Off Chance (Off 5)

I return back to my apartment with a very satisfied feeling that I'm making progress toward helping Rowan get back on her feet. I unlock the door and step in to silence. My first thought? It's too quiet, and I'm immediately thinking that she's left.

When I shut the door, she immediately calls out, "Flynn... is that you?"

"Yeah," I answer and walk back toward her voice.

When I get to the bathroom, I look in and find her bent over the tub, scrubbing it out. And, yeah... because I'm a man, the first thing I notice is how slammin' her ass looks all perked up into the air. It's not something I had noticed before because my clothes are so damn big on her, and there was never any opportunity to notice her shape.

And what a shape it is, with my gym shorts pulled tight against her.

"Whatcha doing?" I ask.

She looks over her shoulder at me, her bangs hanging over her eyes. Blowing a puff of breath up to get them out of the way, she gives me a stern look. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm cleaning the scum out of your tub that clearly hasn't been cleaned in years."

Grinning at her, I shrug my shoulders. "It's a known fact... single men are slobs."

"You can say that again," she says, and then turns around to continue scrubbing.

"You really don't have to do that though... you're my guest."

She doesn't even bother looking back at me. "Don't even go there. We have an agreement. If I stay here, I need to earn my keep."

Keeping my eyes pinned on her ass, I tell her, "Fine. I won't say another word."

She doesn't respond and I lean up against the bathroom door, shamelessly ogling while I can.

"Are you looking at my ass?" Her tone is still hard, a Rowan Page trait, but if I'm not mistaken, there is a miniscule amount of teasing in it. It catches me off guard for just a second. So far, Rowan has been closed off, moody, and distrustful. I would never have thought she'd have the ability to tease. It actually lightens my mood even more.

"Yup. Busted me."

I can hear her snicker and then she says, "Well, do something more useful and go put away those weeks' worth of dishes I washed for you in the kitchen."

"Sure thing. But when you're done, I've got some clothes for you to wear and I thought we'd go out shopping for some more."

Her scrubbing motion stops and I can see tension stiffen her shoulders. "Fine, but we need to make a stop first so I can get my money."

"You got it." I give one last wistful look at her ass, and head toward the kitchen.

I'm just putting up the last dish when Rowan walks in. When I look at her, I'm surprised by how lovely she looks. Now that her hair is clean and dry, it lends a new level of attractiveness to her. She has it cut so the ends just drag the tops of her shoulders but lays in shaggy lengths with long bangs that angle over one side of her face. The look is carefree and wistful. Coupled with her delicately boned face, she looks like a fairy pixie having stepped straight out of a fantasy movie. It's very at odds with the hard life that I believe she's had.

Pointing to the plastic bag on the table, I tell her, "There are a few outfits and some shoes in there."

She opens the bag and pulls out a blouse laying on top. It's dove gray and looks to be made of silk. It matches her eyes perfectly, which is an odd coincidence that Emily would choose it.

Rowan holds it up against her body and looks down at it. When she looks back up at me, her nose wrinkles in distaste. "It's a little fancy, don't you think?"

"Beggars can't be choosers," I tell her. The minute the words are out, I know they were a mistake.

Her eyes turn dark... the color of dirty steel, and she actually bares her teeth at me before she snarls, "I'm not a fucking beggar and I told you I don't need your help."

She throws the silk shirt back in the bag and storms down the hallway to the spare bedroom.

I'm stunned stupid for just a minute and then I take off after her. Rounding the corner of the bedroom door, I skid to a halt, mesmerized by the sight before me.

Rowan is jerking my t-shirt over her head and she throws it angrily to the floor. Her back is to me but I can see the curve of her breast from the side, and while I want to be captivated by the half-naked sight of a beautiful woman, I'm immediately dismayed when she reaches over and picks up the surgical scrub top that she had neatly folded and laid beside the bed.

"What are you doing?"

She doesn't answer me immediately and apparently has no shame, because she turns to me and I have a momentary flash of two perfect breasts before she's yanking the scrub top over her head. "I'm leaving--what does it look like?"

Her hands start working at the drawstring tie around my shorts she's wearing and I leap forward, taking hold of her hands to stop her action. "Wait... please, just wait."

