Off Chance

19

Dipping my spoon into the pot, I pull out a small bit of sauce and taste it. My stomach grumbles because I’m starving but I’m going to wait and boil the pasta when Flynn gets home from work. I haven’t seen him much because he’s picked up some overtime the last few weeks, so I’m excited for him to walk in that door.

I’ve missed him a lot.

Walking into the living room, I glance at the clock. He should be here any moment. I turn on the TV and after less than thirty seconds of flipping channels, I know that won’t keep my mind occupied. I pick up a magazine from the coffee table but as soon as I open it, I throw it back down in frustration.

My mind is whirring with excitement over seeing Flynn, but I’m also stressed as well because I have no clue where I stand with him. Every day, I feel crushing guilt over pushing him away. I’m mortified that my body reacted to him... almost viscerally, and my mind took over and stopped what I’m sure would have been a night of mind-blowing passion. I’m weighed down by the knowledge that I led Flynn on, my face turning red when I think about the way I pushed myself up and down on his fingers. I egged him on every bit of the way, and then I shut him down, officially making myself the world’s biggest prick tease.

When I closed myself in my room that night, I cried my eyes out because I knew I had hurt him. But I kept telling myself over and over again, it would be okay. We’d wake up the next day and things would be just the way they were. We could take Capone for a walk and stop at a bakery for breakfast. We could laugh at silly things and compare our knowledge of famous movie lines. We would be the Rowan and Flynn of old... the best of buddies.

Except, that isn’t what happened. While Flynn hasn’t been anything but his usual nice and charming self when he’s around me, he offers me nothing more than that. It’s like he’s making himself keep a respectful distance from me, because... yes, that’s what I told him to do.

And yes... it hurts, and I have no right to be hurt, and yet I hurt all the same. My head is so fucked up over this, and when push comes to shove, I’m not sure I made the right decision. What if I missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime? Sure, that’s a possibility, right? Because, otherwise, why am I constantly yearning for all things Flynn Caldwell?

For example, not two weeks ago, I was content with our friendship. Every little thing we learned about each other was an amazing discovery. Every time I opened myself up a little bit more to Flynn, I discovered another part of my heart that wasn’t irrevocably damaged.

It was all enough for me.

Until I pushed him away and shut the door on him for good.

And now, I’m just miserable over the fact that this could have been a very bad decision. Our friendship has taken a hit, I’m sure. We don’t have the same level of ease that we once did. I was so worried all the time about the friendship ending that I never realized that it could possibly be hurt by not moving forward. At this point, we’re just stagnating.

I guess that’s why I’m so anxious for Flynn to get home. I want to look in his eyes and see if there is a spark of attraction left or have I killed all of it. That explains why I took a shower late this afternoon, blew out my hair until it was soft and silky, and took great care with my makeup. It’s why I put on my most flattering jeans and a blouse rather than a t-shirt. I’ve sunk so low that I even put on some lip gloss, because I heard that a woman’s lips can capture a man’s attention faster than anything.

This is a sick game I’m playing with Flynn. I’ve repeatedly kept him at bay, only to now want to pull him back in. I absolutely hate myself that I could be hurting him further, and yet I can’t stop the compulsion that is making me reach out to him. I miss what we had, and I really want more.

I think.

I’m still not quite sure about anything.

I hate myself.

When I hear the keys rattling in the locks, my heart skips a beat and then I jump from the couch and sprint into the bathroom. I turn on the light and give myself a quick once-over, rubbing my fingertip at the corner of my lips to remove stray gloss.

When I head back into the living room, Flynn is dropping his duffel bag to the floor and greeting Capone. He bends over and puts his hands on both sides of his face, vigorously rubbing behind his ears. Capone actually lets out a groan of satisfaction and Flynn chuckles. His dimple pops out and my heart sighs in response.

“Hey,” I say, grabbing his attention.

He looks up and smiles. It’s friendly, charming, and affectionate. “Hey, yourself.” He then looks at me a bit harder and I hold my breath. “You look really nice. What’s the occasion?”

He noticed and I want to break out into a jig over the fact. Instead, I put on a friendly smile and say, “No occasion. Just wearing some different clothes is all.”

“Very nice,” he confirms. “I’m going to go grab a shower, okay?”

“Sure,” I tell him. “I’ll take your duffel and start a load of clothes.”

“Awesome,” he says and flashes me a grin. “You make a great housewife.”

“You’re funny, Caldwell. But you stink... go shower.”

He gives me a mock salute and heads down the hallway.

