Some random guy jumped up on stage and began to dance with her.  If Flynn wasn’t the jealous type, he’d enjoy the way they moved in sync as if they’d practiced the moves.  But he’d discovered he was the jealous type.  When Pink spun around and sang the words, “I’m too hot,” and touched the tip of her index finger to her ass, then pulled it away like she was burned and shook it at her singing partner, the guy grabbed her hand and blew on her fingertip. She looked right at Flynn when he did.

The quick beat didn’t give room for mistakes and damn if she didn’t look like she was a natural.  He found himself thoroughly enjoying her moves.  Especially when she did a few James Brown spins. Wasn’t like she hadn’t picked up a few moves watching the dancers at Surf’s Up.  He didn’t let that thought irk him.  He had been working hard to get past the fact that dozens of men had seen her half naked and dozens more still might.

As the song ended, the crowd erupted.  Laughing, Pink made her bows, handed the mic to the DJ, then curtseyed to her partner. He was in the same age range as Pink, tall, clean-cut, good-looking kid. The adoring lap dog type. The polar opposite of Flynn’s hard dog.  Flynn didn’t like the way the little lap dog casually slung his arm around Pink’s shoulder. The gesture was familiar.  Something Flynn wasn’t allowed to do.

Grabbing his hand, Pink raised it up over their heads and called to the crowd, “Give it up for my man, Jamie O’Grady!”

“Pinky and the J man!” the DJ said, “Let’s get it on with some ‘Blurred Lines’!”

Pink laughed, shaking her head and moving toward their table.

“Hey, hey, you know you want it!” Jamie said, slipping his arm around her waist and guiding her back onto the stage.

Retrieving the mic, she looked over her shoulder to the crowd and said, “Do you want it?”

The pub erupted.  Flynn couldn’t help whistling encouragement with the rest of her adoring fans.  She was something else.  She owned every person in the place.

Pink turned the prompter toward the crowd and held out the mic toward them. “Only if you all sing with me!”

The crowd roared and when Pink turned around and shook that sweet ass of hers to the beat, Flynn squirmed in his chair.  Shaking his head, he couldn’t help but whoop-whoop along with the crowd.  She was beautiful, and lush, and knew how to work it.  As Jamie belted out the provocative lyrics, Pink strutted around him like a peacock, shaking her finger at him each time he reached out to touch her.  Playing the suffering male, Jamie rolled his eyes and grinned, following her helplessly around the stage.

The lyrics were apropos.  Pink was a good girl.  But when Flynn had unleashed the animal in her, she had shocked them both.  Domesticated she would never be.  She was a wild spirit who needed to stay free.  The man who tried to cage her would lose her.

Flynn swallowed hard.  In his way, he had attempted just that.  Put her into a nice neat little package, selfishly releasing her when it suited him.  He wasn’t lying to her when he told her she deserved a better man than he.  A better man wouldn’t even think about holding her back.  He’d let her fly, stoking her wild fire, confident in her love for him.

Flynn wasn’t that man.  He refused to suffer the way his mother and sister had.  The way his sister-in-law continued to.  He’d seen it happen so many times, he didn’t give infidelity a second thought. It was just what people did.

Flynn loved his life.  He loved his job and he loved that he had no ties or accountability to anyone but himself.  There was no one to tell him what he could and could not do.  How to behave or what to wear. No one to hurt him. No one for him to hurt. He was free to be himself.

His gaze narrowed on the innocent temptress who captivated the entire place with her sexy moves, her sweet breathless voice, and the simple joy of what she was doing.  Singing and dancing, not one inhibition keeping her from just being who she was.  He might love his freedom, but he longed for the free spirit singing and dancing before him.  He was a better man when he was with her.  Because of her.

Pink turned, shook that ass he loved at him, and over her shoulder blew him a kiss as she sang the chorus, “You know you want it.”

Flynn grinned, nodding, and pointed to himself as he mouthed the words, “You know you want this.”

With each turn and twist, each shake of her bottom, Flynn envisioned himself up there with her, laughing and carefree, not a goddamn care in the world. His world was fraught with life-and-death scenarios.  There wasn’t a place or a time where he could let his guard down. Not when he knew the danger that lurked around every corner.

The song ended, and for the second time, Pink bowed to the cheers of the crowd.  Jamie took her hand and kissed it then exited the stage.  This time when she tossed the mic to the DJ, Pink ran from the small stage across the dance floor to their table, where she plopped breathless into the chair beside him.

Beaming happily at him, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Note the day and time! Special Agent Ryker is smiling!” He scowled and she pouted.  “Aw, I knew it was too good to be true.”

Controlling the urge to pull her onto his lap and lay a big wet kiss on those pink bubble gum lips, claiming her in front of her adoring crowd, Flynn switched gears. He’d been so captivated by her performance, he hadn’t noticed the table was covered with food.  Brisket, corned beef, pulled pork, hot links, fries, onion rings, slaw, and fried pickles.  “Let’s eat,” he said.

They both dug in.  Flynn nodded in approval when Pink didn’t pick at the food like most women. She ate like she did everything else, with gusto.

“So tell me what you bartered for all those years ago?”  Flynn asked.

She popped a fry into her mouth and Flynn watched as she slowly chewed it. “My body in exchange for food and tequila.”

Flynn choked on the piece of corned beef he’d just swallowed.  “Liar,” he croaked. He took a sip of his water.  “Truth, Pink.”

“Jimmy’s son Jamie was struggling with his math. Since I was a starving student, I tutored him.”

“The same Jamie who just mauled you onstage?”

Laughing, she dunked an onion ring into ranch dressing.  “The same.”

“So what kind of math did a molester such as he struggle with?”

“Statistics.”

Wow. “What did you major in?”

“I double-majored. Art and legal studies.  I start law school in the fall.”

You could have knocked Flynn over with a feather.

“Where did you go after your mother died?” he asked.

“The foster system.  I booked the day I turned eighteen.”

“You put yourself through college?”

“Yup.”

“I’m impressed.”  Beyond impressed.  She’d been dealt a shitty hand, and instead of allowing it to drag her down, she’d kicked its ass. Never once had she complained to him about her life’s hardships.  She had just rolled up her sleeves and gotten to work.  He was not worthy.

“You should be, I’m not just a ding-dong cocktail server at a strip bar.”

He reached for her hand, then retracted his, remembering her “no touch” condition.  “I never thought you were a ding-dong.”  He chuckled.  “But I did meet you at a strip club.”

“Indeed you did, and I’m damn good at what I do.”

“You’ll get no argument from me on that.” Flynn set his fork down and asked the burning question. “Do you like it?”

She smiled, her dimple popping.  “Maybe a little.”

“What parts?”

“Knowing I have something men want but can’t have. Then there’s the part of me that gives my father the single finger salute each time I put that bikini on. I make no apologies for those feelings.”

“You shouldn’t.” His comment surprised him, but he meant it. That was part of who she was.  To tamp it down would be akin to trimming a bird’s wings.