Page 10

Chapter 10

Finn had his closet open, staring at the contents within, temptation warring inside him as he tried to decide what to wear to this dinner tonight, when his phone rang.

Before, when he’d glanced at the screen, he might’ve let it go to voicemail.

Then might’ve eventually replied to his dad when he sent a follow-up text, and then another.

Avoidance had not been a particularly good strategy, though. It had pissed Morgan off, and in some ways, Finn wondered if it made him push him harder. Plus, it wasn’t like it made Finn feel any better either. He’d still been drowning under all that pressure.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder, flicking through the clothes hanging in his closet.

The restaurant Jacob had texted him the address of was dressier, not that much in Portland required more than jeans.

He could wear jeans and a nice sweater.

Or he could make Jacob swallow his tongue.

He’d intended the former, until last night, when Jacob had taken him out for milkshakes and it felt like things had shifted between them.

Now he was conflicted.

If they crossed the line, it would be so messy. That hadn’t changed. But that wasn’t all Finn saw anymore. The tantalizing possibilities of what it could also be danced just out of reach.

“Great game Saturday,” Morgan said.

“Yeah,” Finn said.

There was a weird pause on the other end of the phone. Like his dad hadn’t expected him to agree.

Or maybe he just hadn’t expected him to answer the goddamn phone.

“Didn’t expect to get you,” Morgan said, and hesitation had crept into his dad’s normally purely confident tone.

“Yeah,” Finn said.

“Finn,” his dad said sternly. “This is serious.”

Finn was five seconds away from pretending ignorance and saying, oh yeah, really? I had no fucking idea . But he remembered what Jacob had said Saturday. Not just the pressure of Jacob’s fingers on his chin, but how Jacob had told him he liked to deflect.

That would be all that comment would do. Deflect, with the added benefit of pissing his father off.

“No shit, Dad,” Finn said.

There was another long pause.

“Are you okay? What are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Trying to decide what to wear to this dinner,” Finn said. He didn’t say who it was with, because his dad would totally lose his shit.

“A date?”

Finn laughed. “No. Not exactly. But . . .I wouldn’t mind it if it was .”

And he wouldn’t. He realized that now. Maybe Jacob was serious. Finn wasn’t sure he wasn’t serious, anymore.

“I didn’t realize you dated during the season.”

“I said it wasn’t a date,” Finn reminded him firmly. “Only that I’d like it to be. And let me remind you that you married Mom during the season.”

Obviously Finn had not been present then, but even now, he thought that might be one of the more uncharacteristic things Morgan Reynolds had ever done.

Of course, uncharacteristic didn’t mean successful and they’d gotten divorced when Finn was five.

He and his mom talked much less than he and his dad, for a few reasons. One , Morgan seemed virtually incapable of leaving him the fuck alone, and two , his mom had remarried a studio exec in Hollywood and had two young sons. He knew his mom loved him, but she was so busy.

Finn didn’t resent that exactly, but he couldn’t say he liked it either.

Morgan cleared his throat. “I like to think you’ve learned from my mistakes.”

“Mistakes? You?”

Normally that kind of comment might piss his dad off. But then that was usually when he finally got ahold of Finn, and also after Finn had probably made half a dozen other flippant remarks all designed to rile him up.

But this time, he only chuckled under his breath. “You know I make them, every once in awhile.”

“Every once in awhile,” Finn retorted mildly.

“I didn’t call you to talk about me,” Morgan reminded him.

No, of course he hadn’t.

“Right,” Finn said. Pulled out a suit, fingers sliding along the fabric. Would he dare? He wanted to dare.

If he dared, he had a feeling that tonight would end very differently than Saturday. Than last night. If he wanted it.

And he wanted it. Wanted Jacob.

“It really was a great game,” Morgan said. “Other than that little bit right before the end of the first period. But you recovered well.”

“I know,” Finn said matter-of-factly. Suddenly wondered if his dad had seen Jacob on the camera as he’d come down to the ice from the stands. Or if the broadcast had already panned away, going to commercial break. But if he had, that’s what Morgan would’ve led with, first thing.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly. I learned what I needed to from it.”

His dad was silent again, and Finn knew he’d surprised him again.

Considering how Morgan could be, Finn decided that was a positive.

“You hear from the Sentinels?”

