Public Display of Everything (13 page)

His eyes flash with desire, but his smile is uncertain. "You know it's only in jest, right? We didn’t mean anything by it."

"I know." My gaze softens, and I rest my forehead to his. "I can take a few jokes." Especially if it leads to him and my only other real friend getting along. There are a few other people I see on occasion, usually during soccer season, but otherwise it's only Tammy.

"Done!" She thrusts her phone in our faces, catching us off guard.

But damn. "We're sweeter than sugar." I steal her phone and smile at the photo of us. Flynn and I look like we're in our own little world, which we often are. It's easy to forget my surroundings when I'm with him. Judging by the soft gazes and private smiles we share in the picture, maybe Flynn feels the same.

"You want me to send it to you, hon?"

Peering up from the photo, I see that Tammy directed her question to Flynn. No doubt because he actually uses all that social media shit. But…fuck it, maybe I should give it a go. It would also give me the opportunity to clean up my account. I know I have friends there from a time I moved past long ago. Or perhaps they've already erased me. 

"Yes, please." Flynn pulls out his own phone, and the two exchange numbers. "Is it all right if I make this my profile picture?" He turns to me.

"Of course. I'll do the same," I say and return Tammy's phone. I'm sure I can figure out how to change a simple photo. I've done it before. Once. "What?" I look between Flynn and Tammy, sensing their doubt stronger than my own. "
What
? I can be social online."

How hard can it be?

*

About an hour later, we leave Tammy and the rest of the staff behind with the newly arrived lunch crowd and walk toward the British Museum. With an hour left before I have to be at the restaurant, I figure I could introduce Flynn to the other girl in my life.

"You know, I have seen the Rosetta Stone before," Flynn mentions as we walk up the steps to the museum. "I've never heard anyone refer to it as a girl, though."

"I
am
pretty original like that." My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Tammy. Miss me already?

I like him. Bring him around more often.

A second text pops up immediately.

You love him, don’t you?

"Why do I have the feeling it's Tammy?" Flynn bumps his shoulder to my bicep. "Is she telling you what a dork you've found?"

"The opposite. She likes you." I put an arm around his shoulders, keeping him close, but angle my phone away as I type out my response.

I really fucking do.

*

"I don’t see anything."

"Neither do I," I sigh. Standing behind Flynn, I press my lips to his neck and stick my hands down into the pockets of his pants. I keep staring at that stone, at the writings on it, and wonder if it was a mistake to tell Flynn about my odd obsession. He's listened to me ramble about it, facts and otherwise, but I don’t think he gets it.

I don’t get it, either. Never did. In other words, I shouldn’t expect Flynn to understand it if I don’t.

"But you keep looking for something," he states pensively. "You don’t know what you're searching for, you don’t even believe it's there, yet you continue?"

I don’t answer, fully aware of how stupid it sounds. "Isn't she disappointingly small?" My lame attempt at ending the convo about my ridiculous search for hidden messages. "It's crazy to think countries are still bitching about the rights to her."

My eyes flick between the three scripts in three different ancient languages. Thousands of words, so small they kinda blur together. At first glance, it looks more like the stone's texture rather than words.

This block of granodiorite gave voice to a new language, so I know how important it is, but that’s not why I'm drawn to it. I think.

"You're looking in the wrong place." Flynn turns in my arms. My hands fall to my sides as he peers up at me with a thoughtful expression. "That’s what Amy used to tell Grant. Mind you, she minored in philosophy, which I know nothing about. But she always gave Grant the second perspective he needed, and I tend to listen when she speaks."

My forehead creases. "Your point?"

"I'm not sure there is one." His brows furrow.

"What?" I chuckle, confused as hell.

He puffs out a breath and tries to explain. "You say you don’t know why you continue coming back to this relic. You complain about its size, insist it's not special and unique, you don’t see what's so great about it." I nod along with his words, agreeing. "But it's important to you. You chose the Rosetta Stone—for some unknown reason—to look for something."

"Yes," I say slowly, not following at all. "That’s what I said."

He nods and folds his arms across his chest. "Perhaps I have spent too much time with Amy, but I have a feeling she would tell you to look elsewhere."

