Page 16 of Hearts Adrift (A Texas Beach Town Romance #4)

The best part is gazing into Finn’s eyes again.

This close, where I can see them sparkle in the sunlight at our backs, flickering off the water from the Gulf.

The panic in his eyes as I hold him.

I guess it’s fair to say, I’m kind of holding him captive. And freaking him out in the process. And thereby stealing this gift of staring into his pretty eyes instead of earning it.

“What’s wrong?” he squeaks out.

“Person. Bungalow.” My mouth is so dry. I should’ve drank before I fled. The walk here in the heat wearing this jacket fucking sapped me. “Outside. Camera. Flashy.”

“Camera? There’s someone at the bungalow who—?”

“At least I think that’s what I saw.”

Finn blinks. “You mean you’re not sure?”

“I thought I saw someone staring at the house from the other side of the street. Then I heard a sound on the porch, and I hid. I kept seeing weird shadows, and … I freaked out, grabbed my jacket, shades, forgot my hat, then bolted through the back door, tearing over the rocks, running …”

“Did you see an actual person?”

My eyes wander off to the brick wall of the building. I find my grip on Finn loosening. Was it all in my head? Did I mistake a strong wind for movement on the porch? Am I letting my paranoia finally get to me?

The back door opens, and with ninja finesse, Finn and I tuck ourselves behind it while a pirate with big curly hair comes out lugging a bag of trash, tosses it into the nearby dumpster with a sigh, exclaims, “Fuck my life,” for some reason we shall never learn in this lifetime, then lets the door shut on their way back inside.

Finn has me pressed to the brick, face close to mine.

I’m staring into his eyes, breath held.

Everything grew intimate so fast.

“Did you come by the Fair yesterday?” he asks me. “In this same disguise? Jacket and shades?”

I swallow. “No.”

“You sure?”

I swallow again. “No.”

He squints. Then his eyes wander. “I think someone was outside the bungalow,” he says suddenly, as if it’s just now occurring to him. “It was when I left this morning, felt like I was being watched … I saw no one, so I blew it off, didn’t think about it since, but …”

He meets my eyes again. We continue staring at each other, neither of us making the effort to move away.

Just like last night on the couch, our bodies so close to each other, as I worked to loosen his tense muscles—both of us ignoring other muscles that were very much growing more tense by the second.

I get the sense it’s been a long time since either of us have been touched in that way.

The chemistry is practically crackling between us.

Where’s all my courage? Where’s his?

Why do we keep clutching each other, growing closer, then neither of us making a move?

“You totally were here yesterday,” he decides abruptly.

“No, I wasn’t.” I swallow. Then sigh. “Yeah, I was.”

“Pretty risky, to do that.”

“It was.”

“Why did you come here?”

“Cabin fever. Curiosity. Sheer stupidity. Just pick one of those answers, you won’t be wrong.”

“I’m sorry I conked out.”

My face scrunches up. “What do you mean?”

“After your … very generous massage. Last night. I … I think I was … a lot more tired than I realized. Actually … kinda mortified,” he then laughs, but quickly draws silent again. “Would’ve been nice to chat some more.”

“You probably needed the rest.”

“Needed the company more.”

“Me too.”

His grip on me changes, fingers curling into my jacket. Our hips are close, too. His lips part expectantly.

“You need to be more careful,” he says.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have come here yesterday. Or now. You could be spotted. You’re not Clark Kent, your shades are no match for hiding those cheekbones.”

See? These gorgeous fucking cheekbones . I’m cursed . “I’ll be more careful.”

“Well, it’s too late now.”

“I know.”

His throat tightens. “Okay. Under the pier.”

“H-Huh?” I intelligently reply.

He takes hold of my hand, and off we go, hurrying to the end of the alley past the back of the Parrot, rushing past the openings between the buildings, dodging any person in sight and sidestepping along brick walls.

Our hands graze one another’s as we flit from shadow to shadow together, cutting past curtains of sunlight that give us away.

This is the kind of role I always dreamed of. A sprinkle of danger. A dash of excitement. All against a backdrop of a budding will-they-won’t-they romance between men.

I could almost believe we’re just having fun.

If we weren’t sorta running for our lives.

Before I know it, we’re underneath the pier, the entire Hopewell Fair above our heads held up by thick beams and what I’ll reluctantly call “very confident stilts”.

The water rushes over the stones and sand down here.