Her hands still and she looks up at me. Her eyes are still dark and filled with fury. She doesn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, Rowan. I didn't mean anything at all by that statement. It was just a cliche that popped out, but I don't think of you as a beggar."

She regards me for a moment and while I'm happy to see her eyes lighten up a shade, her tone is frosty. "I don't take handouts, Flynn. Not from you... not from anyone. I stand on my own."

"I got it," I hastily assure her. "Seriously... I didn't mean anything by it."

Her eyes pin me and we wage a silent staring war. This woman standing before me... I wonder what has happened in her life to make her so averse to getting help from others. It makes me a little leery over the fact that I just really want to help her. I will have to be careful so that she doesn't see me giving her a handout, but rather a hand up. Even then, she's going to insist on repaying me in some way for that hand up.

I take a deep breath and continue on. "Rowan, I know you're perfectly able to take care of yourself. I haven't known you long, but gaging by your resilience and determination... well, I just know it about you. But just this once... let me give you a little help. You can pay me back, with interest if you want, but take this little bit that's being offered."

I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction. It comes in the form of her hands dropping away from the drawstring. "Fine," she says after issuing a long-suffering sigh. But then she grudgingly adds, "And I'm sorry I'm so sensitive. It's just something I take seriously."

I take a step back. "I won't forget that, trust me."

She regards me for a moment. "See... that's just it. I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone. But I'll take your help, and yeah, I'll pay you back. Make no mistake about that."

Yes, there is no doubt in my mind that Rowan is broken.

And it's equally as clear that I want to try to fix her.

I'm sitting in Flynn's car and I'm feeling guilty, which is not a feeling I'm used to. I was fuming mad at him over his "beggars" comment; a reaction that I now see was probably just a bit over reactive.

I'm touchy--I get it.

But because I've lived my entire adult life learning to only trust myself, learning to only depend on myself, I get a little heated when my ability to do so is called into question. When I left home--and my father told me that I would be nothing but a failure--I was determined to prove him wrong. When he told me I'd never be able to provide for myself, it only made my spine stiffen with resolve.

I may not have amounted to much in his eyes, but I've kept myself alive and surviv

ing all on my own, and I'm damned proud of it. Besides... I'm still young, and if I can ever distance myself from this Juice fiasco, I'm going to buckle down and really try to make something of myself.

I pick subconsciously at my new "slightly used" plaid, pleated mini-skirt, which was one of the many great things I found at a local thrift store Flynn took me to. I paired it with a black tank top and a really, really worn-out, black leather jacket I picked up for just ten bucks. My biggest score was a pair of broken-in, leather combat boots I found in the freebie pile. They were slightly too large for me so I just doubled up on the socks.

After I made my purchases, I asked Flynn to wait a second while I went into the dressing room and took off the expensive clothes that he had brought me. He had told me his cousin's fiancee had loaned them, and they probably cost more that I made in a month at Zeke's Bar. I hated wearing them because they reminded me of my old life, but I folded them with care to show my gratefulness over their use.

When I came out of the dressing room, Flynn roamed his gaze over me with lazy interest, but I swear he spent extra time looking at the way my legs were showcased in the mini-skirt. Spending the last five years working in bars, I knew how to dress to get maximum tips and, frankly, it was the only way I knew how to dress now.

When we had left his apartment, I gave Flynn the address to my friend Amy's apartment. I wanted to go there first to get my money, but Flynn insisted we go shopping for clothes first and that I could pay him back. I didn't like that but I eventually gave in, not needing to win every battle with him just yet. I just hoped that Amy hadn't spent my money and that I could, indeed, pay him back.

I call Amy a friend but she's more like a casual acquaintance, a former co-worker type of friend. She used to work at Zeke's with me but quit saying she got a better job. My instinct says she's hooking, but I never asked her outright. The only thing I asked was if I could start storing some extra cash at her place. I had hoped that this emergency fund would help me disappear if my break up with Juice didn't go so well.

"We're here," Flynn says.

I look up in surprise, my fingers smoothing out the edges of the skirt I had been fiddling with. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn't even realized where we were.

Turning my head, I look at Flynn and he's wearing that casual, friendly smile that I'm getting used to seeing on his face. I don't know many people that wear friendly smiles all the time.