"Look for what?"

"What you obviously miss in life."

That’s bullshit, and this is getting too deep for me. "I lack nothing," I laugh softly. "If anything, I'm happier than ever."

"Then why do you insist on searching for something in the Rosetta Stone?" he asks curiously, if not slightly impatiently. "You've said it yourself: there're no secrets left to unveil. They've translated the scripts. It's done." He pokes a finger to the center of my chest. "But you know what I find interesting? That you chose this artifact—"

"I didn’t choose it," I say, cutting him off. "When I first came here, I decided at random to cover the Egyptian exhibits first so I could focus on my real interests later on—Roman history. I saw the damn stone, then kept coming back here. I don’t know why."

Flynn looks over his shoulder at the stone, then back at me with an odd little smile. "The Rosetta Stone is practically a dictionary, a place to find answers."

That amuses me. "A little heavy on the symbolism, don’t you think?"

"Hey, it's your obsession." He shrugs and grins. "Moreover, it's interesting you're drawn to something you once shared with your mother. You said she used to take you to museums. You'd dress up and spend the day together."

Frowning, I look back to Rosetta, a rock of unease settling in my stomach. Not at the mention of my mother, but because Flynn's words remind me of Luke. I don’t buy Flynn's theory—that I come to museums simply because I used to do the same with Mom back in the day. I love history; therefore, I enjoy museum visits. It has nothing to do with my mother. But something Flynn said…

"…interesting you're drawn to something you once shared with…"

Luke used to help me when I took a night class in ancient languages.

It was Greek to me—sometimes literally—and he was the expert.

But there can't be a connection, because I don’t want Luke back in my life.

Right?

Chapter 12

*

Cory,

I feel like a child whenever I look at the calendar. Instead of asking if we're there yet, I find myself wanting to stomp my foot and ask, "Is it June yet, is it June yet?"

This weekend can't come soon enough.

Hope you're well,

Luke

PS: I apologize for using you as my journal.

*

Entering our building, I look up at the stairs as if they're a mountain to climb. My feet are like lead, and it feels like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.
That’s
how shitty this day has been.

The perspective Flynn gave me at the museum was only the beginning. With Luke on my mind, I mixed up orders, spilled wine on my shirt, dropped my pen in a chocolate soufflé—causing it to collapse, obviously—nearly set my tie on fire, and then, the cherry on a shit sundae, I inhaled something with powdered sugar, at which point I sneezed over a table.

Now I have forty-eight hours to have my uniform dry-cleaned and returned to the restaurant.

A headache takes up residence, pounding in my skull, as I trudge up the stairs. I'm embarrassed by losing another job, and while I can't see Flynn passing judgment, I'm doing it for the both of us.

Getting closer to our floor, I hear Flynn's voice. Pizza is mentioned, and my stomach churns in both hunger and revulsion. Fucked-up combo. I really am hungry, but I feel like shit.

"Are you sure you're not interested?"

That makes me stop, and the same rock of unease I felt earlier returns with a vengeance.

Flynn's voice rings out again, polite put distressed. "I would like to pay for the pizza, please."

Peering up between the stairs, I try to see anything, but I'm at the wrong angle. Our apartment is farther to the right.

"Aw, don’t be like that," the delivery douche teases. It makes my blood boil. "I've seen you. You and the other bloke. We could have some fun."

That’s just what I fucking need today. Getting arrested for assault.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Flynn replies stiffly.

Having heard enough, I climb the rest of the stairs two at a time and allow myself some satisfaction at the relief in Flynn's features when he spots me.

"You ordered dinner for us, love?" I plaster a smile on my face and ignore the pizza boy, turning my back to him. I palm Flynn's cheeks and kiss him hard, probably surprising him. But I don’t care; I pour all my frustrations and all the longing I feel into that kiss, and I don’t stop until Pizza Boy clears his throat.

"
Cory
." Flynn puffs out a breath and holds on to my arms, steadying himself.

Looking over my shoulder, I raise a brow at the delivery guy. "Eye him again as if he's on the menu, and you and I are gonna have issues. We clear?"

