“Just happened to be driving by, eh?” Flynn smiled again and glanced none too subtly at his watch.
All right. She wasn’t exactly a girl who had it going on, that was for sure, but she definitely knew the international sign for this-is-so-over. She sighed, dropped the phone into her bag. “Actually, he was in my house. I have a couple of friends who sort of come and go . . . well, more come than go, actually. Sometimes they need a place to hang out. Or something to eat,” she added with a roll of her eyes, and realizing, for the first time, maybe, how insane it was for an ex-boyfriend to have free run of her house. “But it’s really all very platonic, and believe me, even if he was interested, I couldn’t possibly be less interested, and I—”
Flynn put his hand on her arm, stopping her. “It’s quite all right, really,” he said again. “Like I’ve told you, it’s not as if I expected you were living alone in a hovel just waiting for a bloke like me to appear,” he said with a lopsided smile. “And it’s certainly not as if I—” Whatever he was about to say, he stopped there, looked briefly but strangely confused, then shook his head, as if to clear it.
But then again, he really didn’t need to say anything, because it suddenly dawned on Rachel, and man, she was so stupid. All this time she’d been so focused on making sure he knew she didn’t have a boyfriend that it hadn’t really occurred to her that he might be attached. Of course he was! A man like Flynn couldn’t be unattached if he tried. What was amazing was that she hadn’t thought of it before.
“I see,” she said, nodding and smiling as if this sort of thing happened to her all the time. “You’re the one with the attachment.”
“Actually, I’m the one who hasn’t had a bit of sleep in days, really. I’m quite knackered.”
He didn’t deny it. And he was tired. This was the old heave-ho.
He picked up his trench and held it open for her. “I think it would be best if we continued this conversation another time. Perhaps over dinner sometime soon.”
Fabulous! He was going to dump her before he’d ever really had her, all because Myron was stoned and wanted a salami sandwich and had phoned to open this can of worms.
“Yeah,” she said, and walked into the trench coat, let him put it around her shoulders again.
She leaned over to pick up her bag, but Flynn stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, forcing her around. “Monday I’m all booked up. But there is the weaving class Tuesday—I’m really looking quite forward to it, you know. I’m thinking of making my mother a little scarf or something fetching like that for Christmas. So would Wednesday be convenient for you to have dinner? I’ve heard of a quaint little place on Benefit Street, if you’re free.”
Rachel blinked. “Are you kidding?”
“Kidding?” he laughed. “Why would I kid about such a thing? What, you thought I’d be put off by the American competition?” he asked, grinning. “Absolutely not. I thought I’d start with dinner, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll simply challenge him to a duel.”
Rachel laughed, decided that she wouldn’t be put off by the competition, either. At least not yet.
Flynn’s blue-gray gaze warmed her. “Is Wednesday good for you?” he asked again.
“Wednesday is great,” she said genuinely.
“Brilliant,” he said, and with his hand possessively on the small of her back, he ushered her to the door.
As they drove to her car, Flynn told Rachel about Marlene and how he’d driven her home and put her on her couch and left her snoring something fierce.
“How do you know Mr. Feizel?” Rachel asked.
“I did some work for him.”
“Computer work?”
“Yes, right. Where’s your car? I don’t see it.”
“Another block,” she said, pointing ahead, and looked at Flynn. “But I thought you specialized in bank software.”
“Actually, we specialize in anything for which people are willing to pay us gobs of cash.”
Rachel laughed at that as he pulled up next to her car. As she gathered her things, he grabbed the trench coat by the collar and pulled her across the car, kissed her once more with passion before getting out and coming around to her side to open her door and help her out.
“Wednesday, then,” Flynn said. “You’ll promise to keep free, will you?” He leaned forward to nuzzle her neck.
“I will.”
“I’ll ring you Monday to make sure you have. If you don’t hear from me, then by all means, cast a torturous spell complete with the eye of the newt.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she said laughingly, and let him give her one last kiss that, she was certain, full of his promise.
When she arrived home, Myron was on her couch, remote in hand, his feet encased in dirty socks on the coffee table, and the remains of some sort of sandwich on the table next to his feet. “Hey!” he said brightly as she let herself in.
Rachel walked in, dropped her bag, and glared at Myron. “What are you doing?”