Tracking You. Kelly Moran

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СКАЧАТЬ Maybe she should become a poet. It had worked for Hemingway.

      She nodded. Her gaze followed him to the front door, and then over to the bar where she was thinking of doing a little Cuervo therapy.

      Flynn was leaning against the bar, his direct sights on her. Still wearing his dark blue scrubs, his posture telegraphed his typical laid-back demeanor. Now there was an attractive man. Tall enough for the top of her head to reach his chin and ropy muscle on an athletic build. Wide shoulders, narrow waist.

      All three of the O’Grady brothers were sexy in their own unique way. But, they’d grown up together and there had never been any chemistry between her and them. Cade, the youngest brother, was engaged to their office manager as of a couple months ago, and Drake, the eldest brother, was a widower. Gabby couldn’t envision him dating again, at least not anytime soon. Flynn wasn’t seeing anyone.

      Not that it mattered. She worked for Flynn and his brothers at their vet clinic, so that was an automatic hand-slap.

      From across the room, Flynn’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head in question toward the door. Where’d your date go?

      Flynn was deaf, and through the years, she’d grown to read him easily. They always had a strong connection, being able to understand one another without words. Part of that was being good friends and part was due to working closely together for many years.

      She shrugged in answer, keeping her disappointed expression open for him. Sucked to be her.

      His brows lowered and he straightened from the bar, poised to head over until the bartender tapped his shoulder. Flynn signed for his takeout and carried it over to her booth, setting the bag down on the table before sitting.

      His hazel eyes, framed by criminally long lashes, swept her face. “What happened?” he signed with his hands. “I thought you had a date?”

      Per their routine, she signed and spoke simultaneously. “Me, too. Turns out he wanted my help getting in with my sister.” At his scowl, she shrugged, embarrassed enough without the urge to discuss it. “My own fault. I read too much into the initial conversation.”

      He stared at her with disbelief and shook his head. His handsome, angular face was dialed to irritated and his full lips were twisted. He ran a hand through dark strawberry blond hair just this side of wavy. Flynn had a tendency to forget routine trims.

      Mavis made her way back to the booth. Her gaze zeroed in on Flynn. “Decided to eat in?”

      Habit had him turning to Gabby. He could read lips, but sometimes people spoke too quickly or didn’t face him fully so he couldn’t see what they were saying. Gabby signed Mavis’s question.

      He grinned, back to his usual glower-free self, and nodded.

      Well, it wasn’t a date, but Flynn was better company, anyway. Gabby looked at the waitress. “He’ll have a beer, whatever’s on tap, and can I get the largest piece of tiramisu you can find?”

      “You got it, sweetie pie.”

      Gabby watched her walk away before letting out a sigh, chest deflating. When she looked at Flynn, his expression indicated he was patiently waiting for her attention again.

      He leaned forward as if to punctuate a point. “He’s an asshole.”

      She laughed. “Aren’t they all?”

      “Not all.” He pulled a styrofoam container of lasagna from the to-go bag, opened it, and grabbed her fork from her place setting. He waited for her to take it from him before signing, “Dig in.”

      He picked up his fork and took a bite, then did a double take when she just poked at his lasagna. “Hey. You all right?”

      “I’ll be okay. Just not today. Today, I mope.” He was one of the few people she’d admit that to, and since his gaze had softened and worry wrinkled his brow, she forced herself to take a bite. “Thanks, Flynn.”

      He nodded, watching her intently. “Movie night. My house. I’ll even let you pick.”

      Why the hell wasn’t he dating someone? Seriously.

      Sad truth was, women tended to overlook Flynn because of his disability, just like they overlooked her for being in the friend zone. People sucked. “Maybe we should make one of those pacts. You know, the one where if neither of us is married by the time we’re thirty we marry each other.”

      One eyebrow quirked in his custom you-done-gone-crazy. “I’m thirty and you turn thirty in a couple weeks. That ship has sailed.”

      Yeah. “Fine. Throw logic into my delusions.”

      His shoulders bounced in a silent laugh.

      She smiled. “Okay, hot date. What if I pick a sappy movie?”

      He shrugged. “I’ll hide my man card. Tell no one.”

      Covering her face, she laughed until her chest ached. When she sobered, her mood was irrevocably lighter. Praise God for good friends. “Just for that, I’ll share my tiramisu.”

      “Deal.” He ate a few more forkfuls before his smile slipped a fraction, the hint of seriousness reflecting in his eyes. “For the record, I would’ve taken the pact.”

      She dropped her chin in her hand before moving to sign. “We would’ve had such cute babies, too.”

      “Word. Now eat or I’ll make you watch Die Hard again.”

      She scooped a bite of cheesy carb goodness. Calories didn’t count on crappy days. “Which one?”

      He whipped her a “duh” look. “All of them.”

      Death by Bruce Willis. Could be worse things.

      Chapter 2

      Flynn barely resisted an eye roll. Parked on the couch in his living room with Gabby’s bare feet in his lap and the cheesiest rom-com playing on his TV, he counted down the last five minutes of ridiculousness. The only saving grace from the movie had been Meg Ryan’s fake orgasm. Funny shit.

      He didn’t even need to glance at Gabby reclined beside him to know her eyes would be red-rimmed with “happy” tears. Women and their romance. At least it got her mind off her non-date tonight. He’d love to pummel Tom’s face for putting that dejected look on Gabby’s.

      She tapped his chest with her foot to get his attention. “Am I unattractive?”

      His hand stilled in the process of massaging her arches. No matter how he answered this question, he was screwed. To lie and tell her she was not beautiful would put her deeper in some kind of female depression. To speak honestly would hint at something he’d long buried, even from himself.

      Truth was, he always kinda had a little crush on her. Nothing serious or monumental. No pining involved. Just…there. At the edge of consciousness. An awareness of her.

      It had started the first day of kindergarten and had gone into hiatus in high school when he’d forced СКАЧАТЬ