Twenty minutes later, clean-shaven, teeth brushed, hair combed, and wearing a fresh shirt and tie, Flynn strode from the restroom as Mills marched toward him.
Boss man didn’t look happy.
“Ryker, tell me what the hell happened at La Costanera last night.”
Flynn stopped in his tracks. That was the restaurant where he’d taken Pink. The same restaurant where he punched the guy who’d bothered Pink. Someone must have caught his plate. Even though it was registered classified, the locals had the database to track him down.
“I punched an asshole’s lights out.”
“You broke that asshole’s nose.”
“He deserved it.”
His SAC raged on, “That asshole happens to be Allen Stiles, CEO of Leye, a little tech company in Silicon Valley that grossed a half a billion dollars last year! He wants a personal apology or he’s going over my head to get it.”
Damn if Flynn would apologize to that ass--hat. “He’ll get an apology from me after he apologizes to—Pin—my girl.” The minute the words “my girl” came out of his mouth, Flynn’s stomach did a hard roll. WTF?
“Come again?” Mills asked.
Flynn clarified. “He disrespected my—date. He was belligerent, and used words likely to evoke an immediate and violent response. Here in California, I think it’s section four-fifteen of the Penal Code.”
“And that caused you to break his nose?”
“All I did was use necessary force to overcome his resistance to stopping what he was doing.”
Mills smirked. “Are you serious? I suppose you started yelling, stop resisting, stop resisting, too.”
Straight-faced, Flynn answered. “No, sir, my necessary force ended the entire unpleasant encounter. I’m guessing the CEO of Leye doesn’t want his face splashed all over the front page of the Chronicle for drunk and disorderly. In fact, I’m sure his stockholders don’t.”
Mills shook his head and said, “I’m not doubting you, Ryker, but I’m going to need the whole story from the beginning. My office.”
Izzy woke up puffy-eyed and exhausted. She’d spent the night getting drunk with Charlie as she wistfully and tearfully recanted the best twenty-four hours of her life, leaving out the part where she tried to drug Flynn and the my-real-last-name-is-Chastain part.
“Oh, sweets, I don’t know if I should go beat him up or give him a hug,” Charlie had said, hugging her close in his bed last night. After they’d put on their PJs, popped popcorn, uncorked a few bottles of wine he had stashed, then snuggled together under the sheets like two besties, Izzy spilled her guts.
It was cathartic, and long overdue. Charlie already knew she was a love child, but he didn’t know names or that she had a half sister. Withholding her sister’s last name, Izzy came clean about why she was working at Surf’s Up. Telling someone who cared about her that she had stripped for a room full of lusty cops—then brought one home and essentially had a one-night stand with him—without being judged for it, made her feel like the huge black cloud that had followed her for years had been blown away. It was still there, hovering on the horizon, perhaps it always would be, but for now, the sun shined through it.
“Give him a hug? What for?” she cried. “He’s a bully, and a strippist!”
“Strippist?”
“Yeah.” She hiccupped. “Like a racist except he’s prejudiced against strippers.”
“Well, sweets, from what you told me he did to you in that little bed of yours, I’d say he was a stripvert.”
“Stripvert?”
“A perv for strippers,” Charlie wagged his dark brows. “And not in a bad way.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I still don’t know why you want to hug him.”
Charlie hugged her close. “Personally, I’d love to get my hands on that hunk of burning love. But since this isn’t about me but you, I’d hug him because he broke through that ice palace you’ve built.”
Throwing popcorn at him, she shook her head and rested back against the headboard. “I don’t have an ice palace.”
“Oh, you are so in denial, Queen Elsa. Shall we sing 'Let It Go’ or,” Charlie burst into a fit of giggles, “'Pop Goes the Cherry’?”
She smacked him good-naturedly, but he’d managed to make her smile, then he pulled “Let It Go” up on his iPhone and at the top of their lungs, they sang the song until one of their neighbors pounded on the back door for them to shut up before he called the cops. Then they pulled the sheet over their heads and whisper sang it.
That was the last thing Izzy remembered until she woke to the delicious aroma of coffee. Smiling, Izzy’s first thought was of the previous morning, waking up with Flynn’s hard, erect body beside her. Moaning, she stretched and realized she was still under the sheet.
“Wake up, Elsa,” Charlie called and yanked off the sheet. He stood smiling down at her, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He swept the cup beneath her nose and said, “If you want it, you need to stop pouting.”
To which she pouted.
“Oh, hell, I’d be pouting over that lost penis, too. Here.” He handed her the mug.
The memory of Flynn thrusting deeply into her made her catch her breath.
Charlie’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. “Wow, he must have been off the hook amazing.”
Izzy took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “He was,” she said softly. To steady her trembling body, she cupped the mug with both hands. Taking a sip, Izzy closed her eyes and savored the rich brew. She was an addict. There was only one thing she wanted more and that she couldn’t have.
“You’re the best friend ever,” she said quietly, smiling up at him.
“I know,” Charlie said as he plopped down beside her. Taking the mug from her, he set it on the nightstand, then took her hands into his and looked pointedly at her. “Look, I’m going to say something that’s none of my business, but well, do you even care? Because let’s be honest here, since when have I minded my own business?” He laughed, but quickly settled back into a serious mien. “I know men and how they think. Doesn’t matter if we’re gay or straight, when it comes to what we want but can’t have, we all act the same. And I’m here to tell you, sweets, that Special Agent of yours has it bad for you. It was written all over every exquisite inch of him last night. He sooo didn’t want to leave you. My straight-dar is screaming he’s been hurt before. Bad. Maybe irrevocably. Such a waste if that’s the case. He needs someone who is willing to be patient with him. Show him how to love.” Charlie shook his head. “He’s got an ego the size of California, too, and I think, my pet, he is having a huge problem dealing with the fact that his friends have seen your glorious breasticles.”
“I can’t change the past.” Izzy straightened up. “And I don’t want to. If he can’t handle the heat, then he can do what he’s doing, get out and stay out of the kitchen.”
Charlie hugged her tightly. “That’s what I love most about you, sweets. Take me as I am or don’t take me at all. You took me as I am, and I love you for it.”
“I love who you are.”
He pushed back and grinned, showing straight white teeth. His dark eyes beamed with affection. Charlie reminded Izzy of a younger, slighter version of Jonathan Rhys Meyer. His heavy hooded eyes, full lips, and expressive features could never mask what he was thinking or feeling. He had a lousy poker face. But he laughed often. He let the crap that the judgmental world they lived in threw at him, run off his back. She wished she could be as carefree and cavalier about her roots as he was about his sexuality.
He hugged her, then swatted her on the bottom as he rolled from the bed. “Get a shower and brush your teeth, you have hangover breath.”