Flynn straddled his bike, waiting for her to get on behind him.  The seat was small.  “This bike wasn’t designed for passengers,” he had told her in the garage.  “You’re going to have to sit close and hang on tight.  You okay with that?”

She had assured him she was.  And boy was it.  She liked the feel of his big warm body against hers.  Besides, she’d never said anything about her not touching him.

Jimmy’s was a local collegiate haunt with traditional pub grub that was cheap and decent, with two-dollar beers and karaoke.  Grabbing Flynn’s hand as they dismounted the bike, Izzy dragged him into the loud and crowded pub.

Stowing their helmets and jackets with the hostess, they proceeded into the lively establishment.

“Hey, Iz, where the hell have you been?”  Nick the bouncer called as she negotiated her way toward the three-deep bar.

“Working!” she called, continuing toward the stacked bar.  “Jimmy,” she called, waving to the bartender and owner.  “Dos Patrons por favor!”

He grinned, showing big white teeth.  “You got it, Pinky.”

Flynn’s hand tightened at Jimmy’s pet name for her.

Turning with a big grin, she said, “You’re not the only man in my life, Flynn.”

He didn’t look at her; he was too busy glaring at the affable barkeep.  Grabbing the two shots, Izzy handed Flynn one.  When he took it, she clanked her glass to his and said, “Bottoms up, baby.”  Then threw it back.  The warmth of the liquor spread through her chilled body.  She slammed her shot glass down on the bar and Jimmy didn’t wait to be asked, he refilled it.  Izzy laughed, feeling comfortable in her element.

Before Flynn had drunk his first shot, Izzy threw back her second.  “Drink up,” she said over the din of the crowd.  Throwing the shot back, Flynn set it on the bar, but put his palm over the top, indicating he was done.

“Party pooper,” Izzy said, and then pulled him further into the pub, past the karaoke stage to a small table on the fringe.  For as crowded as the pub was, most everyone stood, so there was always a table or two open.

Just as they sat down, a perky little server named Dolly set menus down on their table.  “Drinks?” she asked.

“Two waters,” Flynn said.

“And a shot of Patron,” Izzy added.

Flynn scowled.  “You won’t be able to ride back with me if you’re drunk, Pink.”

“That’s what cabs are for.”

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t say another word about it.  Instead he asked, “You come here often?”

“I used to, when I was an undergrad.”

“Undergrad?”

“Yes, commonly known as a person who is working toward their first degree?”

“You graduated from Cal?”

“Summa cum laude, baby.”

Flynn nodded.  She could see by the way he stared at her that he was dying to know more.  When Dolly set the waters down, she also set down two menus.  “Your shot will be right here.  Jimmy said not to forget your deal.”

Izzy smiled.  “Tell Jimmy thanks for the reminder.”

Grinning, Izzy opened the menu, holding it up so that Flynn couldn’t see her face.  She giggled when Flynn’s finger pushed the menu down, forcing her to look at him.  “What deal?”

“Just some bartering we did a few years ago.”

“Out with it, Pink.”

Setting the menu down on the table, she said, “You know far more about me than I do you.  Do you think that’s fair?”

“You Googled me, you know everything there is to know.”

“I want to know what’s going on inside there.” She tapped his forehead.  “And here.” She pressed her hand to his heart.  It beat strong beneath her palm.

He stopped himself when his hand reached for hers.

Giving him no quarter, Izzy kept it there.  “Why have you closed yourself off to love?”

“You don’t mince words, do you?”

“You know me well enough by now to know that I don’t.  Now answer me.”

“I don’t have an answer.”

“What are you afraid of, Flynn?  Of loving and not being loved in return?”

“My life isn’t conducive to a relationship.”

Sitting back, she considered his answer.  It was lame. “Why not?”

“I move around.  I could be transferred halfway around the world at a moment’s notice.”

“So?”

“So it wouldn’t be fair to leave someone.”

“Did it ever occur to you that the person you would be leaving behind would love you enough to go with you?  To follow you to the moon if that’s where you were assigned?”

“I wouldn’t do that to someone.”

“That’s not your call.”

“Yeah. It kind of is.”

She frowned. She supposed it was, in a way. If he guarded his heart fiercely enough, he’d drive anyone away. It had worked easily enough with her.  Almost.

Dolly approached, cracking her gum and carrying Izzy’s shot. “You decide whatcha wanted?” she asked as she set the tequila down in front of Izzy.

“How about one of Jimmy’s famous meat samplers?” Izzy said.  Men loved meat, and so did she.

“Sides?”

“All of them.”

“For reals?”

“For reals.”

“Okay, girlfriend, you got it.”

As Dolly sashayed away, Izzy raised her glass to Flynn.  “Slainte.”

His brows furrowed.

“Stop being such a bore, Flynn,” she said after she drank it.  “Loosen up.  Have some fun.  You’re always so serious.”

“I want you to slow down.”

She stood up and bent down, pressing her face close to his, and said,  “I’m just about to rev it up, Special Agent.” Then gave him a quick peck on the lips. She laughed at his stunned look. “Priceless, Special Agent, priceless.”

With that she headed for the bathroom just as the DJ announced, “It’s open mic tonight, lads and lasses. Check out the updated playlist, Jimmy the tightwad finally sprang for some new tunes!”

Izzy smiled. She loved karaoke even though she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life.  Maybe Flynn could sing.  She’d give her right arm to see that happen.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Sitting back in his chair, Flynn kept a sharp eye on the hallway Pink had just walked down.  The pub was loud and crowded, but Berkeley was a college town and the place was full of college students.  His lips quirked.  Pink was just full of surprises.

“We’re going to do things a little different tonight,” the DJ announced over the throng.  “I’ll announce the track, first warm body to the mic gets to perform.”

From the spattering of applause, the crowd didn’t seem interested.

“Let’s give it up for some ‘Uptown Funk’!” the DJ announced holding out the mic toward the tables.

Flynn shook his head and sipped his water.  No takers.  He perked up when Pink emerged from the hallway.  As she passed the stage, the DJ reached out and grabbed her.  “We have our first singer!”

Pink laughed, shaking her head. Not taking no for an answer, the DJ pressed the mic into her hand and drew her up to the stage.  Flynn watched with keen interest. If she refused again, and the guy insisted, he’d intercede, but if she was cool with it, so was he.

The music started.  Looking at Flynn, Pink smiled and shrugged like, here-goes-nothing. Grinning, Flynn gave her the thumbs-up.

Throwing her head back, she laughed and started to tap her foot to the beat.  When her hips began to swing back and forth to the doo-wop sound and she ran her fingers through her hair, Flynn’s blood stirred.

When she started to sing, he sat up straight.  Her clear breathless voice struck straight to his groin. It wasn’t perfect, a little off key, but a hell of a lot better than he could sing. It was her smile and the way she danced, throwing her chin out, shaking her head, and turning with the tempo that hit every one of his buttons. She was having fun with it. The crowd started to clap, cheering encouragement.