“She divided and conquered my troops,” Flint says, gazing down at me. “She’s like a shorter, West coast Napoleon.” Despite Raj’s eyes still shooting laser beams at me, I’m still pressed up against Flint’s body, and neither of us seems to be moving away. If only I could feel his arms around me, one more time…just for the road…
“Helluva lot better than the rest of us,” Bernie continues, apparently oblivious to whatever’s happening between Flint and me. Which is a good thing, damn it. “Man, last person I ever saw beat you was Charlotte. You remember?” Bernie laughs and pushes his cap up his head. “She’d never let up, that woman, ‘til she got her way.”
And just like that, I’m out of Flint’s arms. He takes a step back, the heat in his eyes quashed. Even Bernie notices it, because he clears his throat.
“I mean, just saying—”
“Why don’t you two keep playing? I’m going to get another beer,” Flint says, and heads for the bar. Bernie shakes his head and keeps setting up.
“What was all that about?” I ask. It’s not that my ears perk up as soon as another lady’s name is mentioned. No, not at all. My ears just naturally look like this. All perky and what not.
“Eh, it’s not a big deal,” Bernie says. He starts ordering the balls by solid and stripe. Meanwhile Raj saunters over to us, his checked yellow shirt and skinny jeans setting him apart from the crowd. His eyes are narrowed, but although I’m expecting a tongue-lashing of the un-fun variety, instead he unexpectedly gets in on the game.
“Can I play too?” he asks, slumping against one of the truckers. They all shoot each other looks, but shrug and let him in. “I love you fellas so much. We’re a manly buncha bros.” Then he hugs one of them. Ah. I see how it is.
I leave Raj to his ‘manly’ bro-bonding and go find Flint at the bar, staring into a beer he hasn’t touched. Grabbing the stool next to him, I smile. “You feeling all right?”
“Think I’ve had too much to drink.” That’s a lie and we both know it, but I’m not going to press.
“Yeah. It’s getting late. I should probably head back and get some sleep.” I grab my purse and pat him on the shoulder. Platonic patting, of course.
“I’ll walk with you.” He throws on his jacket.
I don’t move. “Uh…you sure about that?” I’m definitely not too intoxicated to realize we’re treading in dangerous territory here, given that Flint and I have a proven track record of post-bar night lack-of-self-control.
“Relax. I’m not gonna assail your honor,” he says.
But I like assailing. As the Styx song goes, come assail away, come assail away, assail away with me.
Okay, no more karaoke night. Ever.
We say good night to the people nearby, and start toward the door. Raj’s eyes follow us the whole way there, but before Flint and I can get outside I find myself swept up in a drunken hug from my assistant. “Following in Sanderson’s footsteps is career suicide,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m trying to help you, Laurel. Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” I ask indignantly, pulling away from Raj. “I’m not doing anything.”
His eyes narrow in that judgy way of his, but before he can get out a reply, Flint claps Raj on the shoulder in a friendly but firm farewell and hustles me out the door.
“My assistant thinks he’s my babysitter,” I explain to Flint, shaking my head.
“You don’t strike me as the type of woman who needs one,” Flint says.
Well, now. That puffs me up a little, puts the spring back in my step. I know Raj is going to give me hell at work tomorrow morning, but at that point I’ll be able to tell him that Flint walked me home and then nothing happened and therefore Raj has no basis for his silly little accusations and better not be all up in my business no mo’. So there.
And then Flint’s hand goes to my lower back, and I have to ignore my suddenly very alert body, reminding myself that we’re friends, we’ll always be friends, and it’s never going to be anything more than a professional relationship. Just like we agreed.
We stroll down the street, passing the carnage of the fading Halloween season. There are bales of hay with paper skeletons on them, waving at us. It used to be sort of like this back in Ohio, but the sky wasn’t this beautiful, velvety country dark. Also, there wasn’t a phenomenally hot man squiring me about town. So far, it’s all an upgrade.
We get to the Beauchamps’ front porch, and I listen to the heavy thud of Flint’s boots as he comes up after me. Only to drop me off at the door, of course. Like the perfect gentleman that he is.
“Thanks for not being a jerk about the pool thing,” I say. When his eyes get the danger light, like I’m going to bring up the mysterious Charlotte again, I rush to add, “About me winning. A lot of guys would get pretty irritated about the booty shaking victory dance.”
“It’s fine. But that booty shaking…” he says, grinning widely. The tension evaporates. “That was probably my favorite part.”
“Ah.” I do not at all start to blush. Not even a smidge. “Well. Guess I’ll be seeing you on set then,” I say, turning away. “’Night.”