our own little private world. Barely leaving my bedroom except to eat—and that only led to kitchen-counter sex. Twice.

I even feigned illness to get out of church with Mom this morning. Lying to my own mother to stay in bed, fucking my girl…

Father Lafayette would have a field day with that in the confessional booth.

Aside from the family engagement I avoided, there wasn’t even any reason for her to go home to get clothes since she hasn’t been wearing any.

It’s been two days of sheer bliss that left her walking on shaky, weak legs when she finally forced me out for dinner tonight. Our first real “date” now that we aren’t simply best friends anymore.

Though, what we are is still a little in the air.

It isn’t lost on me that she hasn’t told me she loves me. At least, not in the same way I told her I love her. She agreed we were on the same page with what this would be, but she hasn’t said the words. And I think HRD4U may be the sticking point and might be holding back what she really wants to say, what I’ve been longing to hear since the moment I realized I loved her.

Even though he’s what brought us together, my alter-ego is looming over us like a dark cloud. And now, instead of answering my question about making the video, she slides out from the booth and waits for me to do the same.

I’ve tried not to push it, not to push her where my suggestion is concerned even though I’ve definitely been pushing her in other ways—to tell me what she wants, what she likes, what she needs. But her repeated dodging is making something abundantly clear.

I reluctantly climb to my feet, and when she moves for the door, I grab her hand and tug her back to me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her close so I can lean down and ensure no one else hears me. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you running away every time I bring it up, Rach.” I feather my lips against her ea. “You can just say ‘no’ and be done with it. I would let it go. But the fact that you haven’t dismissed the idea out of hand leads me to believe that a part of you, probably deep down, hiding under all the kindergarten-teacher uptightness and repressed by what you worry people will think, really wants to try it.”

She sags back against me slightly and squeezes my hand in hers. “I’m thinking about it. That’s all I’m giving you right now.”

It’s more than she’s said on the subject in two days.

I grin and kiss her cheek lightly. “I’ll take that. Now, let’s get home and into bed. I plan on keeping you up for a few hours, and we both have work early in the morning.”

As much as I’d love to stay up all night and spend every foreseeable day in the future lost in her, we both know that’s not feasible. We need to leave the bubble. It’s time to stop being INEEDSOMED and HRD4U versions of ourselves and become the “presentable” Flynn McAllister and Rachel Fury again.

It’s time for the bubble to burst.

She pulls me toward the front door of the restaurant and out into the cool evening air. The lamps in the parking lot cast long shadows across the half-full spots. But even the dark of night can’t hide the damage to my car.

I stop dead in my tracks and put an arm out to stop Rachel. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, my God.” Rachel bumps into my arm, staring at the smashed windshield and dented hood. “What happened?”

I wrap my arm around her, jerk her against me, and scan the parking lot for any sign of who might have done this and to ensure we aren’t in any danger. We were inside for over an hour, so it could have happened when we first arrived or only a few moments ago. Either way, it’s not safe to be out here. Not when we don’t know.

Not when this isn’t the first time something like this has happened…

Rachel shivers in my hold. “Flynn, what’s going on? Who would do this to your car?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

After the paint incident, I told myself I was going to be more vigilant. Everything checked out on my site in regard to the security measures, so there wasn’t any obvious way someone could have identified me. But with as busy as I was all week, and then being tied up with Rachel all weekend, I hadn’t given the apparent threats much more thought.

Until now.

Because this is different.

Not only is it more violent, but it proves whoever is doing this is following me. When it was only at the office, in a parking structure where my name was plastered on the cement wall right over my car, it would be easy to find me. But coming here. Doing this here is a statement.

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