Finn ground his teeth together. Of course, he wouldn’t just give up; he’d keep pushing.

“They emailed me. They’re happy with how I’m progressing,” Finn said. Trying to stay calm and only mostly succeeding.

“Nothing about camp next year?”

“No,” Finn said, through clenched teeth.

“I’m heading to Tampa next week, actually, I could talk to them an—”

“No,” Finn said.

“But—”

“Don’t say you only want to help. Don’t say you’re only doing it for me,” Finn said. And he was annoyed now. Annoyed because it always started this way, reasonable and conversational, and it always devolved into this pseudo-pressure bullshit.

Morgan said nothing.

“I’m handling this,” Finn said firmly. “They drafted me , not you, though I’m sure they fucking wish I was more of a chip off the old block than I actually am.”

“Finn,” Morgan said and he sounded so reasonable and so not annoyed it only made Finn’s temper flare hotter.

“I have this,” Finn repeated. “I have this.”

Maybe for the very first fucking time he wasn’t just saying the words, hoping that his dad would accept them long enough to get off his back, but he might actually believe them.

He did have this. He was growing. He was learning. He was changing. Jacob was giving him a much-needed new perspective on how to handle this work, this job.

This career.

He didn’t have to be Morgan. He could be Finn and that was absolutely fucking okay .

“You do,” Morgan said. For once it actually sounded like he agreed. Grudgingly, maybe, but that belief was all he’d ever wanted. “I told you, you played great last night. Honestly, great the last few weeks. What’s different? You’ve changed—”

“No,” Finn said. “We’re not doing this.”

Morgan actually had the nerve to sound hurt. “I’m not asking because of me . I’m asking because of you. Because I give a shit about you. You’re my son.”

“You’re fucking asking because you’re worried I’m going to make you look bad. Don’t worry; I’m not gonna embarrass the Reynolds name.”

“That’s not—I’m not—” Morgan broke off with a muttered fuck . “Don’t do that, Finn.”

“Then don’t be an overbearing ass.”

Morgan took a short huffing breath, like he was desperately trying to rein in his temper, and a voice inside Finn, a voice that sounded suspiciously just like Jacob’s, told him that maybe he should do the same.

For a long moment, there was nothing, only silence. Finn half-expected his dad to just tell him he had to go and hang up, but he didn’t. He changed the subject instead.

“Tell me about this dinner,” Morgan said. “This guy you’re going to dinner with. The dinner that’s not the date that you’d like to be.”

“Yes, I know what you’re asking about.” Finn rolled his eyes and stared at the suit he’d pulled out. The options of what he could wear with it.

Was he trying to give Jacob a heart attack? Melt his defenses one breath at a time?

Ramsey would tell him to just fucking go for it.

He wanted to be brave like Ramsey. Fearless.

“What’s he like? How’d you meet him?”

Finn could hear the effort in his dad’s voice and told himself that if Morgan was trying this hard, he should at least reciprocate.

“He’s a bit older. Nice. I’m giving him some advice now, but I’m . . .yeah, I’m hoping for more.”

“Not a hockey player, then,” Morgan stated, rather than asked.

But as angry as his dad could make him, Finn didn’t want to lie. Outright or otherwise. “He runs this foundation. Or he’s starting this foundation, I guess. Wants some advice from a queer perspective.”

There, that was about as factually accurate as Finn could get without telling Morgan the whole truth.

“A do-gooder, then. He must be nice.”

“He is,” Finn said.

He wanted to tell his father that Jacob was nice, but firm. That he wanted better for Finn than sometimes Finn wanted for himself. That he pushed him, but in all the right ways. Ways that made him feel brilliant and capable and strong, not weak or hopeless or forever lagging behind.

“So what’s the problem, then?”

“Who says there’s a problem?” Finn asked.

“You said you’d like it to be a date, but it’s not. Why isn’t it?”

“Dad, not everything’s a problem that you can fix.”

“Maybe not, but tell me anyway.”

Finn sighed. “He thinks he’s too old for me.”

There was a long drawn-out silence. Then, “How old is too old?”

“He’s uh . . .mid-thirties?”

“Well, I like him already,” Morgan said, and Finn had to bite his lip so he didn’t laugh. So that Morgan wouldn’t interrogate him about why that was so fucking hilarious.