I quickly grab Flynn’s bag and start a load of laundry. Then I put the pot of water on the stove and anxiously watch it. It takes forever to boil but at least it gives me time to open a bottle of red wine I picked up today. I had discovered just last week that Flynn likes this particular brand and I thought it would be nice to get it for him.

I hear the bathroom door open and then Flynn’s bedroom door close. He’s getting dressed so that gives me time to start the garlic bread and I dump the pasta in the pot. I just have the table set when Flynn walks into the kitchen, and oh, my God, he looks divine.

He’s put some effort into his appearance as well. He’s freshly shaven—although I do prefer the scruffy look—and he’s wearing a pair of dark jeans that are perfectly formed to his ass and a dark gray dress shirt that fits his chest like it was custom designed. His hair is even styled with his short locks brushed forward and then tufted upward at his forehead.

“Wow,” I say, my voice slightly rough. “You clean up nice.”

He gives me an embarrassed smile and points to the stove. “What’s all this?”

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, like it’s not a big deal that I made dinner for the two of us, but it is so a big deal. I don’t cook, a fact that Flynn has bemoaned on more than one occasion, and I have been jonesing for two weeks for some quality time with him. I’m hoping that we will naturally glide into a serious conversation about our feelings because I need to confront them before they drive me insane.

“Oh, nothing much,” I say, waving at the pot of sauce bubbling merrily. “Just a little something I whipped up. Thought you’d be hungry when you got home.”

Flynn sort of glances around the kitchen, taking in the pasta, the uncorked bottle of wine, and the plates that I had set out. I even put a little vase with flowers on the table. He looks down at the floor and sort of shuffles his feet back and forth, like he’s nervous.

I think it’s adorable, and I even notice his cheeks are a little red.

“What’s the matter?” I tease. “Is the setup not to your liking?”

He looks up at me and his eyes are filled with apology. “No... not at all. It looks great. It’s just... I have plans tonight for dinner and I can’t stay.”

I feel like I just got sucker punched in the chest and for one terrifying moment, I think my breath may be gone for good, but then I recover. My head is buzzing, though when I manage to ask, “Oh... heading out with the guys tonight?”

Flynn looks back down to the ground and tucks his hands into his pockets. When he looks back up at me, the apology is gone and his eyes are a bit aloof. “I have a date.”

“A date?” I ask, completely aware of the disbelief in my voice. It rings through loud and clear, and I actually see Flynn’s eyes turn cold that I would be surprised that he has a date.

“Yes, a date. Remember... you told me... two weeks ago, to move on from you. That’s what you told me to do, so I went and did it.”

I inhale sharply because his words are like razor blades soaked in stinging alcohol against my heart. He’s actually moved on... past me. And here I am putting on an incredibly stupid display of a romantic gesture with this dinner, and the entire time he’s getting ready to go on a date.

Karma is such a bitch!

And he has every right to do this yet that does nothing to ease the burn of rejection. It’s as I had imagined it would be... sharp and cold. It ravages deep inside of my chest and grabs my heart in an icy grip.

I turn my back on Flynn, because I have no clue what expression my face is wearing right now. I hope he didn’t see the hurt and mortification. Where I possess the strength, I have no clue, but I manage to say in a semi-steady voice, “That’s great. No worries on the food. You can have leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”

Even I’m impressed with how even my tone is and I think I managed to sound happy for him at the end. So I play it all the way up and turn toward him, pinning him with a dazzling smile. “I’m happy for you, Flynn. I hope you have an amazing time tonight.”

He looks back at me, his eyes still hard. But then they soften and he rewards me with the very softest of smiles. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Flynn reaches over and grabs his keys and wallet from the counter, stuffing them in his pockets. “I probably won’t be in until late, so I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sure,” I say, with that fake smile plastered on my face and a touch of hysteria in my voice. I’m on the verge of losing it and I just want him to get the hell out before I meltdown in front of him.

He gives me one last look, and his eyes seem to be searching hard for something. I can feel my cheeks trembling from the effort to smile. He finally turns away and heads toward the door. “See you later.”

When the door shuts, I walk up to it and engage the locks. Turning around, I lean back against it, my palms flat on the wood. Then I slide downward, the first teardrops spilling from my eyes as my butt meets the floor.

I stare straight ahead, numb from the shock that Flynn has indeed moved on. Now, nothing is left for me to have except that stupid fucking friendship that I was so keen to hold on to.

Capone walks up to me and I loop my arms around his massive shoulders, pressing my face into his fur. It will help to mop up the buckets of tears that are leaking out. I cry with abandon, knowing that the only one to share my pain at this moment is my dog.