When he made no reply, I gave him an expectant look, as if I had no doubt that he'd do exactly as I'd asked. In reality, I knew that he was like five seconds away from telling me where I could shove the waffles and the maker.
But then, he smiled. It was a slow, icy smile that didn't reach his eyes.
I sucked in a nervous breath. It was the same smile he'd given Lord Talbot in Swordstone, just before he'd lopped off his head.
On instinct, I took a small step backward, even as Flynn asked, "So, are you dining with me?"
I felt myself swallow. "What?"
His eyes were glinting now. "The waffles – you didn't make them all for me, did you?"
The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, and I resisted the urge to take another step backward. "Well," I stammered, "you were the one who asked for them. I mean, I wouldn't want to steal your breakfast."
He was still smiling. "Oh, but you're a guest. I wouldn't dream of eating them all on my own."
Oh, crap.
In reality, I hadn't expected either one of us to eat them. Mostly, I'd been looking to make a point.
In the little script I'd written in my head, Flynn got annoyed like he always did and then threw the waffles in the trash – or maybe even out the front door.
But he didn't look annoyed at all. He looked – damn it – almost amused.
I watched in horrified silence as he grabbed the hot pads off the counter and strolled to the oven. He opened it up and pulled out the glass serving tray containing the prior two waffles.
All I could think was, "Thank God I hadn't made a dozen."
I cleared my throat. "Actually, I'm not a big breakfast person."
He turned to look over his shoulder. "No?"
"And you want the truth," I continued, "I’m a little sick of waffles, you know, from working at the waffle place."
Using the hot pads, he held out the serving tray in my direction. "Oh yeah?"
I gave the two waffles a nervous glance. "Yup. Definitely."
"So they serve spicy waffles, huh?" His gaze met mine. "I didn't see any on the menu."
"Well, no," I said. "I mean, they just serve normal stuff, but I'm just saying—"
"You're not up for it?"
Damn it.
Okay, I wasn't in the movie business or anything, but it was beyond easy to see that Flynn had crafted a little script of his own. In his script, I ran screaming from the room, or at the very least, shrunk away from my own culinary creations.
And then what?
I'd feel like an idiot, that's what.
Almost from the get-go, Flynn had excelled at making me feel stupid and awkward. And he obviously thought I was a total coward. Given our history, was it any wonder?
No. It wasn't.
Finally, I summoned up a smile of my own. "Oh, I'm up for it, all right."
He eyes were still glinting. "You sure about that?"
No. I wasn't. But I nodded anyway. "I mean, if you think I'm gonna let you hog them all, you're crazy." And with that, I tossed the third waffle onto the tray and said a silent prayer that he'd give up before I did.
No such luck.
Chapter 30
Flynn
Anna was flushed and sweating – not a lot, but enough for me to know that I wasn't the only one feeling the effects. I'd never tell her, but she looked cute as hell with rosy cheeks and the hint of moisture glistening on her upper lip.
We were sitting facing each other across the kitchen table. Somehow, we'd managed to choke down the first two waffles – bite by horrifying bite.
Anna didn't know it, but I had a secret weapon. Growing up, good food was hard to come by. I'd learned from a young age that being picky only meant you starved, so I'd become an expert in choking down whatever and not thinking too much about it.
But the waffles? Yeah, I was thinking all right.
When she'd mentioned curry and chili powder, she hadn't been kidding. She hadn't skimped either, especially when it came to the curry.
Funny to think, I hadn't even known I had all those spices. Now, as we locked eyes across the table, I made a mental note to tell the person who stocked my kitchen that they could cross curry off the shopping list, and chilli powder too, while they were at it.
I mean, I liked spicy foods, but if Anna was gonna get creative, hell if I'd be the one supplying her with ammo.
As I watched, she ran a nervous tongue across her upper lip. Something about the gesture went straight to my groin, and I shifted in my seat. The sorry thing was, she didn't even realize what she was doing.
It made me think of Felicity, and not in a good way. With her, every gesture, every look, every smile – it was all calculated to net a response. But with Anna, there was none of that.
She obviously had no idea how appealing she looked with those full lips and determined eyes – even if they were watering like she'd just chopped a mountain of onions.
As far as the lips, I knew exactly why she'd licked them.
Even now, I was resisting the urge to do the same.
I leaned forward and gave her a knowing smile. "Are you sure you don't want any water?"
Her gaze drifted to the kitchen sink. The truth was, I had a whole case of bottled water in the pantry. But from the look on Anna's face, she was ready to stick to her whole head under the faucet and gulp like a frat boy at a kegger.
If so, that made two of us.
But hell if I was gonna break first.
Finally, Anna shook her head. "No. I'm fine." She smiled. "But if you're dying of thirst, go ahead. I won't stop you."
As if she could.
I was twice her size and several paces closer to the sink. But that wasn't the point, was it? "Me?" I said. "Nah. I'm fine, too."
Slowly, her gaze drifted to waffle number three – the one with all those jalapenos. We'd skipped the syrup and butter because, well, in my case, that sounded like a good way to barf it up all up, regardless of our good intentions.