“Why?”

“Because he’s not that old, but he’s conscious of it. Doesn’t want to take advantage of you. Thoughtful. Makes me like him. If he’s putting you above getting off.”

“ Dad .”

“Just saying.” Morgan didn’t sound regretful at all. “Sounds like a great guy, honestly. You should tell him how you feel.”

“I . . .” Well. He hadn’t because he’d been sure it was a bad idea. But now that he was no longer so convinced. . .now that he was thinking of what he really wanted, of just giving up the fight and going for it . . .

“With your words , Finn,” his dad said dryly.

“I’m pretty sure he’s aware.”

“Well, he cares about you, doesn’t he?”

Finn let out a huff of annoyance. “I don’t know why you’re asking me that.”

“I think it’d take a strong man to know how you feel and care about you, in return, and do nothing.”

“Yeah, he’s a fucking boy scout,” Finn muttered.

“You know how to drive just about anyone ’round the bend, Finn.”

“That your way of saying wear the suit?”

Morgan’s attention sharpened. “Which suit?”

“The one I had made in London last year.” The one that fit him like a fucking glove, that made his shoulders broad and his hips narrow and hugged his thighs and ass like it had been made for them—which it had.

“You woke up today and chose murder, huh?” Morgan sounded delighted by this. “You are a Reynolds.”

“That’s what my passport says, anyway,” Finn said. Normally a comment like that would fill him with bitterness, but not today.

Today, he was shockingly, ridiculously pleased that his father approved of his methods. Even if they were underhand. Frankly, more probably because they were underhand.

“You got this,” Morgan said encouragingly. “You want him? Don’t let him get away.”

Someday, if this actually all worked out . . .

If by some fucking miracle, he and Jacob figured their shit out, and if they got in deep enough that there was no way around finally telling Morgan, and if he didn’t immediately commit murder . . .

Well, that was a lot of ifs , but if they ever got to that place, Finn was going to remind Morgan of this conversation.

Of how he’d once said, You want him? Don’t let him get away.

“Noted,” Finn said, amused by even the possibility of throwing that comment back into his dad’s face.

“And don’t tell me how it goes, after,” Morgan said.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.” Morgan paused. “And I meant it. You’re playing great, Finn. Keep it up.”

After Finn hung up, he told himself firmly and at length that the keep it up was not a threat and not a reminder, but instead, it was Morgan attempting to be supportive.

Jacob would probably tell him to stop wondering which it was and just decide what Finn wanted it to mean and then move on.

He wanted to take the advice. More than anything. Then do it , that Jacob voice in his head murmured. And while you’re at it, come over tonight looking so good I forget my own name.

Finn grinned at the mirror.

“Sure thing,” he said.

Finn was late. Less than five minutes, yes, but it felt like a fucking eternity.

You should have picked him up. You should have driven to the college and picked him up.

Jacob paced in front of the restaurant, knowing he should go inside—Mark and Sophie were already at the table, waiting—but he didn’t want to. Not until Finn got here.

But after he’d texted the address, Finn had sent him a thumbs-up.

Why hadn’t he insisted?

The truth, despite insidiously worming its way through his consciousness, was still hard to acknowledge: if you picked him up, this would feel more like a date than it already does.

It wasn’t like last night hadn’t felt like a date. An impromptu date, maybe. He’d picked Finn up and driven them somewhere and then driven them back. Finn had even managed to make it out of the car with only a friendly smile and an agreement to see him for dinner, tomorrow night.

Finally giving up on the last bit of his self-control, Jacob pulled his phone out of his pocket. Apparently it wasn’t cool to actually call anyone these days, but he could text. Make sure that Finn was on his way. Make sure he’s okay.

But before he could do anything other than pull their text convo up, a car pulled up to the curb and the back door opened.

Jacob’s grip on his phone tightened as the figure emerged from the car.

Finn was undeniably attractive, every single day, no matter what he was wearing.

He looked gorgeous in sweats, a hood pulled over his windblown curls. Sweaty. Exhausted.

But this . . .

Jacob’s breath came in unsteady pants.

What is he trying to do to me?

He was terrified of the answer.

“Hey,” Finn said, tilting his chin up and meeting Jacob’s eyes straight on.

