Off Chance (Off 5)

I think my head may seriously be fucked up.

Otherwise... why would I be sitting on this train, seriously contemplating grabbing Rowan and plunging my hands into her hair? Why do I have this almost insane urge to pull her to me for a kiss? Why is this woman plaguing all of my thoughts?

Watching her now, she's completely oblivious to how I feel. I've tried to be very careful with my feelings, which have morphed from concerned bystander, to over-protective friend, to someone who now wants nothing more than to immerse myself in her body.

No, that's not exactly right. I mean--I do want her. Badly. I jerked off in the shower thinking about her this morning, imagining her going down on me with the hot water pouring all around us.

But it's more than that. So much more.

I thought Rowan was brought into my life because she was broken and needed fixed. I know that is exactly why I offered her help, why I opened my home to her. I was trying to make up for all the ways in which I failed Marney. There is no way I can ever completely atone for that, but my warped sense of justice makes me try to add up all the checks in the "Flynn Does Some Good" column, and hope they can get me close to being even.

That's what I thought about Rowan--at first. But over the past three days, I'm starting to realize something.

She's not broken. Not in the slightest.

Oh, she's dinged up a bit. And she's clearly been through things that have damaged her. But whatever has happened in her past, it has created a person that is strong and independent. She's not broken--she's just a bit hard.

And now I'm obsessed with softening her up.

The past three days, we have settled into an easy friendship. She's actually lightened up, and our relationship just feels natural. Unfortunately, this has made it easy for me to look past the circumstances that brought Rowan into my life, and look toward circumstances that may keep her there.

She intrigues me and I want to know more about her.

I have to know more about her.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

Forcing myself to focus, Rowan comes into sharp relief and her gray eyes are pinning me with a quizzical look. Luckily, I'm saved from answering as we come to our stop and the train rocks to a standstill.

We stand up and exit the train, stepping out onto the crowded platform. Since I'm not overly familiar with Prospect Heights, the neighborhood where Rowan worked, I follow her up and out of one of the many subway stations that come out on Flatbush Avenue. She turns left down Bergen Street and walks swiftly.

"Zeke's is just a few blocks this way," she says.

"Let's make this quick, okay? I don't like the thought of you being in places that he could find you."

"No need to tell me that. I want my money and then Zeke's will be a fading memory for me."

"How long did you work there?"

Rowan shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe nine months? It's just one bar on a list of many I've worked at. It's all I've ever done really. I guess it's all I'm good at."

"That's bullshit," I tell her.

She looks over at me in surprise and gives me a patronizing smile. "You don't know me well enough to know what I'm good at, Flynn."

"What about dogs? You're awesome with Capone. Look how well trained and behaved he is. You're like a dog whisperer or something."

Her head swings back toward me, and she searches my eyes. It's a look that I've come to recognize from Rowan. She wants to know if I'm telling the truth, and she believes the eyes are the gateway to the soul or something.

No matter, I am telling the truth. She's fucking amazing with the fleabag.

Whatever she sees reflected back to her causes her cheeks to turn red. She turns quickly away from me, but not before I see a satisfied expression on her face.

It makes me feel invincible that I put it there.

She rounds the corner of a building and we stop in front of Zeke's Bar. It's an unassuming place, nestled in between a small supermarket and a locksmith. The worn sign over the door has seen better days, and the windows are a tad grimy. The neon "Open" sign beckons us in, and Rowan doesn't hesitate.

As we step inside, my eyes take a second to adjust to the gloomy atmosphere. The place is completely empty and had the door not been unlocked, I would think it was closed.

"George?" Rowan calls out.

"Who's George?"

"He owns the place."

"Then who's Zeke?"

Rowan shrugs her shoulders. "Never bothered to ask. Wasn't important."

I smile inside. That's the Rowan I've come to know. She doesn't sweat the small stuff and is very much a big picture kind of person.

A door from the back opens and a small, wiry man comes out from behind it. He's probably close to sixty if the gray hair he wears in a military buzz cut is any indication, but his forearms are laced with ropy muscles, indicating this guy is in shape.

He looks at me, then at Rowan, and a grin splits his face wide open. "Damn, Rowan. It's good to see you, honey. I was worried sick."

I'm assuming this is George and he walks up to Rowan, giving her a hug. I notice it's short because Rowan steps away first. She has a warm look on her face, but I'm guessing physical displays of affection bother her. It's probably why she stepped away from me so quickly this morning when I tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Hey, George. I was wondering if I could get my pay from the last week I worked?"

"Sure thing, darling. But sit down for a second. You have to tell me what's happened to you. When you didn't show up for work, well, I just feared for the worse."

Interesting. This guy was worried for Rowan and I'm guessing it has everything to do with her ex.

Rowan looks around, and I can tell she's on edge. "We really don't have time, George. If you don't mind, I'd really like to just get my money and go."

George's eyes flick to me, lingering just a second in an attempt to figure out who I am. Then they slide back to Rowan. "Are you hiding from Juice?"

Rowan grabs her lower lip in between her teeth and gives him a short nod. She looks vulnerable, which is not a good look on a woman as tough as her, and it makes me just want to sweep her into my arms and hug all of her problems away.

George sees it too, and his gaze hardens. "All right. Sit tight and let me get it."

When George disappears back through the door, I reach my hand out and softly lace my fingers through hers. She doesn't even turn to look at me, but just stares down at our hands. I give her a short squeeze, telling her it will be all right. She squeezes back and then releases me from the grip.

True to his word, George is back almost immediately with the money. He counts out three-hundred and fifty dollars into Rowan's hand.

"This is too much, George. I should only be getting three hundred." She tries to hand the money back to him but he lays a gnarled hand over her, pushing it back to her.

"Take it," he says. "Take it and just be safe, okay?"

"But--"

George grabs her by the shoulders and turns her my way. Giving her a gentle push, he says, "Get out of here, kid. It's not safe for you to be around this area."

Rowan gives George one last look, and I can see the affection written all over her face. It says, I want to hug you, old man, but I don't know how.

Instead, she gives him a nod and walks past me toward the door.

I look at George one last time and his look says, Take care of her. I also give him a nod and follow her out.

When I step out on the sidewalk, Rowan is tucking the money into her back pocket. She looks up at me. "I can't believe that old goat did that. I'll have to figure out some way to pay him back."

I mentally roll my eyes at Rowan's need to shy away from generosity and take her by the elbow. "That's fine, but let's get out of here, okay?"

I start leading her away from Zeke's--back west down Bergen Street, toward the train station. But we don't make it twenty feet before doors are opening on a dark sedan parked by the curb, and two burl

y men step out into our path.