Before we'd even started, I'd grabbed a pizza cutter out of the drawer and cut the first two waffles right there on the glass serving dish. I'd cut them in small bite size pieces, figuring that a couple of bites in, Anna would give up the ghost.
But she hadn't.
Now, I picked up the pizza cutter and did the same with waffle number three. When I finished, I flicked my head toward the plate. "Ladies first."
She gave it a quick glance before saying with mock sincerity, "Oh, that's so polite. But you're forgetting, I had the last piece."
"So?"
"So I wouldn't dream of stealing your turn. I mean, what kind of house guest would I be?" She gestured toward the plate. "I hear the center pieces are the best."
I glanced down at the waffle. Forget the taste. The center pieces were the biggest – all square with no rounded edges to cheat the size.
But hell if I'd show weakness now. Forcing a grin, I replied, "You know it." And with that, I speared a center piece and popped it into my mouth.
Holy fuck.
Bad luck for me – the thing must've contained a whole jalapeno, because my mouth was flaming. I choked it down anyway, trying to chew as little as possible.
In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when it came out the other end.
Nothing good, that's for damn sure.
With a look that was all sweetness, Anna said, "Oh hey, did Sammy hit your other eye, too?"
"No. Why?"
"Because it's all red and swollen."
"Feels fine to me," I lied.
"Are you sure?" she said. "It's all watery."
I gave her a look. "Are you sure you can see it?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean your own eyes aren't looking so good either." I smiled. "Don't tell me you and Sammy got into it, too?"
"Hardly," she scoffed. "Unlike like some people, I don't settle disputes with my fists."
"Oh yeah? Wanna know what I think?"
"What?"
"I
think you're stalling."
Her chin lifted. "Maybe I'm just digesting what I already ate."
"Sounds like stalling to me." I leaned back in my chair. "But hey, if you're done–"
"I never said that."
I gave her a dubious look. "Uh-huh."
Slowly, she turned watery eyes toward the waffle. After a long moment, she speared the piece directly next to the one I'd taken – a center piece, no less. When she popped it into her mouth and started to chew, her eyes widened, and her skin flushed a deeper shade of red. And yet, somehow, she managed to croak, "It's delicious."
Delicious, my ass.
After lots of chewing, she swallowed and glanced toward the sink.
I flashed her a knowing smile. "Water?"
She shook her head. "Nope. I'm good."
I studied her face. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure. The sudden flush had faded too fast, and her skin was looking just a little green. I heard myself say, "You all right?"
She nodded. "Yup."
I knew a lie when I saw it. But what did I care? It wasn't my problem if she wouldn't give up. And hey, this was Anna Fucking Burke. Whatever she might be feeling, it wasn't up to me to make it right.
I lifted my fork and speared the next nearest piece. I popped it into my mouth and worked like hell to swallow it whole.
By the time I finished, Anna was looking a little wobbly in her seat.
Still, she lifted her fork and stabbed another piece – a center one, too. I watched with grudging admiration as she choked it down, just like I'd choked down God-knows-what as a kid.
I gave the remaining waffle a quick look. There had to be a dozen pieces left. Six each. In front of me, Anna's flush was a distant memory.
I felt my eyebrows furrow as her skin rotated from white to green and back again. In the high-backed chair, she looked very small and way too determined.
With a frown, I considered how much she'd eaten compared to me. It was the same amount, but I was twice her size and had a stomach of iron.
I gave her a look. "You done?"
She swallowed several times before replying, "Nope."
"If you get sick," I said, "don't look for me to hold your hair."
She swallowed again. "Well, if you get sick, don't look for me to clean it up."
"I don't get sick," I told her.
"Only if you're not human."
Now, she was pissing me off. What the hell was she thinking? By now, I was more angry at myself than at her – not for challenging her in the first place, but for caring that she looked ready to lose it.
Still, I stabbed another piece and swallowed it whole.
When I finished, she looked to the waffle and gave yet another hard swallow. From the look on her face, she was ready to call it quits.
But she didn't. Instead, with a trembling hand, she lifted her fork and went in for another piece. The fork never reached it.
And why? It was because I shoved aside the plate, sending it crashing onto the floor, along with the remaining waffle pieces. By some miracle, the serving dish didn't break.
I stood. "Game over."
Slowly, she turned her head and stared down at the mess. She was still staring when I strode out of the kitchen, leaving the whole twisted scene behind.
Shit.
I grabbed my car keys and stalked out the front door, even as I asked myself, "Why the hell had I done that?"
The truth was, I didn't know.
I mean, was it just another dick move? Or did I really care that she wasn't looking so great?
If someone had asked me a month ago whether I'd like to see Anna lose her shit, the answer would've come fast and easy. Sure, why not?
Anything for a laugh.
Or revenge.
But it's not like I wanted to see her dead or hurt. I wanted her to suffer in other ways.
But did I really?
It would've been a shit-ton easier if she were the person I'd been expecting – spoiled, entitled, and a sorry-ass sport.
But the truth was, she wasn't any of those things. She was funny as hell – and a lot tougher than I'd expected.
As I strode toward the car that I'd left parked in the turnaround, I glanced over my shoulder toward the house. Yeah, she was tough, but not as tough as she pretended to be.
