“You ought to just walk away. I mean, for one, he pretty much told you to. And for another, there’s nobody in the world worth all the mental energy you’ve tossed toward this guy.”
I frowned, turning his words over in my head. “Do you really believe that?”
“Believe what?”
“That no one is worth it.” The thought made me sad. And made me think that Flynn felt more alone in the world than I’d realized.
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I guess the real question is whether Cole is worth it.” He flashed a wicked grin. “I mean, if you’re just looking to get laid, I’d be happy to oblige.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not in a million years. Your professional expertise would make me self-conscious.”
He smirked. “I’m retired, remember?”
“And I’m glad.” For a few months, Flynn had supplemented his income by sleeping with bored, older society women. I think Angie suspected the truth, but I was the only one who knew for certain, primarily because I’d become suspicious and called him on it.
But while I might know his secrets, he still didn’t know mine. And I didn’t see any reason to alter that status quo.
“Even so,” I continued, “it would be weird. I know how tempting it must be to see me day in and day out, and not have a piece of me,” I added airily. “But I know you’ll survive the blue balls.”
He grinned. “That’s why I love you, Kat. You don’t take my shit.”
“I don’t take anybody’s shit.”
“Except Cole’s.”
I frowned, because I had to silently admit he had a point.
Because this was Pity Katrina Day, Flynn gave me a pass on our usual deal where he cooks and I clean. So while he gathered the plates, rinsed, and loaded the dishwasher, I looked idly on, my mind wandering over the conversation.
The truth was, even if there wasn’t the whole awkward friend thing hanging between us, I still wouldn’t sleep with Flynn. I rarely slept with anyone, actually, because I knew damn well what would happen. How I would react. How I would shut down.
That’s the main reason I knew that this craving for Cole was legitimate—and why I had to either pursue it or shut it down hard and fast and forever. Because even though I knew what would happen—even though I knew what I would remember, and even though I was certain that the shadows would creep up and consume me—I still wanted him more desperately and more tangibly than I’d ever wanted any man.
I caught myself shivering, and I hugged myself to ward off the memories.
Flynn caught the movement and frowned. “You okay?”
“Just a chill. I slept crappy last night.”
“Big surprise there.” He finished off his drink and looked at me hard. “You need to talk to him, plain and simple. You know that, right? If you’re not going to just drop it, then you need to suck it up and have the conversation. The guy wants you. You want him. You’ve come damn close, and yet he hasn’t laid you out and tossed up your skirt. You need to ask why.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Try harder.”
I shrugged. I was getting tired of this being all about me. “You’re still cool with renting a room in the house, right?”
He didn’t answer for a second, and I was afraid he was going to comment on my very obvious tactic to change the subject. To my relief, when he answered it was to say, “Hell, yes. But you really should let me split the mortgage.”
“No way. It’s my house. Or it will be next week. You’re renting a room. We already made this deal.” I knew that money was tight for him. The airline kept cutting his shifts, and the tips for tending bar only went so far. I really didn’t want him to go back to the gigolo thing, but if money got tight, I was afraid that he’d do just that.
I pushed back from the table. “Thanks for the breakfast and the conversation. I should get out of here. I have errands and then wedding planning and then I’m going to crash early, because tomorrow I’m spending the pre-dawn hours slinging coffee. My life is so freaking glamorous.”
“I know I’ve said it before, but it’s pretty damn cool the way you managed to pull together buying a house on a barista’s salary.”
“I’m the kind of girl who gets what she wants,” I said, not mentioning that my plan had required faking a job at the gallery and pulling the down payment from the safe deposit box where I stored the cash I’d saved over the years from my various cons.
“Is that what this is about?” he asked.