Reclaiming the Sand(62)

“I have a meeting with the head of the Continued Education Planning Department. She’s going to help me do some applications online and see where that goes. You know if I’m doing this, you should see if Professor Channing is around. Maybe talk with him about doing some more workshops,” I suggested.

Flynn’s jaw started to tick and his teeth captured his bottom lip again. I knew my words had him stressed.

Professor Channing, the art teacher who had coordinated Flynn’s earlier workshop, had approached him about accepting a part-time teaching position at the school. When I had agreed with the professor, saying it was a good idea, Flynn had gotten almost violently angry. He had thrown things and screamed at me.

And it wasn’t until he calmed down and called Kevin, his therapist in Greensboro, that he was able to say he couldn’t do it. That he hated people staring at him.

“But they think you’re awesome, Flynn!” I had argued. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t want people staring at him all the time. It made him feel anxious.

But that didn’t stop me from delicately pushing the topic whenever I felt it safe to do so. The conversations hadn’t gone too well but he was encouraging me to take some pretty huge leaps of faith in my life. I felt it only right to return the favor.

“Maybe,” Flynn mumbled and I tilted my head, angling my ear closer.

“What was that? Did I just hear a maybe?” I asked, smiling.

Flynn didn’t grin like I would have liked him too. His face remained solemn.

“Yes. I said maybe,” he replied, turning away from me. I wanted to jump up and down and clap my hands with glee. Well if I was the jumping up and down and clapping my hands sort of person.

“I can live with a maybe,” I said, kissing him again before going back to get ready.

Murphy came padding into the bedroom and nudged my hand with his head. I laughed and scratched behind his ears, feeling happy despite my impending hearing. It was unbelievable how a word like maybe could make me ready to take on anything.

“Not now, boy, I’ve got somewhere to be. Maybe Flynn will play catch with you while I’m out,” I said pointedly. Flynn’s head was still hung low but I saw him visibly relax when Murphy decided to turn his attention to his owner. Flynn’s entire face would light up when Murphy was around. The connection between the two was awesome to see.

I finished my hair, opting to tie it back in a low, no nonsense ponytail. Experience had taught me that the judge looked on you more favorably if you were dressed nicely.

I could have cringed when I remembered my behavior the first time I had appeared before a judge when I was sixteen. Julie had brought me a nice pair of pants and a pretty pink blouse but I had refused to wear it.

I had been hurting and angry. I didn’t understand at the time that my guilt had been disguised as rage. I had been belligerent and rude, so it was no wonder the judge had been harsh in doling out my punishment.

It was a good thing I had learned at least one lesson from that horrible situation.

I smoothed down my black trousers, tucking in my sky blue top. It wasn’t a particularly cute outfit. I had picked it up on clearance from JCPennys. But it looked a hell of a lot better than the hoochie shorts and halter top that I had been wearing the first time I had been hauled into court.

“You look pretty, Ellie,” Flynn said.

“Thank you, Flynn,” I responded, turning around to find him rubbing Murphy.

I picked up my crappy, WalMart special purse and slung it over my shoulder. I crossed the room back to where Flynn was standing, looking adorably miserable.

“Stop looking like that, baby. You don’t want to go sit in a stuffy courtroom while a judge scolds me like a two year old,” I reasoned.

Flynn started grinning. His eyes sparkled and I couldn’t understand what brought on this sudden change in mood.

“What?”

Flynn’s eyes met mine timidly. “You called me baby. I liked it.”

Oh.

“Can I touch you?” I asked him.

He nodded.

I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and gently tugged him forward.

“I’m glad you liked it, baby,” I said before kissing the smile off his face.

Flynn had become increasingly…enthusiastic when we made out. It was both satisfying and completely frustrating. Because physically I wanted more. I wanted to touch every part of him. I wanted him to touch every part of me.

Here I was, twenty-two years old, dating a guy I was crazy about, and I was stuck on second base.

I don’t think that had happened since I was thirteen.

“Will you meet me at lunch time? Eat with me?” I asked once we pulled away from each other. Flynn’s face was flushed and I was having a hard time getting my breathing under control.

“I’ll meet you at Ma’s Diner. At noon. We’ll sit in the booth at the back by the window. I’ll sit on the right side. You’ll want Key Lime Pie,” he recited.

I ran my hands down the side of his face before dropping my fingers from his skin. It was almost painful to lose that small physical contact.

“Yep. That’s what I want,” I agreed.

I waved goodbye and went out to my car.

I pulled up out front of my PO’s office building ten minutes later and got out. I hurried inside, knowing I was only minutes away from being late. I checked in with Patty, the receptionist and waited.