The raw fury in my glare helps him make the right decision of standing down. He extends the pizza, which I take, then leaves without a word.

"I never paid him."

I smirk at Flynn, despite the fact that the day is catching up with me again and all I wanna do is crawl into bed. "Good. Free pizza tastes even better." Another round of anger flares up, this time because Flynn's visibly upset. "Did he hurt you?" I usher us into the apartment and lock the door.

"No." He clenches his jaw and looks away. "He just ruined my plans." Grabbing the pizza box, he heads toward the kitchen. I follow and shed clothes on the way. What I need right now is a hot fucking shower. "I could tell I had done something wrong today at the museum. You were sort of quiet and breviloquent when we parted ways, so I wanted to…" He trails off with a small shrug and waves a hand at the kitchen table. "I don’t know. I wanted to apologize, and I thought of tandoori pizza since you love that. The plan was for it to be done before you got home, but that imbecile delayed me."

Today's fuckery melts away at the sight of two lit candles on the set table.

Glancing over at Flynn, I notice just now that he's wearing nicer clothes, dress pants and a shirt. His hair sticks out more than usual; my guess is he's been nervous.

The lights are dimmed low, the curtains drawn to keep the sun out. I spy some kind of dessert on the counter.

Throwing my own button-down over my shoulder, I close the distance between Flynn and me. I'm fucking overwhelmed, so all I can do is kiss him. I hold him tightly, my mouth moving with his, and I have so much to say that I can say nothing.

It's too much. It's the incessant noise of china clanking and the chef's barked orders from the restaurant. It's anger, jealousy, and possessiveness thanks to that fucking pizza boy who had his eyes on my man. It's disappointment and embarrassment for getting fired yet again. Concerning Luke, it's confusion and frustration and years of slowly evaporating hurt. But with Flynn…all the bullshit fades into a background buzz that I can handle as long as I have him by my side.

I gotta tell him soon that I love him.

Resting my forehead to his, I break the kiss and struggle to catch my breath. "I…I—" Shit, now when I actually do have words, I'm breathing too hard to deliver 'em. "Okay. I don’t know what breviloquent means, but I'm guessing it's not good. For that, I'm sorry. I have some shit to deal with; I'll tell you everything." I pause to let out another breath. "And for the record, when I fuck up, you're not the one who's supposed to apologize."

As I've learned Flynn does when he's nervous or anxious, he bites the inside of his cheek and averts his eyes.

"You're fucking amazing, Flynn. You know that?" I look at the kitchen table and shake my head slowly, a hundred percent sure no one's ever done anything like this for me before. "That shit earlier—at the museum?" I turn to Flynn again just as he lifts his gaze to mine. "You made me realize something I should've figured out on my own." I smile ruefully and brush my thumbs over his freshly-shaved jaw. "It just threw me for a loop, and I got lost up here." I tap my temple.

He swallows nervously and nods. "It was poor timing, though." He eyes the shirt thrown over my shoulder, no doubt seeing the large stain from the red wine I spilled. "You had a bad day." Not a question.

I sigh, then huff a wry chuckle at myself. "I got fired."

There's not a single trace of disappointment in his features. If anything, there's concern. "Are you okay?"

My favorite pizza, my boyfriend, a romantic setting I've never experienced before…yeah, I think I'll live. "Thanks to you, yeah." He really has no clue how much he's improved my life. "I'll talk your ear off after dinner, all right? I wanna take a shower, too."

"You can do that while I bring the plates and stuff into the living room," he suggests. "It's more comfortable in there, anyway."

He won't find an argument from me. "I'll hurry." I kiss his forehead before leaving the kitchen.

*

Tossing the last crust into the box on the coffee table, I slump back on the couch and thank Flynn for a fucking awesome dinner. Not that I'm sure he hears me. He's too busy pondering my options about work.

"I believe this could be a good thing," he says definitively and wipes his fingers on a napkin. "You're a hard worker, but you don’t give yourself enough credit. Your knowledge about history seems endless to me. Whenever we pass a historic building, you have an anecdote to share, yet you've never mentioned actually using your degree."