Jacob wasn’t proud but he fucking stared.

The gray suit with its faint hint of check fit Finn like a glove. It framed him, flawlessly tailored to his shoulders, to his arms. Jacob’s gaze skittered lower, his sharp intake of breath loud between them. The pants were slim, tracing the curves of his thighs, his legs, his calves. If he turned around, Jacob had no doubt the fabric would cup his ass like it had been painted on.

And underneath, the moss green knit polo was thin and clingy, drawing attention to his pecs, his chest, his abs. The color made his eyes glow, brought out the slight reddish-gold tinge of his curls.

Jacob knew he could clean up fairly well; he’d even tried tonight to take more care than he normally did.

But Finn .

Jacob didn’t know whether to curse or fall to his knees in abject praise.

“You alright there?” There was the slightest hint of a dimple in Finn’s cheek as he grinned at him, like he knew just how delicious he looked. And since he no doubt owned a mirror, he knew .

Which meant he’d done this—done this to Jacob—entirely on purpose.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” The words came out rougher and harsher than he’d intended.

But Finn’s smile didn’t waver. “Not really, no, but it seemed like a good idea, anyway.”

“To drive me insane? ” Jacob questioned and took his arm, sparks racing along his fingertips as they dug into the fabric.

“Is that what I’m doing?” That dimple deepened.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” Jacob ground out.

But Finn only continued to look absolutely fucking delighted. “Are we going in to dinner?”

“I’m tempted to dump you back in a car and send you home. Insist you take that suit off.”

“Oh, I bet you’d like taking it off a whole lot,” Finn purred under his breath.

That was the whole fucking problem, wasn’t it? As mouthwatering as Finn looked in the suit, he’d look even better out of it. Lying in Jacob’s bed without a single fucking stitch on, as Jacob looked his fill.

“You’re playing with fire,” Jacob told him.

And we’re gonna get burned.

“And you’re not?” Finn reached up and cupped his bare cheek. And okay, yes, he’d shaved his beard off. It had begun to look a little straggly plus it made him look even older, and as he’d stared in his mirror tonight, he’d thought, it can always grow back.

And maybe he’d been thinking, in the back of his mind, of the way Finn touched him sometimes, the way he was doing now, fingers curled around his jawline.

He’d wondered how it would feel, skin to skin, with nothing in the way.

He knew now.

“I . . .it was time,” Jacob stuttered. Didn’t want Finn to know that it had anything to do with him, even though Finn had just made it plenty clear that every mouthwatering inch of his look tonight was entirely for Jacob.

“I like it,” Finn said and patted his cheek. “Like the beard, too, but this is nice.”

“I . . .” Tell him it wasn’t for him. But Jacob couldn’t get the words out.

Instead he changed the subject to something that felt reasonably safer.

Dinner.

“Come on,” Jacob said, “Sophie and Mark are waiting for us inside.”

Finn nodded and followed him inside, weaving through the restaurant until they reached the private dining room he’d reserved.

Sophie pinned him with a look the moment he entered. “What’s going on, Jacob? Who are we waiting for?”

Finn stepped out from behind Jacob and Sophie looked more than a little surprised.

Mark said, “Well, you certainly had us convinced last time that you weren’t going this route.”

Finn glanced over at him. “You talked about me?”

“Uh, only the Reynolds as an abstract concept,” Jacob said, suddenly uncomfortable. This had seemed like such a good idea last night—better, anyway, than the really catastrophically bad idea of finally letting himself kiss Finn—but maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it had just seemed less bad in comparison.

“I’m Finn,” Finn said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet both of you.”

“Sophie,” she said, shooting him a pleased smile.

“Mark,” his agent said, shaking Finn’s hand next. “So when you categorically refused to work with either the father or the son, did you already know Finn here?”

Jacob winced as Finn shot him a pleased look as he took his seat.

“No. Not really,” Jacob admitted. “But . . .circumstances changed.”

“Clearly,” Sophie murmured.

“Can I get the matching set?” Mark wondered.

“Finn’s only here as a sounding board,” Jacob said firmly. “Finn and Finn only . You can’t breathe a word to anyone he was here. Especially anyone who might get back to Morgan.”

“Ooooh,” Sophie teased, “a secret rendezvous. Sexy. I like it.”

