Page 67 of A Little Bit More

Flynn’s Home Goal

This story takes place 11 years after Bad Boy ends.

“So, we’re clear,” Flynn whispered to his eldest daughter, Katy, in the hallway outside their living room. “The only way this will work is if we function as a team.” He paused. “With me as the captain.”

Sixteen-year-old Katy rolled her eyes. A move she got straight from her mother. Flynn wasn’t sure what she’d inherited from her birth father, who’d died when Katy was a toddler, because everything else about her came straight from Flynn. It was weird to think that the only one of his kids he hadn’t donated genetic material to was the one most like him. And he couldn’t have been prouder of that fact.

“You have control issues,” Katy whispered back. “We both know I make a better captain.”

“Of asoccer team. Not when it comes to finessing your mother. For that, you need an expert.” He pointed at his chest in case there was any doubt about his meaning. “All you need to do is follow my lead, and we’ll get this sorted. Got it?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” She smiled sweetly.

“That was sarcasm, right?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Katy opened the door and shoved him into the room.

“Crap,” Flynn hissed when he realized his wife, Abby, wasn’t alone. “Your grandmother’s here.”

“I didn’t know,” Katy mouthed the words. “Her car isn’t out front.”

“She bloody well cycled over, didn’t she?” Ever since Victoria had discovered electric bikes, she’d been obsessed with them.

“What are you two whispering about?” Abby called, making it impossible for them to just slip back out of the room and try again later.

“Nothing,” Katy said, looking as though ice wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “Hi, Gran.” She pressed a cheek to Victoria’s, and her grandmother beamed up at her.

Flynn ran a hand through his overgrown hair as he glanced around the generously proportioned Victorian room. With its high ceilings and bay windows, it was light, airy, and full of space. So why did he suddenly feel claustrophobic?

“What’s going on?” Abby asked him.

Legs curled under her, she sat in an oversized armchair in front of the windows. Even though she wore only faded jeans and an old sweater, she looked more beautiful than any runway model. The morning sun was a caress over her chestnut hair, making him want to stroke his fingers through it. Even after several years and far too many kids together, Abby still had the ability to take his breath away. It was the reason he was always pulling her into closets just to taste her. It was also the reason they were overrun with kids.

“You’re busy.” Flynn decided they’d retreat and regroup. “We’ll come back later.” He backed toward the door, smiling at his wife.

“Or”—Katy grabbed his arm—“we could do this now. Gran won’t mind. Will you, Gran?”

“I’d have to know what ‘this’ is to answer that,” Victoria said before sipping her tea from a dainty china cup.

She sat upright on the edge of her seat, her legs crossed at the ankles and nary a wrinkle in her chic black pants and plain white shirt. Her hair was tucked up into a twist that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Princess Anne. But then that was his mother-in-law to a tee. You could take the woman out of English high society, but you couldn’t take high society out of the woman. Just being around her made Flynn feel like one of the great unwashed who should be kept out of sight and out of mind of the British upper class. Not that he’d ever share that with Victoria. His mother-in-law might have a pristine outer shell, but underneath, she was soft and easily damaged.

“Dad,” Katy said when he didn’t speak, “what did you want to tell Mum?”

“That I love her very much, and I’m still trying to find a home for the goat.”

Katy elbowed him hard. “Apart from that, there’s something else Dad would like to talk about. Isn’t that right?” She glared at him.

Flynn sighed; there was no point in delaying things now. “Remember when we talked about how good Katy is at football?”

“Well,” Abby’s smile was pure indulgence, “considering it happens almost weekly, I’m hardly likely to forget.”

“Aye, right. Well, remember the part where I said she’s one of the most talented players I’ve ever seen? And I should know, seeing as I was a—”

“Professional footballer at the top of my profession when I was injured,” three women said at the same time, then grinned at each other.

“Smart arses,” Flynn told them. “But at least you acknowledge my greatness.”

“Oh, my darling boy,” Victoria said, “I wouldn’t go that far.” She sipped her tea again as Abby tried to smother her grin.