Page 26 of Finley

That hint of vulnerability in a man who’d always been so confident brought Daniel out of his foul mood.

“Well, it paid off,” he said. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Several seconds passed, and when Brantley slid his hands into his pockets, Daniel did the same, thinking it was probably the wisest move.

“So…” Brantley started.

“So.”

“I don’t want to just assume, but I’m guessing your mother still doesn’t?—”

“Know that I was sleeping with my professor throughout college? No, I couldn’t quite work out a way to tell her.”

Brantley nodded and frowned in the way he did when he was concentrating, and Daniel had to fight the urge to stroke his thumb along the furrow between his eyes.

Unaware of the scrutiny he was under, Brantley ran a finger along Daniel’s jaw. “When you say it like that, it does have a sordid sound to it, doesn’t it?”

“I think it has a fucking hot sound to it, personally,” Daniel said, causing Brantley’s eyes to find his. “But maybe that’s because I was the one in your bed.” He swept his eyes around the living room. “And on this couch. And, if memory serves, every other flat surface you could get me on.”

“Finn,” Brantley whispered, and went to take a step forward.

“No. I can’t have you touch me right now.”

“Okay. I’ll stay over here.” Then Brantley walked around behind the couch, once again putting it, and some much-needed distance, between them.

Smart, smart man.“Good. Because we both know once you touch me, there’s no way I'm going to be able to keep my hands off you. And I need to work out a way not to hate that I want that so fucking much.”

Brantley winced. “That’s… Wow. Finn, I had no idea. I mean, I knew you were upset the day you left, but I guess I just assumed you decided to say, ‘Fuck it,’ and went off to finish college and have fun.”

“Have fun?” Daniel asked. “Really? I assume you mean fun as in fucking around? That’sreallywhat you thought of me?”

“You were young, Finn. So young,” Brantley said.

Once again, Daniel’s anger boiled.

“I wanted you to experience life, to really know what you wanted?—”

“Iknewwhat I wanted,” Daniel shouted.

When Brantley dug his fingers into the cushion of the couch, Daniel lowered his voice. “It wasn’t your decision to make,” he whispered.Jesus, who was he kidding? He couldn’t stay there. He needed to leave before he did or said anything more.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the open doors. Picking up his flip-flops, he was about to walk out when he heard his name. Then he looked back at where Brantley remained standing behind his couch, his fingers still clutching the leather.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

Instead of answering, Daniel asked a question of his own. “How many nights over the last seven years have you lain in bed and wondered who was touching me?”

The broken expression that crossed Brantley’s face told him all he needed to know, but when he didn’t respond, Daniel started to make his way down the back stairs.

“Finn!”

He was halfway to the beach when he saw Brantley standing at the top of the stairs.

The white curtains were swirling around behind him in the breeze as he looked down at him.

“Every night. I’ve thought about it every night since you left.”

Chapter 8