“Not sexy . . .not . . .” Jacob trailed off.

But Sophie and Mark weren’t stupid and they knew him well. Surely they could see how he could barely tear his eyes away from Finn in that delectable suit.

“Alright,” Sophie said kindly, clearly taking pity on him and patting his hand supportively. He knew later, probably tomorrow, she’d call and pin him down. He’d probably tell her how he felt about Finn long before he ever confessed it to Finn himself.

Of course, if he kept his head about him, he’d never confess to Finn how he felt.

Someday, he’d end up with that boyfriend who he’d be out for, and this whole thing with Finn would fade like a fever dream.

But Jacob already knew, a solid deep down certainty, that no matter how great or hot or kind the boyfriend was, Finn would linger forever in the back of his mind. The one that got away.

“Jacob?”

Jacob’s attention returned to the table, feeling short of breath and acutely aware of how shitty that would be. “What?”

Mark shot him an impatient look. “Did you bring wine or should we order something from the wine list?” He waved the folio in front of him.

“I . . .uh . . .I’ll pick something out,” Jacob said, plucking it from Mark’s fingers. Focusing on a purpose might keep his brain from short-circuiting over the realization he hadn’t wanted to have.

He glanced over at Finn from under the cover of the wine list. He was laughing at something Sophie said, and Jacob’s dick twitching was not new. But his heart was clenching too, and that was .

Morgan would absolutely kill him. But when had he ever given a shit about what Morgan did and didn’t like?

“So you’re some kind of wine expert, huh?” Finn asked, leaning over, making Jacob light-headed with how good he smelled.

Like candy-coated sin.

“Don’t let him tell you any differently,” Mark said.

“It’s a hobby,” Jacob said modestly.

“Surprised he hasn’t told you about his collection yet,” Sophie said.

“I did see some wine when I was at your house, on that big wall in your living room?” Finn questioned.

Jacob internally winced as Sophie pounced. “You were at Jacob’s house?”

Finn grinned, clearly aware of why she wanted to know. “Oh, yeah. Jacob’s working with me, one-on-one.” He winked, and Jacob nearly groaned.

He would ask Finn what he was trying to do, but it was obvious. He was trying to wear Jacob down. He was trying to seduce him.

The only question was if Jacob was going to let himself be seduced.

The waiter approached, and Jacob blindly picked a merlot that sounded good—not even bothering to consult the flavor profile in his wine app, even though he rarely didn’t. But if he took his attention away from Finn for even a second, what was he going to say? Do ?

“Now, what’s the news?” Jacob asked after the waiter promised to bring out the sommelier with their wine.

“I think we might have a solution for you,” Sophie said excitedly.

“You do?”

“You know Neal Fisher?” she asked.

“Wasn’t he a football player? Kicker, yeah?” Jacob wondered. Not sure if he was remembering the right guy.

“Yeah, he missed that field goal at the end of the Super Bowl a few years ago. Riptide released him after that, even though he’d been a great player for them,” Mark said.

“I remember. And then he ended up on some football show on ESPN.” Jacob also remembered that he was gay and gorgeous, though not really Jacob’s type.

Who was he fucking kidding? If he’d had a type before now, his type was currently sitting next to him.

“He’s doing a podcast now,” Sophie said.

“Good for him?” Jacob didn’t want to go on a podcast, even if Neal Fisher was the one doing the podcasting.

Finn nudged his foot under the table.

“It’s a great podcast. All about the intersection of queerness and athletics, and he touches a lot on other topics related to professional sports, like how tough retirement can be.”

“I’m glad he’s talking about it,” Jacob said grudgingly.

Sophie skewered him with a single look. “He wants to have you on, Jacob. And the conversation would mostly talk about your emotional health post-retirement, but I thought this would be a great, really a wonderful , opportunity to come out in a very understated, easy way. The conversation wouldn’t focus on that, but it would be easy enough to slide in.”

“It’d still make a lot of fucking headlines,” Jacob said. Wishing the wine would get here. He needed a fucking drink.

“Jacob,” Mark said bluntly, “there’s going to be a lot of fucking headlines no matter what you do. You tell the truth, any part of it, no matter how you downplay it, and it’s going to be news. Everyone’s going to be talking about it.”

