Like I said... I’m not interested.
I clink my glass against his and then toss the whiskey back, reveling in the burn as it slides down my throat, hitting my stomach in a warm puddle. Flynn follows suit and downs his drink.
I don’t even wait for him to set his glass back down before I pick up the bottle, finally noticing the brand.
Jameson’s. Good choice.
I pour two more healthy shots. There’s no toasting this time.
I pick up the glass without waiting for him and shoot it back just as fast.
Flynn doesn’t touch his though and just stares at me. “Want to talk about it?”
I run my finger along the edge of the glass and consider pouring another, but I’m really not that big of a drinker. I’m also not that big of a talker, and I can only assume the whiskey has loosened me up because I’m absolutely surprised by myself when I answer him.
“I dreamed I was in a burning room and trying to escape, but then Juice caught me and chained me to the bed. No brainer, right?”
Flynn picks up his glass and takes a healthy swallow. Looking at me over the rim, he says, “It’s not unusual after what you’ve been through.”
I can’t help myself. I’m always on the defensive. “And you want to know all the sordid details, right?”
Setting his glass down and pushing it away, Flynn looks at me with such seriousness, I want to drop my gaze to the table. “Rowan... I could care less if you tell me the details. If you want to, I’ll listen and be a friend to you. If you want to take the story to your grave, I’ll respect it. I’m not pushing you for anything.”
God, he sounds so sincere. I want to believe him. There’s a feeling inside of me that is telling me to trust him. I can only imagine it’s because he saved my life.
And he helped me find Capone.
And he gave me a safe place to stay tonight.
But I don’t easily trust and I just don’t have it in me to share much more. So instead, I remain quiet and I pour myself one more shot of the amber liquid that beckons from the bottle before me. I’m sure he takes my silence as the subject is closed.
“Let’s talk about something that’s actually a bit more important,” Flynn says.
I look at him in surprise. “What’s that?”
“What your future holds. I’m worried about what’s going to happen to you.”
His words are sweet and they warm me slightly, but I brush them off. Rule number one I learned when I arrived in New York... never depend on anyone else but yourself.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I can take care of myself. It’s not your place to worry about me.”
His hazel eyes regard me warmly and a small smile graces the corners of his mouth. He reaches his hand out, grabbing mine, and I want to pull it away but I don’t. “Yet, I worry about you all the same. And I even worry about that damned, furry beast of yours, too.”
I can’t help how suspicious I am. It’s ingrained into me. I also cannot help the glare that plasters to my face. The cynicism that is melded to my personality almost makes me hate myself. “Why? We’re not your problem.”
Flynn releases my hand and leans back in his chair. He links his hands together and rests them on his stomach. As he crosses one long leg over the other, his muscles bunch and then relax against his sweatpants. “I don’t consider you a problem, Rowan. But I would like to help you if you’ll let me.”
“Why?” I persist. He hasn’t answered my question, and until he does so sufficiently, I have no more trust in him than I do Juice at this point.
“Why not? You seem like a nice girl, you’ve been treated like shit, you got a really cute dog, and it’s within my power to help you. So, why not?”
I’ll admit... that is a good answer. He doesn’t pretend to know me, he doesn’t seem to want anything in return, and his tone of voice suggests to me that he truly wants to help. I push the third shot of whiskey away from me because I don’t want the alcohol clouding my judgment.
Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on the table and lace my fingers through one another. “What did you have in mind?”
“No major plan, really. Just that you can stay here until you get your feet back under you. We can work out the details as we go along, but at least take a few days before you decide what to do, and until you know you have a safe place to stay. We’ll get you some clothes, and you and the fleabag can relax for a while, knowing you’re safe. I’ll help you figure things out, and when we do... you can be on your way, Rowan. I’ll help you to get on your way if you’ll let me.”
The aforementioned fleabag decides to pad into the kitchen. He walks up to me and squeezes his head under my arm, nudging it upward to make room. It’s his cue to me that he wants attention and he expects me to give it to him. I don’t hesitate and my hand immediately drops to start rubbing his neck.
Damn spoiled dog.
I lean down and run my nose along the top of his head. “What do you think, Capone? Want to stay here for a few days?”
He doesn’t answer me, of course, but I didn’t expect him to. I only asked the question out loud so I could ponder it further.
I quickly run down the pros and cons of accepting Flynn’s offer.
Pros include having a safe place for Capone and me to stay, food in our stomachs, and precious time to figure out my life. I don’t think I’ll need long to do so, but at least there won’t be a ticking clock.