He stopped himself when his hand reached for hers.
Giving him no quarter, Izzy kept it there. “Why have you closed yourself off to love?”
“You don’t mince words, do you?”
“You know me well enough by now to know that I don’t. Now answer me.”
“I don’t have an answer.”
“What are you afraid of, Flynn? Of loving and not being loved in return?”
“My life isn’t conducive to a relationship.”
Sitting back, she considered his answer. It was lame. “Why not?”
“I move around. I could be transferred halfway around the world at a moment’s notice.”
“So?”
“So it wouldn’t be fair to leave someone.”
“Did it ever occur to you that the person you would be leaving behind would love you enough to go with you? To follow you to the moon if that’s where you were assigned?”
“I wouldn’t do that to someone.”
“That’s not your call.”
“Yeah. It kind of is.”
She frowned. She supposed it was, in a way. If he guarded his heart fiercely enough, he’d drive anyone away. It had worked easily enough with her. Almost.
Dolly approached, cracking her gum and carrying Izzy’s shot. “You decide whatcha wanted?” she asked as she set the tequila down in front of Izzy.
“How about one of Jimmy’s famous meat samplers?” Izzy said. Men loved meat, and so did she.
“Sides?”
“All of them.”
“For reals?”
“For reals.”
“Okay, girlfriend, you got it.”
As Dolly sashayed away, Izzy raised her glass to Flynn. “Slainte.”
His brows furrowed.
“Stop being such a bore, Flynn,” she said after she drank it. “Loosen up. Have some fun. You’re always so serious.”
“I want you to slow down.”
She stood up and bent down, pressing her face close to his, and said, “I’m just about to rev it up, Special Agent.” Then gave him a quick peck on the lips. She laughed at his stunned look. “Priceless, Special Agent, priceless.”
With that she headed for the bathroom just as the DJ announced, “It’s open mic tonight, lads and lasses. Check out the updated playlist, Jimmy the tightwad finally sprang for some new tunes!”
Izzy smiled. She loved karaoke even though she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life. Maybe Flynn could sing. She’d give her right arm to see that happen.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Sitting back in his chair, Flynn kept a sharp eye on the hallway Pink had just walked down. The pub was loud and crowded, but Berkeley was a college town and the place was full of college students. His lips quirked. Pink was just full of surprises.
“We’re going to do things a little different tonight,” the DJ announced over the throng. “I’ll announce the track, first warm body to the mic gets to perform.”
From the spattering of applause, the crowd didn’t seem interested.
“Let’s give it up for some ‘Uptown Funk’!” the DJ announced holding out the mic toward the tables.
Flynn shook his head and sipped his water. No takers. He perked up when Pink emerged from the hallway. As she passed the stage, the DJ reached out and grabbed her. “We have our first singer!”
Pink laughed, shaking her head. Not taking no for an answer, the DJ pressed the mic into her hand and drew her up to the stage. Flynn watched with keen interest. If she refused again, and the guy insisted, he’d intercede, but if she was cool with it, so was he.
The music started. Looking at Flynn, Pink smiled and shrugged like, here-goes-nothing. Grinning, Flynn gave her the thumbs-up.
Throwing her head back, she laughed and started to tap her foot to the beat. When her hips began to swing back and forth to the doo-wop sound and she ran her fingers through her hair, Flynn’s blood stirred.
When she started to sing, he sat up straight. Her clear breathless voice struck straight to his groin. It wasn’t perfect, a little off key, but a hell of a lot better than he could sing. It was her smile and the way she danced, throwing her chin out, shaking her head, and turning with the tempo that hit every one of his buttons. She was having fun with it. The crowd started to clap, cheering encouragement.
Some random guy jumped up on stage and began to dance with her. If Flynn wasn’t the jealous type, he’d enjoy the way they moved in sync as if they’d practiced the moves. But he’d discovered he was the jealous type. When Pink spun around and sang the words, “I’m too hot,” and touched the tip of her index finger to her ass, then pulled it away like she was burned and shook it at her singing partner, the guy grabbed her hand and blew on her fingertip. She looked right at Flynn when he did.
The quick beat didn’t give room for mistakes and damn if she didn’t look like she was a natural. He found himself thoroughly enjoying her moves. Especially when she did a few James Brown spins. Wasn’t like she hadn’t picked up a few moves watching the dancers at Surf’s Up. He didn’t let that thought irk him. He had been working hard to get past the fact that dozens of men had seen her half naked and dozens more still might.
As the song ended, the crowd erupted. Laughing, Pink made her bows, handed the mic to the DJ, then curtseyed to her partner. He was in the same age range as Pink, tall, clean-cut, good-looking kid. The adoring lap dog type. The polar opposite of Flynn’s hard dog. Flynn didn’t like the way the little lap dog casually slung his arm around Pink’s shoulder. The gesture was familiar. Something Flynn wasn’t allowed to do.
Grabbing his hand, Pink raised it up over their heads and called to the crowd, “Give it up for my man, Jamie O’Grady!”
“Pinky and the J man!” the DJ said, “Let’s get it on with some ‘Blurred Lines’!”
Pink laughed, shaking her head and moving toward their table.
“Hey, hey, you know you want it!” Jamie said, slipping his arm around her waist and guiding her back onto the stage.
Retrieving the mic, she looked over her shoulder to the crowd and said, “Do you want it?”
The pub erupted. Flynn couldn’t help whistling encouragement with the rest of her adoring fans. She was something else. She owned every person in the place.
Pink turned the prompter toward the crowd and held out the mic toward them. “Only if you all sing with me!”
The crowd roared and when Pink turned around and shook that sweet ass of hers to the beat, Flynn squirmed in his chair. Shaking his head, he couldn’t help but whoop-whoop along with the crowd. She was beautiful, and lush, and knew how to work it. As Jamie belted out the provocative lyrics, Pink strutted around him like a peacock, shaking her finger at him each time he reached out to touch her. Playing the suffering male, Jamie rolled his eyes and grinned, following her helplessly around the stage.
The lyrics were apropos. Pink was a good girl. But when Flynn had unleashed the animal in her, she had shocked them both. Domesticated she would never be. She was a wild spirit who needed to stay free. The man who tried to cage her would lose her.
Flynn swallowed hard. In his way, he had attempted just that. Put her into a nice neat little package, selfishly releasing her when it suited him. He wasn’t lying to her when he told her she deserved a better man than he. A better man wouldn’t even think about holding her back. He’d let her fly, stoking her wild fire, confident in her love for him.
Flynn wasn’t that man. He refused to suffer the way his mother and sister had. The way his sister-in-law continued to. He’d seen it happen so many times, he didn’t give infidelity a second thought. It was just what people did.
Flynn loved his life. He loved his job and he loved that he had no ties or accountability to anyone but himself. There was no one to tell him what he could and could not do. How to behave or what to wear. No one to hurt him. No one for him to hurt. He was free to be himself.