“Something bad happened to me, Flynn, but being around you makes me feel… better.” Her words tumble out in a rush like she wants to say them before she chickens out. Or maybe she wants to continue before I can react. “And everyone’s telling me to stay away from you because of what you just said–because you’re a player. You don’t stick around. But I feel like you might be exactly what I need to get over my…thing.”
Something lodges in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I haven’t decoded everything she said yet because I got caught on the words, something bad happened to me.
It’s not social anxiety. It’s trauma. No wonder everyone is so protective of her.
And how fucking brave of her to come to me and ask for what she needs.
Who am I to deny her anything at all?
Except I can hear the alarm bells going off. There’s a trap in here somewhere. A mistake I’m about to make. I just can’t quite figure it out.
“You want to have sex with me to get over your trauma?”
She looks relieved that I understand. “Yes. Just sex, okay? I know you don’t want a girlfriend. We could be friends, you know? What do they say here? Friends with benefits?”
I should be overjoyed. This is exactly the kind of scenario that works for me. No pressure, no strings.
Why do I hate it so much?
“You could still have sex with other girls. With Cadence?”
I frown and give a quick shake of my head.
“Right,” she says knowingly. “You already had her, didn’t you?”
Fuck. This already feels complicated.
She searches my face. “Will you do it?”
All I can do is nod. Of course, I’ll do it. I’m incapable of denying this sweet, brave, beautiful girl anything she asks me for.
But the warning bells are still ringing. They’re telling me something’s wrong about this. Something won’t work.
I just can’t untangle what it is.
NADIA
Awkward.
This is so awkward. I mean, what did I think would happen when I pitch a guy on having friend-sex with me on a Sunday morning in an empty music studio? It’s not exactly a romantic location or time.
But then, romance isn’t what I’m going for. I don’t know exactly how I expect this to work, though.
Flynn studies me like he’s trying to figure it out, too. “Want to go get a coffee?” he asks after a beat.
Oh wow. A coffee.
To a normal girl, that would be an easy yes. Coffee with a hot rock ‘n roll star. A guy who just agreed to have sex with no strings or expectations.
But I don’t do spontaneous, and I don’t do outings. The chance for me freaking out is way too high.
But I don’t want Flynn to know that. He doesn’t know I never leave the building except to see him play. He doesn’t know how pervasive my agoraphobia has been. How damaged I am.
I don’t want him to know. With him, I feel like I could be another person. Not the old me–that girl is forever gone. But someone new. Someone interesting. Exciting, even.
So I say, “Sure. Yes.”
“Do you want to get a jacket?”
I hesitate. If I go back to the apartment, Adrian will be there. He’ll doubt I can make it out. Maybe he’ll insist on going with me. I’ll feel weak and broken–the way I always do around him. It’s not his fault. I have been weak and broken. He stopped three suicide attempts the months after he rescued me. He saw me through the most debilitating depression.
But Flynn doesn’t know me that way, and I like the me that I imagine Flynn sees. She is light and carefree like him.
She can leave the building without getting upset. Without clinging to the elevator door or the door jam.
But hey, if I can do all those things, I can tell Adrian to give me some space, too–right?
“Yes. Come with me?”
“Sure.” He puts his hand on my back and guides me to the elevator. “I had trouble getting to you this morning,” he says with his pirate smile. “I didn’t know your apartment number. I didn’t have your phone number. Nikolai almost kicked my ass for texting his girlfriend to get in the building.”
I hold out my hand, still feeling like the bold version of myself. Like anything is possible and might even not be hard. “Give me your phone.”
He hands me his phone, and I text myself with it. “Now you have me.” I hand it back with a smile.
“Keep smiling, Peaches.” He strokes a thumb across my cheek.
“I don’t know this word,” I tell him.
“Peaches? The peach is a fruit.”
“You are calling me a fruit?”
He gives a casual shrug. Like always, he fills the available space with his presence, but it’s not in that powerful, oxygen-stealing way the bratva men do. It’s with this casual grace that says he can handle anything you throw at him without batting an eye. Like nothing ruffles this guy. Around him, there’s more oxygen to breathe, and he makes me feel safe.
“Because you’re beautiful. And sweet. Also, you have what we call a peaches-and-cream complexion.”
“What?” I touch my cheeks with an embarrassed laugh.
The elevator dings at my floor, and we get off. Flynn follows me off and to my apartment. “Kat and Adrian are still sleeping,” I say before I open the door. “Or more likely, in bed not sleeping.” I waggle my brows, and Flynn quirks the grin that makes my belly flutter.
“I can wait out here.”
I’m relieved by his offer. I’d rather not deal with Adrian if I don’t have to, and Flynn’s manly voice in the apartment would have my brother out of his bed in a flash.
I really need to move out.
The thought is accompanied by the usual sense of constriction in my lungs, but I picture myself moving in with Flynn, and it completely disappears.
But, of course, I won’t be doing that. Flynn doesn’t stick around for relationships.