Page 58

Delirious.

Giddy.

Lucky.

I blame my poor, orgasm-deprived brain for why I slope into the kitchen wearing clothes that aren’t mine and a great, big hickey on my neck without a second thought.

Even worse, I’m not alone. I’m not even a little bit alone.

I have a huge, unignorable man at my back who won’t stop pawing at my waist and twirling my goddam hair and fiddling with the clothes, his clothes, the boxers and t-shirt that he tossed at me to change into—and covered his fucking eyes while I did like a stupid gentleman.

I don’t realize my error, our error, until it’s too late. My feet hit the last stair, Finn lingering on the one above, and there’s nothing we can do; within seconds, every eye is on us.

“Well, well, well.” Though her face crumples with feigned confusion, Yasmin does nothing to keep that splitting smirk at bay. Or maybe she simply can’t. “What do we have here?”

Straightening my spine, I lift my chin defiantly. “None of your business.”

Perched on a stool beside his girlfriend, Theo snickers. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

“ You knew it?” Reaching across the island counter, Adam extends his hand, palm-up, towards his friend. “Pay up, bitch.”

Theo scoffs. “I didn’t bet anything.”

“I said, ‘ Twenty bucks says they hook up at the wedding. ’ You said, ‘ I’ll take that bet. ’”

“I wasn’t being serious .”

Nevertheless, Adam crooks his fingers insistently, hissing when Yasmin slaps them away. “Twenty bucks,” she winks at me, “says Lottie bites your hand off if you reach for your wallet.”

I grin with all my teeth. “I’ll take that bet.”

A gentle push urges me forward, laughter brushing the top of my head. “Careful, boys. She’s vicious this morning.”

I crane my neck back to peer up at him. “Vicious, unsatisfied. Potato, po-tah-toh.”

“See.” Finn slaps my ass. “ Vicious .”

Throwing an elbow back into his ribs, I slip out of his reach and make a beeline for the very reason we emerged from his room in the first place—coffee. And food. An inquisition was not on the list, but something tells me I’m going to get that anyway.

I barely graze the coffee pot before Yasmin is at my side, dangling a mug from her fingertips as she bumps her hip against mine. “Do I get details?”

Snagging the mug, I fill it to the brim. “Nope.”

“Not even one?” Yas sighs, slumping forward on the countertop, big eyes all fucking forlorn. “I thought we were friends.”

“He got drunk and said a bunch of stuff, and we kissed. Happy?”

Her face says no . “You are terrible at girl talk, you know that?”

I do know that. How could I be any good at it when I’ve never really done it?

Yas straightens and sidles even closer. “What kind of stuff, Lottie?”

An arm slipping around my waist saves me from answering, the fingers splayed just below my belly button making me shiver. “I believe I called her beautiful a hundred times, and then I passed out.” Chin dropping to my shoulder, Finn clucks his tongue at his friend. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“ Beautiful .” Adam scoffs from across the kitchen. “You need to work on your game.”

“Hm.” The arm banded around my middle rises, settling beneath the curve of my breasts as Finn nuzzles the crook of my neck, lips pressed right to the incredibly conspicuous mark I spent at least thirty minutes reaming him out about. “Who’s bed did she spend the night in, Adam?”

“We’ll see whose she’s in tonight.”

I blink at Yasmin. “Is this supposed to be attractive?”

“I think they’re asserting their dominance.”

“So they’re pissing on me,” I drawl, pinching the back of the hand drifting dangerously close to voyeuristic territory until the owner hisses and retreats. “How lovely.”

As the guys and Yasmin snicker, I drain my drink and drop my mug in the sink, evading Finn’s incessant grabby hands with the intention of disappearing back upstairs—to my own room this time, because somehow, I spent an entire morning in Finn’s. In his bed.

In a man’s bed, not fucking—what a novelty. And not really talking either. Just… existing. Nursing his hangover. Cuddling .

And now we’re acting like this in front of his friends, his friends who know , and it’s all extremely unsettling. Or at least it should be unsettling, but I’m having trouble actually feeling unsettled, which is all the more alarming so I’m thinking some alone time is on the cards.

I’m thinking.

Finn, as it turns out, does not share that train of thought.

When his arm slinks around me once again, I sigh.

He’s a tactile man, I knew that already.

The very opposite of me, though I can’t say I’ve exactly been fending off his advances.

The slow, tender strokes of my hair, the brushes of his knuckles across my cheeks, the tracing of my freckles, my tattoos, the curves and angles of my body…

yeah, I’m not objecting to any of those, am I?