Blades of long, stringy grass stick out from between the pebbles, now and then dressed with a piece of random litter—paper, candy wrappers, and bottles.

One of the thick stilts we pass by has a heart with “K&J” etched into it.

I think I spot a crab, but the second my eyes zero in, it’s gone.

“Sorry for all of this,” I tell him. “I feel like I’m adding so much stress to your already stressful life. You didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did you,” he says back.

“Maybe there was no one at the bungalow.”

“We don’t know that.” He gently kicks at a rock as we walk along, sending it skittering toward the water. “Could be someone there right now, creeping around the porch. I’ll send someone to check. That’s trespassing, y’know.” He’s already got his phone out, tapping away.

I walk alongside him, slowly, leisurely. “I hope I didn’t bring this on us. Maybe someone followed me from the Fair yesterday. Is it true? All those things they say about the bungalow?” I ask, changing subjects. “That it’s a host to evil spirits and love meets a tragic end within its walls?”

He snorts at that. “If you believe everything you hear.”

“You clearly don’t.”

He lifts his eyes from his phone. “I don’t?”

“Otherwise, after reading all those comments sections digging up and listing every last bad thing about me, you wouldn’t have come over to check on me so many times.”

He considers that for a moment, his eyes lost in mine.

My heart flutters every time he looks at me like that, in that specific way that sends my mind down a sticky path of touching him in more places than just his shoulders.

I think I’m also obsessed with how he doesn’t see the celebrity actor in front of him. He sees me in the same raw way people used to see me before I got big. I’m just a guy with a questionably bent moral compass, a pinch too much ego, and a good punching arm.

“Well, if those thing are true,” he wonders, “I’d like to know what that house would do with someone whose love already ended.”

“Who knows. Maybe offer you a new one.”

Finn laughs at that—a touch too hard.

I smirk, finding his reaction amusing. I wonder if he’s still thinking about the hard-on I gave him when I rubbed his shoulders. “You’re cute.”

That silences his laughter at once. “What?”

Don’t make it awkward . “You never told me why that house is special to you,” I pivot.

“I … I didn’t?” He lowers his phone in thought. He smiles wistfully. “My mom, actually. She passed away.”

“Oh … I’m so sorry.”

“Many years ago. When I was a kid. Eight years old, to be exact. We used to play there, my sisters and I. It holds some of my greatest childhood memories with my mom.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“It is.” He shrugs. “And now it’s host to a ton of silly rumors because a couple of unfortunate things happened there after my mom died.

Helping to replace some of the furniture, my dad’s friend Chuck told him he was leaving his wife to go on a road trip to ‘find himself’—Chuck and Eden are the parents of two of my pals, Kent and Adrian.

The effects of that stunt rippled across the whole island.

I was only twelve and still remember it.

Then later we had a big renter who was caught cheating on his husband, caused this huge fight, the police were called.

Next renter was a grieving widower who showed up to sprinkle his husband’s remains on the coast. The list goes on.

Place took on a life of its own. Teenagers sneaking there to have sex or break up—or both?

Most of the rumors weren’t true. No one died there.

Not even my mom, whose memory sadly got twisted up in all of the stories.

No, my mother’s ghost does not haunt it.

” He slows his walking. “Though sometimes … I kinda wish it did. I’d have a lot to say to her. And ask.”

“You have so much love for her. I can feel it.”

“I do.” He sighs. “So many broken hearts out of that innocent bungalow. Funny, how a tiny thing like a breakup can seem to spiral your whole life out of control. Then you feel like no one will ever love you again. Or even think you are worth their time. Breaking up with someone has this way of making you feel like you’re …

damaged goods. A package returned to sender.

Rejected. Even if you were the one who did the breaking up.

The ghost of that relationship haunts you.

” He shakes his head. “No one willingly knocks on the door of a haunted house, if you get what I mean.”

I don’t like the despondent look in his eyes. It dampens the beauty I see in them, the wounds inflicted by this Theo guy putting out the passion and fire behind them.

“You know I find you attractive, right?”

He stops at once. “What?”

“And I’m not just talking about your body or your cute face. I mean spiritually. Personality. Your whole … you .”

“My whole … me?”

“Just want it stated. On the record. No ambiguity or guesswork. Not saying it with an expectation. Or for you to feel any certain way. I just want you to know that fact, so if there’s ever a time …

that you’re at a certain door, maybe someone else’s door …

unsure if you should knock or let yourself in …

well …” I shrug. “This is your permission. To let yourself in.”