Now, I was doubly pissed – not at Anna, but at myself. Why hadn't I just stopped? I could've let her win – or hell, even called a draw.
But I hadn't.
I opened the car and settled myself behind the wheel. But I couldn’t bring myself to fire up the engine.
What the hell was wrong with me?
My gaze drifted to the house. What was wrong with Anna?
Was she okay?
I mean, she was just a little nauseated, right? If so, I could relate.
But what if it was something worse?
What if she had a weird food allergy or something she didn't even know of?
I felt my jaw clench. Not my problem.
I fired up the engine and sat for a long moment without going anywhere. And then, with a low curse, I cut the engine and left the vehicle, slamming the driver's side door behind me.
Not knowing what I'd find, I returned to the house. By the time I reached the kitchen, Anna was standing at the counter, looking not quite okay, but better than I feared – as in, she wasn't lying dead in a pile of her own vomit.
When she heard me come in, she looked up. Her eyes were watering, and her face was flushed.
Something in my shoulders eased. Better flushed than green.
But then, she blurted out, "Don't look."
With renewed concern, I moved forward. "Why not?"
"Because I'm making you a surprise."
I stopped short. "What?"
Slowly, her gaze drifted to the counter. I'd been so focused on Anna that I hadn't noticed the plate in front of her.
Now I frowned. "What the hell are those?"
Her chin lifted. "Lunch."
Not my lunch. That's for damn sure. "But what the hell are they?"
She picked up the kabob stick and held it out in my direction. "Waffle kabobs."
I gave it a look. She hadn't speared just the remaining waffle pieces. She'd added extra stuff, too.
What the hell? I just had to know, "Are those grapes? Or olives?" It should've been easy to tell, but she'd added a ketchup-and-mustard glaze that was seriously disturbing, even by my standards.
She smiled. "I don't know." She nudged the kabob closer. "Taste it and see."
Chapter 31
Anna
On the phone, Becka said, "So did he? Taste it, I mean?"
Over a week had passed since that whole waffle incident, and I'd been playing telephone tag with my sister for days.
Now it was nearly noon, and I was hunkered down in the hideous pink bedroom, where I wouldn't be overheard. "No," I replied. "He called me crazy and tossed the whole thing in the trash."
"Really?"
"Well, I guess I can't really blame him," I said. "I mean, the waffle pieces did hit the floor. But seriously, I was looking to make a point."
"Oh yeah?" Becka said with a laugh. "And what point is that?"
"Just that he couldn't get the best of me, you know?"
"You wanna know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think he's right. You are crazy."
"Yeah. I know," I said. "Because he's making me crazy."
This was true in more ways than one. Most of the time, he was such a jerk. But every once in a while, I saw flashes of humanity, along with yes, other things that weren't nearly as important.
Like his ab muscles.
And just for the record? They were very fine.
I'd seen them by chance only an hour ago when I'd happened to glance out the back window in time to see Flynn returning from a hike in the surrounding woods. As he moved, he'd used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.
For such a basic gesture, it had looked annoyingly
sexy.
But so what? He was a bigtime movie star. It was his job to look sexy. Right?
As for myself, when our fake relationship became public, my job would be to pretend to appreciate that sort of thing – hard abs and glistening muscles, a tight ass and long legs, and probably his defined pecs while I was at it.
As my mind wandered, my tongue brushed my upper lip. Oh, boy. And his face, I couldn’t forget that. It really was too beautiful for words.
With my free hand, I reached up to rub the back of my neck. Maybe pretending wouldn’t be so hard after all.
On the phone, Becka was saying, "Speaking of crazy, guess who showed up at the apartment this morning."
I snapped back to reality. "Who?"
"A reporter."
"Really? What did they want?"
"What else?" she said. "You."
"Me? Why?"
"Oh come on," she said. "You know why. You were in that video."
I tried to laugh. "Which one?" By now, I'd watched a ton of amateur footage on the internet. There were shots of me sitting in the restaurant booth with Flynn when Felicity showed up, along with even more footage of the fight between Flynn and Sammy.
In way too many shots, I'd been in the background – or worse, tugging at Flynn, trying to make him leave.
On the phone, Becka replied, "I'm not sure, but he wanted to know if you and Flynn were more than friends."
"What did you tell him?"
"Oh, it wasn't me talking to him. It was mom."
My stomach sank. "Please tell me you're joking."
"Nope."
I sighed. "Okay, what did she tell them?"
"Heck if I know. I was in class."
"So you heard all of this from Mom?"
"Yup."
I frowned into the phone. "So was she irritated?"
"You mean Mom? Hardly. The way it sounded, she was loving every minute of it."
Damn it. "I should've known."
"No kidding," Becka said. "Get this. She invited him in for coffee."
I grimaced. "She didn't."
"Oh, she did."
"But I don't get it," I said. "Mom's so into her image. Why would she invite anyone into the apartment? I mean, the place is kind of…" I paused, not wanting to say it.
"A dump?"
"Uh, yeah, actually."
For the last few years, ever since losing all her money, along with the house and cars, Mom had been shockingly good at pretending that none of it had happened.
Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance Page 12