I do, however, object to being hoisted into the air and thrown over a broad shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes.

“ Hey .” I screech as the world abruptly flips upside down and I’m granted an exclusive view of a sweatpants-covered ass.

Momentarily, my complaints die.

And then, Finn starts up the stairs and my pelvis gets intimately acquainted with his shoulder. “You have five seconds to put me down, cowboy.”

A palm smoothes over my ass, squeezing greedily. “Or what, princess?”

I return the gesture, though I don’t squeeze as much as I pinch . Hard. “If you think I’m too mature to give you a wedgie, you are so fucking mistaken.”

“Mature?” Door hinges creak as Finn shoves his way into a room— floor hinges, I should say, because it’s my room we’re entering, my ladder he’s scaling one-fucking-handed. It’s my bed he unceremoniously drops me on, my headboard I scuttle backwards to lean against. “I’d never accuse you of that.”

I scowl as Finn crawls up the mattress towards me. “I will kick you in the throat.”

“No.” He grins. Fingers wrap around my ankle, travelling up my leg and spreading it wide, his shoulder nudging the other out of the way so he can slot that big body between my thighs. “You won’t.”

Well, I can’t . Not with him flopping on top of me, face pressed to my lower stomach, one hand wrapped around my thigh while the other… fucking hell, he holds my hand. Brings it to his lips, kisses the back, then moves it to the nape of his neck and leaves it there, a clear request.

That I oblige.

I caress and Finn practically purrs with satisfaction and I smile like a smitten dumbass.

Snatching my traitorous hand away, I curl it into a fist and clear my throat. “Alright, caveman. Let’s get this over with.”

Lips graze the ink just below my hip bone. “Hm?”

“Clear things up or whatever.”

“Ah.” Head flopping to one side, Finn tilts his chin up towards me. “I like you.”

I wait.

Nothing else comes.

“That’s it?” I blink, underwhelmed. “I already knew that.”

Finn snorts. Detaching himself from me, he sits up, and then I’m between his spread thighs, a bent knee on either side of me, elbows propped against them as Finn leans forward. “I like you enough that I don’t wanna just hook up.”

“You mean… You wanna, like, date ?”

“Atta girl.”

“I don't date.”

Finn nods, humming happily. “You’ve been saving yourself for me. Love that.”

Grunting, I try to flick him, but like they have a mind of their own, my fingers stroke his cheek affectionately instead. Fuck me. “I’m being serious. I don’t know if I can… do that.”

“Do you want to?”

The answer comes to me quickly. Too quickly. The affirmative word echoes around my brain like a fucking siren, and I don’t like it.

When I scramble off the bed, Finn tries to join me. I hold up a hand to keep him at bay, shaking my head as I start striding from one side of the room to the other at a frantic pace, as I try to articulate my thoughts.

“I think flowers are stupid,” isn’t particularly eloquent, but hey, at least it’s a start.

Intrigued and amused in equal measures, Finn gestures for me to go on.

With a sharp, shallow breath, I do. “They last, like, two days and then they die and I don’t think that’s very romantic.

I’m not romantic. I’m not affectionate all the time and I don’t like going on dates or constantly being around someone.

I like being at home and I like being alone and I like silence. ”

I pause, smoothing my clammy palms down the sides of my thighs.

My rings catch on my borrowed boxers, then in my tangled hair when I rake my fingers through it, and I laugh because what a ridiculous scenario this is, what a ridiculous sight I must make, pacing and ranting in clothes that don’t fit me, still dripping in my finest jewelry, the make-up I never bothered to take off surely wreaking all kinds of havoc.

I look at Finn and I sober.

“I…” I start, I swallow, I fucking fear the next words out of my mouth.

“I have some shit, okay? In my life. Like bad, complicated shit. And it makes me angry which makes me mean, and I know you said you like me mean, but shit, Finn, you don’t actually know that because honestly, I’ve been a fucking angel the past couple of months.

And that DUI I told you about, that’s not…

well, it is the worst of it, but it’s not it .

It’s not my only fuck up and that’s why I’m back here, and I’m trying really hard to not fuck up again, and I don’t think… I don't know… ”

“If I’m good for you?”

“If I’m good for you , Finn.”

I wince as the words leave my mouth. As they linger heavy in the air, all croaked and pathetic and way too honest. Wiping away their bitter aftertaste with the back of my hand, I force myself to continue.

“I think you’re gonna regret it. This. I’m gonna disappoint you, I won’t live up to whatever fairytale romance you’re imagining, and I’m…

I’m really fucking scared about what will happen to me when you do because I… ”