more.”
His jaw clenches, the muscles tightening and it makes me miss the scruff that formed there the days he was sick. It made him look older, but so rugged and out of control, unlike now. He’s all buttoned up looking like the secret service or a politician. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still handsome as ever, but seeing him a little frumpy will always be my preference. When he’s a little disheveled, I feel more on equal footing with him. Dressed like he is now, with that strait-laced attitude of his, I feel like a high school student getting in trouble at the principal’s office, which in some storylines has its appeal, but isn’t what I’m looking for.
“Fine,” he grunts, sitting in the lounger beside mine with a huff. He’s acting like he just came out of battle, and all I can do is smile.
Yeah, I want my party at a club. I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t want to celebrate here at the house. It’s a big deal. There have been moments in my life when I didn’t even know if I’d live to see legal-drinking age.
But mostly I want to cut loose, let music flow through my veins while Flynn watches me dance. I don’t want to dance with others and make him jealous. I want to clasp his hand when my favorite song comes on and have him not put up too much of a fight when I drag him out to the dance floor. I want to feel his body roll against mine, need to feel his hands on my back, twitching with the need to grip my ass.
I want—
“I’ll see you later,” Flynn says, clearing his throat and hauling ass away from the pool.
Saddened to watch him go, I’m also thankful for the time he spent talking to me. Okay, it was arguing with me, but at this point, I’m not going to be picky. Either is better than being ignored.
It doesn’t take long for boredom to settle in. I drank too much coffee this morning to be able to nap, and I have no desire to leave the house.
I tie my bikini top back on and pull my cover up on and wrap it around my body. I don’t mind teasing Flynn with my tits, but the gardener has been in and out all day checking on house plants, and that guy is a little creepy.
Flynn isn’t in the living room or kitchen. He doesn’t answer my knock on the security office door, but I know he has to be around here somewhere.
Looking takes longer than it should because honestly this damn house is too big, but I eventually find him running on the treadmill in the workout room. His eyes are laser-focused on the television in front of him, but no matter how enthralled he is with flipping CNN, I have no doubt he sensed me approach.
His strides are long and fluid, his back muscles working hard under his sweat-drenched shirt as his arms pump back and forth. Despite his weight and the speed he’s moving, his footfalls are nearly silent, but my eyes don’t settle on his shoes, choosing instead a few feet higher. The man has the tightest ass I’ve ever seen which is saying something considering I grew up around Hollywood stars and people paid to be perfect.
“Did you need something, Remington?” he asks conversationally, and it’s unfair that he’s not even out of breath.
I wanted to bend in half or roll around on the floor the other day after my pole class. It took an hour to get my heart rate back to normal.
“I didn’t know old men could run so quickly.”
He smirks, his eyes still on the television.
“Since when is twenty-nine old?”
“Twenty-nine?” I squeak. That actually shocks the hell out of me.
“Surprised? Wow, you really know how to make a man feel bad about himself.” He punctuates his words by turning up the incline on the treadmill without reducing the speed.
“It’s not your looks that made me think you were older. You act older.” He smiles, apparently okay with my answer. “You have the body of a twenty-year-old athlete, and the attitude of a grandpa.”
He stumbles a little, forced to shove his hands out to clasp the side bars to keep from falling.
I laugh, and his smile spreads wider.
“Hop on.” He points to the machine beside him.
“Are you wanting to see my tits bounce?” I open the wrap covering up my bathing suit, but