at him. Jesus, how did I miss the fact that he was on my couch in lounge pants and a fitted t-shirt? If I had noticed them sooner, I would’ve joined him on the couch and drooled over him until he woke up because I made things awkward.
“Get out of my car,” I hiss, when really I could spend the rest of the night content to just log every sexy feature of his face.
God, I’ve flirted and tried to seduce every man my parents hired to watch me, but never before did any of them fluster me the way this guy does.
He doesn’t move, nor does he speak. With arms crossed over his chest, he leans back against the seat, his eyes never leaving mine. From the sight of the middle seatbelt of the car snapped around his waist, I realize he’s prepared to go anywhere I do. His hulking form in the back makes the entire car feel closed-in. The scent of him chooses now to invade my senses, and unbidden, my throat works on a swallow. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t wink to let me know that he’s aware that he’s affecting me, but I can see it in his eyes. He knows I’m not unaffected, unlike how I know he is by me. I mean, maybe he’s gay like Phillip. Maybe he didn’t scan my body or focus on my tits earlier because I don’t do it for him.
There goes that conceited voice in my head trying to convince me that I’m God’s damned gift to all men.
I make a mental note to schedule an emergency session with my therapist because I no longer want to be the same vapid girl I so readily complain about.
Mimicking his position, I cross my arms over my chest and snarl, “Get. Out.”
A look of boredom crosses his face, but he doesn’t move or speak.
Repositioning myself and putting on my own seatbelt, I back out of the garage. There are many times I’d give up and go back in, but I know the thought of a mint chocolate chip milkshake will never leave my thoughts.
Forty minutes later while I’m sitting across from him in a booth at my favorite dessert shop, I catch him watching my mouth for a split second while I enjoy my drink. It’s then that I understand just how much fun it’s going to be making Flynn Coleman chase me all over the city.
Chapter 3
Flynn
“So you want more cameras?”
The humor in Wren’s voice doesn’t match my own sour mood. After a drive into the city that I thought was going to end with me dying in a fiery death, I was forced to sit across from Remington while she sipped on a milkshake. I don’t know if she was trying to be so enticing, but just a drop of ice cream on her lips was enough to get me riled up.
We went home immediately after, but sleep was impossible. Not because I was worried she was going to try to leave without me again. She had me drive us back—something I was grateful for—while she slept in the backseat. She was bone tired dragging herself up to her room, and I knew she was in for the night.
It was the sinful images of her infiltrating my head that kept me from falling asleep. It was disgust over what I suspected her stepdad of doing that took over next.
“You’re not listening to me,” I grumble, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration.
I’m normally not so growly, but Wren enjoyed the news of this latest job too much for me to tone down my irritation.
“I didn’t sleep at all last night.” And the three cups of coffee I’ve had don’t seem to be touching the exhaustion either.
“She keep you up all night?” Suggestion is evident in his tone.
I ignore it because it’s hitting a little too close to home. God, the way I imagined her with her—
Nope.
I shake my head to clear it of that line of thought.
“I don’t know if I need more cameras right now. What I need you to do is research Charles Blair.”
“I researched him, just like I do all potential clients. He’s clean.”
“Do it again.”
“Are you implying that I didn’t do my job?”
There’s an ounce of the aggravation I feel in his voice.
“I’m saying there’s something going on around here that makes my skin crawl.”
“Celebrities are eccentric people, and it’s not actually that odd if they have weird collections of certain things.