Dana's lips twitched as she got to her feet. "I guess he's toast. We going to shake hands on this deal and get us a lawyer or what?"
Chapter Twelve
She didn't know what she was feeling. She wasn't sure what she was doing. But little snags like that had never stopped Dana before.
The minute she could manage it, she tracked down Flynn.
She missed him at the paper, followed his trail to the vet's, where she was told she'd missed him and Moe by fifteen minutes. The irritation of that had her deciding she was angry with him, though she had no concrete reason to be.
But by the time she arrived at his house, she was enjoying her temper.
She slammed the door and stalked into the living room, where both her brother and his dog were sprawled out like the dead.
"I need to talk to you, Casanova."
"Don't yell." Flynn remained on the sofa. On the floor beside him Moe whimpered. "Moe needed his shots. We've both been traumatized. Go away. Come back tomorrow."
"Now, right now, before I find a sharp implement to stick in your rump. What's the idea of banging Malory when you know perfectly well she has to keep her mind on the goal?"
"I don't know. Might've had something to do with my tripping and falling over her naked body. And it wasn't banging. I object to the term 'banging,' which is beside the fact that it's none of your goddamn business."
"It's my business when she's just become my business partner. When prior to that we were partners of another sort, and it's my business because I like her a lot, and she's in love with you. This shows a remarkable lack of taste, but is nonetheless the way it is."
Guilt crept slyly into his belly. "It's not my fault she thinks she's in love with me." "I didn't say 'thinks.' She's not an idiot, despite her lousy taste in men. She knows her own mind and heart. And if you're not taking her feelings into consideration before you unzip your fly—"
"For Christ's sake, give me a break." He sat up now, dropped his head in his hands. "She won't listen to me. And she did the unzipping."
"You were just an innocent bystander."
"There's no point in blasting me about this. I've spent considerable time blasting myself, for all the good that's done. I don't know what the hell to do."
She sat on the table, leaned toward him. "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know. She sent me flowers."
"Excuse me?"
"She sent me a dozen red roses this morning. The card said, "Think of me.' How the hell could I not think of her?"
"Roses?" The idea just tickled her. "Where are they?"
He squirmed. "Um. I put them up in the bedroom. Goofy. This role reversal, it's just not right. It's not natural. I think it flies in the face of countless rules of scientific order.
I need to put things back on track. Somehow. Back on track. Stop grinning at me."
"You're hooked."
"I am not hooked. And that's another term I object to. Someone with a degree in library science should be able to find more appropriate terms."
"She's perfect for you." She kissed his cheek. "Congratulations. I'm not mad at you anymore."
"I don't care who you're mad at. And it's not a matter of who's perfect for me. I'm not perfect for anyone. I'm a slob. I'm inconsiderate and selfish. I like having my life loose and unstructured."
"You're a slob, no question. But you're neither inconsiderate nor selfish. It's that inconsiderate and selfish bitch Lily who put that in your head. If you buy that, you're just stupid."
"So, are you wishing a stupid slob on your new pal?"
"Maybe. I love you, Flynn."
"Man, I'm getting a lot of that lately." He tapped a finger on her nose. "Love you, too." "No. Say: 'I love you.' "
"Come on."
"All three words, Flynn. Choke them out."
"I love you. Now go away."
"I'm not finished."
He groaned and fell back on the couch. "We're trying to take a nap here, for our mental health."
"She never loved you, Flynn. She liked who you were in the Valley. She liked being seen with you, and she liked picking your brain. You may be stupid, but you're pretty smart in some areas. She used you."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better. Knowing I let myself be used?"
"It's supposed to make you stop blaming yourself for what happened with Lily."
"I'm not blaming myself. I hate women." He showed his teeth in a vicious smile. "I just want to bang them. Now will you go away?"
"You've got red roses in your bedroom."
"Oh, man."
"Hooked," she repeated and drilled a finger in his belly.
He took the sisterly poke like a man. "Let me ask you something. Did anybody like Lily?"
"No."
He hissed out a breath, stared up at the ceiling. "Just checking."
The knock on the door had him cursing and her bounding up. "I'll get it." She sang it out. "Maybe it's more flowers."
Amused, she pulled open the door. And it was her turn to curse, with more imagination and viciousness than Flynn had managed.
"Hey, nice mouth, Stretch."
Jordan Hawke, handsome as the devil and to Dana's mind twice as evil, gave her a wink and strolled back into her life.
She considered, for one brief, heady moment, tripping him. She grabbed his arm instead, imagined twisting it into cartoon taffy. "Hey. Nobody asked you in."
"You living here now?" He shifted his body in a slow, easy move. He'd always had moves. At six three he had five inches on her. She'd once found that fact exciting, but now it was simply irritating.
He hadn't gotten fat, or ugly, or fallen victim to male-pattern baldness. And wasn't that just too damn bad? No, he was still lanky and gorgeous, and all that thick black hair remained sexily rumpled around a tanned, rawboned face set off by sizzling blue eyes. His mouth was full and sculpted and, she had reason to know, very inventive.
It curved now in a lazy, mocking smile that made her want to bloody it.
"Looking good, Dane." He smoothed a hand over her hair, and had her head jerking back before she could stop herself.
"Hands off. And no, I'm not living here. What do you want?"
"A date with Julia Roberts, a chance to jam with Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, and a really cold beer. How about you?"
“To read the details of your slow, painful death. What are you doing here?"
"Annoying you, apparently. But that's just a side benefit. Flynn home?"
He didn't wait for an answer, but stepped away from her and headed for the living room. Moe roused himself, sent out a halfhearted growl.
"That's it, Moe," Dana said cheerfully. "Sic 'im."
Obviously unconcerned about being attacked by an enormous mass of canine, Jordan crouched down. "So this is the famous Moe."
Veterinary trauma forgotten, Moe scrambled up. He charged, flopped both front paws on Jordan's shoulders, and gave him a welcoming kiss.
Dana could only grind her teeth as Jordan's laugh joined Moe's happy bark.
"You're a big guy, aren't you? Look at that face." He rumpled Moe's fur, scratched his ears, then glanced over at Flynn. "How's it going?"
"Okay. Didn't know you were coming so soon."
"Had some time. Got a beer?" "Sure."
"I hate to interrupt this emotional, heartfelt reunion." Dana's voice was an ice pick aimed at the nape of Jordan's neck. "But what the hell's he doing here?"
"Spending some time with friends, in my hometown." Jordan got to his feet. "Still okay to bunk here?"
"Absolutely." Flynn unfolded himself from the couch. "Man, it's good to see you."
"Same here. Big house. Great dog. Bad couch."
With a laugh, Flynn swung his arms around his oldest friend. "Really good to see you."
For a moment, just an instant, as she watched the two grown men hug, Dana's heart softened. Whatever else she could say about Jordan Hawke—and the list was long— he was and had always been Flynn's. As much brother, she supposed, as friend.