“Don’t promise me a good time or anything,” Jacob muttered. It made his skin crawl, the thought of everyone gossiping about it, tearing his private life apart one soundbite, one headline, at a time. Especially when he’d spent so long, so fucking long, trying to stay out of the spotlight so nobody would put two and two together and get four.

He turned to Finn, but already knew he wasn’t going to like what he said, based on the wry smile he was wearing.

“Mark isn’t wrong,” Finn said. “Everyone’s going to talk about it. But it’ll be one time, and then it won’t be news anymore. And frankly, it’s less news than it used to be. Maybe if you’d come out ages ago, when you were playing . . .” Finn must have figured out that going down that road was going to do him no favors, so he stopped. “I’m just saying, this sounds like a good possibility. Maybe you shouldn’t dismiss it outright.”

“It’ll be an easy, comfortable, sympathetic environment,” Sophie chimed in, clearly sensing that this was the time to strike. To close the deal.

“And you can talk about the foundation while you’re on. Neal does a lot of work with kids and athletics. He’s got this huge field complex down in LA, hosts all these kids’ teams, a lot of them queer,” Mark said.

“I’ll think about it,” Jacob said and realized that he might mean it.

“Not for too long,” Sophie said. “Promise me you won’t just put me off forever. You know you can’t get the ball rolling on the foundation until we take this step. You know that.”

Jacob turned to Finn. “Is that true?”

Finn shrugged. “I’m not an expert, but yeah, I’d assume there would be a lot of questions if you suddenly rolled out a foundation designed to support queer athletes and you hadn’t said a word about your own sexuality.” His gaze softened. “There’d be a lot of talk. Mark’s right; there’s going to be talk no matter what. But if there’s no story . . .nothing to question, to wonder about, that’s better.”

Imagine if the world figured out that I was falling head over heels for Morgan Reynolds’ son? What kind of chaos would that cause?

Jacob could only fucking imagine how invasive everything would get then. Every frame of every fight between Jacob and Morgan would get dredged up. Every set of ugly words they’d exchanged. The last time they’d met publicly, at his last All Star Game, when he’d had to be held back from punching Morgan in the face.

Then because Morgan was Morgan, he wouldn’t be able to keep his trap shut, and he’d say something designed to piss Jacob off. Maybe even designed to piss Finn off, too. That wouldn’t surprise Jacob, particularly.

It would get so ugly, their private business played out for a salivating public.

“Alright,” Jacob said, clearing his throat. Hating how tight it had suddenly gotten. Why did it only feel like there were two choices: the one that got away and becoming the hottest gossip in the NHL ?

It wasn’t fair at all, but then Jacob knew life wasn’t particularly fair.

The wine arrived then, and Jacob, aware of Sophie’s knowing gaze falling on him, tried to pretend like everything was normal.

But nothing was normal.

Finn was next to him, looking and smelling so good Jacob wanted to cry with it.

“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?” Sophie wondered when Finn excused himself halfway through dinner to use the restroom.

“There’s nothing,” Jacob said.

“You like him. A lot. And I guarantee he isn’t going to wear that suit for just anyone, Jacob,” she said.

“It’s just a suit.”

A suit designed to bring me to my knees.

“No offense, but that’s not just a suit,” Mark said. “I asked him where he got it. That’s a custom Burberry suit. Do you have any idea what that costs? How hard it is to get them to make you one? And he wore it to dinner with you .”

Jacob’s throat felt dry and tight. “Maybe he likes it.”

“Maybe he wanted you to like it,” Sophie said, not surprisingly hitting the nail right on the head. “Do you have any idea what you’re playing with here?”

Fire. Red-hot fire.

“Morgan is going to lose his mind,” Mark said.

“It’s not his business. Finn is a grown man.” Not a kid. “An adult.” He’d laughingly produced his driver’s license to prove he was of drinking age when the waiter had asked.

“It’s cute that you think the age has anything to do with how pissed off Morgan’s going to be,” Sophie said. “You didn’t want us to mention anything about the foundation to his people. You forbade us to even bring it up. And then the next time we meet, you show up with his son , and it’s clear something’s going on between you. Jacob, you need to—”

But she never got to say what it was he needed to do, because Finn arrived back at the table again, and she covered up her concern with another throwaway comment in his direction.

Finn shot him a questioning look, but didn’t say anything.

