Chapter 48
Anna
After that day, things were different between us. I wouldn't say that Flynn and I were best-buddies or anything. But he'd definitely dialed down the animosity – and for that, I was grateful.
Still, there was something that didn't make sense. Two weeks had passed since that unfortunate hiking trip, and during that time, we'd barely left the house.
I didn't get it.
My ankle was fully healed, and true to his word, he'd even found my missing shoe. On top ofthat, he'd surprised me with a replacement pair of the same size and style, brand new and still in the box.
Still, something was definitely off.
Flynn had hired me for one specific reason – to be his fake girlfriend. As he'd explained from the start, this would logically involve spending lots of time in public, where people could see us together.
But during the last couple of weeks, we'd seen almost no one, not unless I counted the cleaning people, the lawn service, or the various delivery people who'd been bringing us whatever Flynn wanted, including dinner from places that didn't normally offer takeout.
All this to say, we weren't performing for anyone except each other.
For this, I was relieved. I wasn't good at faking things, and already, I was having a hard time separating fact from fiction. Sometimes things between us seemed a littletoogenuine, and I had to keep reminding myself that none of this was real.
At Flynn's insistence, I'd been treating the whole house as my own, well except for his bedroom, that is. I still didn't know what color it was, and I had no intention of finding out.
As far as the fiasco in his back seat, we never talked about it. And yet, for me, it was always there, festering in the back of my mind, reminding me that even if Iwasinsanely attracted to him, I'd be smart to remember that the feelingwasn'tmutual.
One day, I was in the kitchen making waffles when Flynn walked in and stopped short at the sight of me. "What are you doing?"
"Making waffles," I said. "Obviously."
He eyed the waffle maker with grim suspicion. "What kind?"
"Well, it's not spicy waffles, if that's what you're thinking."
He edged forward and gave the waffle maker a closer look. "You sure?"
I laughed. "I think I'd know."
It was ten o'clock in the morning, and he'd just returned from yet another long hike. I knew this because he hiked every morning, rain or shine.
And even if I didn't know his schedule, his appearance would've been a dead giveaway. He was wearing black running pants and a thin black shirt. The shirt was damp with perspiration, and it clung to his skin, defining his perfect pecs and washboard abs.
Even worse, his arms were fully bare and glistening, showing off his defined shoulders and bulging biceps.
Almost without thinking, I felt my tongue brush the bottom of my upper lip as I eyed him from a few feet away. But then, catching myself just in time – meaning before I started drooling – I gave a distracted shake of my head. "Sorry, did you just say something?"
He pointed to my waffle station. "I said, what kindarethey?"
"Guess."
He frowned. "I'm not sure I should."
"Why not?"
"Because your waffles are fuckin' scary."
"Oh, please," I laughed. "That was just the one batch. And you survivedthosejust fine."
He gave an exaggerated shudder. "Saysyou."