Page 10 of Fabulous Filthy Friend

He wanders over to the pantry and returns with a bag of chocolate chips while I climb up onto a stool at his island and let my eyes rake over my best friend.

I really don’t know what I would’ve done if he hadn’t lived next door. It was a horrible time. I was such a mess back then, trying to make it through the day, feeling like I had lost my best friend because Mom was just that. She was the one I ran to when I needed comfort and reassurance. The one who gave me the best advice. Then, she was just…gone. I had Bash and Jameson, but they had their own lives across the country, and my rocky relationship with Dad wasn’t anything to lean on.

But Flynn saw my distress, the hole in my life, and he filled it.

I should thank him for that someday.

He would never expect a thank you. He’s just being Flynn. But I owe him a huge one.

His long arm stretches up to grab plates from the cabinet next to the stove. Every movement sends the muscles under his thin T-shirt rippling and that beautiful hard ass of his flexing in his jeans.

Alicia definitely didn’t need to remind me how hot he is. But now that she has, it’s like it’s been intensified by a hundred. Walking in on him wet and almost naked certainly didn’t help.

Why are the things that would be so wrong for you always the most attractive?

It’s like raccoons. They are so cute and cuddly looking…until they infect you with rabies. Not that I’m comparing Flynn to rabies but getting involved with someone I know can’t fulfill my needs is almost as bad. Kind of. It would definitely kill our friendship.

Flynn glances at me over his shoulder. “Did you do anything last night after I left?”

A hot flush spreads up my neck and across my cheeks. There’s no way he doesn’t notice it, either. Flynn notices everything.

I vigorously shake my head. “Nope. Nothing.”

Just watched HRD4U jerk off while I had a date with B.O.B.

But he doesn’t need to know that.

He’d be appalled if he knew what I did, or how badly I want to know who HRD4U really is. The voice distortion he uses to conceal his identity and the fact that he never shows his face means that’ll probably never happen, but a girl can dream.

And I did last night. About his filthy talking and his big cock and all the wonderful things we could do with some time together—all hypothetically, of course. I would never meet up with a porn star from the internet. I’m not that stupid, nor am I going to risk my job by getting involved with someone like that. I can’t even imagine what Principal Klister would say if he ever got wind of it.

Flynn turns around and sets a plate with three pancakes piled high in front of me, then he spins to the fridge and returns with a stick of butter on a small tray.

I lick my lips, cut off a slice of butter, and slather it on my pancakes. “Maple syrup?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Those things already have so much goddamn sugar in them; your body can’t possibly process all that properly.”

I chuckle and shrug. “Still want maple syrup.”

He sighs and turns back to the fridge. When he returns, a bottle of Wisconsin’s best natural maple syrup sits in his hand.

I grin and grab it from him. Growing up in Michigan, we always had this on hand. Mom insisted it was the best despite having access to local syrup. “Only the good shit, huh?”

He chuckles and turns back to the stove to start his pancakes. “You know me, only the good stuff, babe.”

Babe.

I love it when he calls me babe. What should be a demeaning and masochistic term is so different coming from Flynn’s lips. My damn heart melts. It’s endearing and adorable, and completely not meant in a negative way at all.

Why can’t I find someone as nice and as good-looking as Flynn but as filthy as dirt? Is that really so much to ask?

It’s really too bad Flynn’s strict Catholic upbringing has made him so sexually repressed and shy. The man never discusses sex, like it’s not even on his radar. And I can’t even remember the last time Flynn went on a date or I saw a woman over here. It had to have been over a year ago.

Such a damn waste.

I pour the syrup all over my pancakes, grab the silverware, and dig in. A moan slips from my mouth at the first bite.

Flynn freezes at the stove and looks over his shoulder at me. “Good?”

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