I don’t know what it is about Flynn, but I swear on everything, my mind has never been this much of a horny harlot until he showed up.
Phone in my hand, I swipe my finger across the screen and start rolling through any texts, calls, or emails I’ve missed.
An email from Damien that is actually work-related and can be dealt with on Monday.
A passive-aggressive email from Tara regarding the property in SoHo that I staged two days ago. She rambles on for about five paragraphs, but the gist of her words revolves around second-guessing everything I did with the place.
Unfortunately for her, I already sent Damien and Thomas a few preview photos, and they both approved of my design aesthetic.
Suck on that, Tara.
Once I send Tara a friendly but equally passive-aggressive response updating her on the cold, hard facts, I check my text messages and find one from Gwen that came in a few hours ago. Dang. She must be up early.
Gwen: Darling, I miss you. How is New York treating you?
Me: I miss you too. And New York is good. Just staying very busy with work.
And, you know, living with my husband that you don’t know about.
Ugh. I cringe and run a hand down my face. Gwen is the one person I don’t lie to. Ever. And yet, here I am, lying to her.
Gwen: Well, I hope you’re not working so much that you aren’t enjoying this glorious Saturday. What’s that famous saying? All work and no play makes you a dull girl?
A laugh bubbles up from my lungs as I type out a response.
Me: It’s actually “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” And that quote is from The Shining. It’s the part where Jack Nicholson officially goes off the deep end. Right before he tries to kill his family.
Gwen: So, not a good quote for a happy Saturday?
Me: Nope. LOL.
Gwen: Bad quotes aside, do you have big weekend plans? Something fun, hopefully?
Before I can even respond, Incoming FaceTime Call Gwen pops up on the screen of my phone.
Oh boy. Nerves tickle my throat, and my finger hovers over the accept button, unsure of what to do. It’s one thing to lie to her through text message, but it’s a whole other ball game trying to do it while we’re face-to-face.
Eventually, though, guilt wins out, and I hit accept by the third ring.
“Darling! It’s so good to see you!” she exclaims, and a big grin consumes her face. Her excitement is infectious, and for a moment, I forget about everything but just being happy to see her. Sometimes I forget how lonely my life was before Gwen.
“I missed you. How are Vancouver and the girls and David?”
“Vancouver is the same. The girls are great. And David is starting to get on my nerves, so…” She shrugs but doesn’t say anything else.
“So…?”
“It means I don’t know how much longer I’m going to keep him around. You know I don’t like to strain my attention span.”
I snort. “Poor David.”
“No,” she disagrees with a little smile and a shake of her finger, always a proponent for women having the right to put themselves first like men usually do. “Not poor David. He’s become a stage five clinger—to the point that I had to tell him he could not, in fact, attend ladies’ night with me last night even though the rule is already right there in the name—so you should actually be saying Poor Gwen.”
How she even knows the term stage five clinger is beyond me, but it’s one of the many reasons why I love her.
“Anyway,” she hums, but her eyes squint a little when she notes the ambiance—Flynn’s apartment—behind me. “Where are you?”
“Uh…at my apartment in New York.”
“Oh, so this is the New York place.” Her eyes brighten with intrigue as she tries to see through the camera. “Very nice.”
“Uh…thanks. I—” I start to answer just as Flynn walks into the kitchen, fresh out of the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist, and heads toward the coffeepot. I know this because I can see him on the screen of my phone.
Oh shit. Quickly, I spin in the opposite direction, so my camera faces the kitchen cabinets instead of the hot man in the towel.
“You hungry, babe?” Flynn asks as he pours himself a cup of coffee, completely oblivious that his towel-covered ass just made an appearance in my FaceTime. “Probably going to run up the street and get some bagels.” Frankly, I’m pretty sure he’s clueless to the fact that I’m on the phone altogether. I’ll take things that happen when you’re known for rambling to yourself all the time for a hundred, Alex.
He glances over his shoulder to meet my eyes just as Gwen’s brow furrows. I wave my hand behind the camera like I’m guiding in the next fighter jet to land on a naval carrier, but it’s too late. The towel-covered penis and rich, unmistakably manly voice of my fake New York husband have already made their debut. “Daisy?” Gwen questions, and her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is there a man in your apartment?”
Flynn’s eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them, the curiosity of exactly what kind of bungle I’ve gotten us into now evidently overwhelming enough that he can’t suppress the emotion, and I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, completely unsure of what to say or how to handle this situation. I mean, Gwen knows about my recent move, but she knows absolutely nothing about Flynn or the fact that I’m a married woman.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Daisy?” Gwen urges, and when I see the concerned look in her eyes, something inside me just snaps. I know I could play it off as a one-night stand or a short affair with a random New York man and Gwen would understand, but it just doesn’t feel…right.
It’s time for the truth—or, at least, the closest version of it I’m willing to tell before my citizenship is settled.
“Technically, I’m at his place. Our place. Well, our place temporarily.”
Gwen just stares back at me through the camera. Clearly, I’ve confused her so much, she doesn’t even know what questions to ask.
“I guess now it’s time to tell you that I have some news,” I state, and nervous laughter bubbles up from my lungs.
“I’ll say.”
“So… uh…as you know…I’m…uh…living in New York now.”
“Yes. We’ve established that.” Her brow furrows in a way I know is more accusatory than confused. “You told me about the move when I got back from the cruise—I remember the conversation specifically. What I don’t remember is any mention of a man, any man, and certainly not one that you’re living with in New York.”
“Well, it’s a crazy story…” I pause, trying to explain without Gwen focusing on the fact that I’m a big fat liar.
“I’m waiting on pins and needles here, darling.”
“So…that was Flynn…and Flynn is…” I pause again and swallow against the Sahara Desert that has migrated into my throat. “Flynn is…my husband.”
Outright shock makes her jaw drop like one of those clowns at a mini golf course. “I’m sorry…did you just say husband? As in, till death do us part, grow old and die, one man for the rest of your life husband?”