Not until they’d wrapped up the meal and Sophie and Mark had gone their separate ways—after Sophie trading numbers with Finn, under the pretext she’d take a look over his social media—Finn turned to him, his curls gilded by the golden light hanging above the table.

“What was that Sophie was saying before I walked back in?” Finn asked as he stood, reaching for his suit jacket.

Jacob didn’t know if it was better or worse when he gracefully slid it on. The jacket covered up the pecs-chest-abs that clingy polo revealed, but then once it was on, it accentuated the gorgeous slope of his shoulders.

“Not sure what you’re talking about.” He grabbed his own jacket.

Jacob looked away. It had been easier when Sophie and Mark were here—as a buffer or maybe a distraction? Now that they were gone and it was just him and Finn, the air had thickened and he was reminded, painfully, of every time that had come before. Of how close they’d been to kissing on Saturday.

Last night had been easier, or had that just been a comfortable lie he’d told himself? Jacob didn’t know.

But he did know that once it happened, there was going to be no way to pretend it hadn’t.

“Oh come on,” Finn objected teasingly. He nudged Jacob’s side as they walked out the front door. “You know what I’m talking about. I came back from the bathroom and Sophie handled it well, like a pro, but she totally clammed up. She was warning you off, wasn’t she?”

Jacob shot him a look as they approached the valet stand.

He knew he should give Finn a ride home, but if he’d been afraid picking him up would feel date-like, taking him home while he was wearing that suit was even worse.

“Oh, Mr. Braun,” the young valet said with a worshipful look on his face as soon as he spotted him. “I’ll go grab your car right now.”

“Thanks,” Jacob said dryly.

“She was warning you off, wasn’t she?” Finn persisted.

“She was speaking plain common sense,” Jacob practically growled. Why couldn’t Finn just let this go?

Probably for the exact same goddamn reason you can’t either.

“Do you always do that?” Finn asked.

“What?”

“Listen to common sense.”

Jacob nearly laughed. “The exact fucking opposite, at least when it comes to you. I sat here three weeks ago and told both of them under no circumstances would either you or Morgan be part of the foundation rollout, and then that exact same goddamn night, what do I do? Agree to coach you. Agree to do just about anything you goddamn want.”

Finn smiled, the corner of his mouth tilting into an impossibly charming smirk. “That was the same night?”

There was no point in pretending. “Yes,” Jacob ground out.

The valet arrived then with Jacob’s car, pulling up to the curb, his face melting into a smile when he saw Jacob.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Finn murmured under his breath. That was all the warning Jacob got before Finn slid right up next to him and put a hand around his waist, fingers curling into the leather of his belt. Finn gazed up at him, and Jacob froze, very aware of how this looked.

“Hey baby, you gonna finally take me home?” Finn cooed.

Jacob opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again.

He wanted to throttle Finn and also pull him in even closer, the warmth of his body unbearably enticing.

And maybe it was time to finally choose. Finn had pushed him, yes, but he’d wanted to be pushed.

“Yes,” Jacob said. He handed the admittedly disappointed-looking valet a folded bill and deposited Finn into the passenger seat before walking around towards the driver’s door.

After the door shut behind him, he pinned Finn with a look. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Two birds, one stone,” Finn said. “First, I wanted to temper that poor guy’s expectations of you, and second, I wanted you to take me home.”

“I’d have done that anyway,” Jacob grumbled, starting the car.

“No, I mean, I want you to take me back to your house.”

“Not happening.” Not that Jacob couldn’t be unbearably tempted if he was only dropping Finn off at the college. Saturday night had happened, hadn’t it?

“I mean, it seems only right and fair,” Finn said. “I never got my hot tub moment.”

“For good reason.” Jacob’s hands tightened on the wheel. But he didn’t pull out yet. He should. He should just put the car into drive and head in the direction of the college.

But he didn’t.

Kind of like he hadn’t pulled away Saturday, when Finn’s intent became clear.

“I’m just saying, the night shouldn’t end any other way but you and me in the hot tub.”

“Stop asking,” Jacob grumbled, but he heard how tempted he sounded.

“What if I promise to stay on my side?” Finn offered. His grin turned wicked. “I won’t touch you, unless you want me to.”

Finn seemed to be laboring under the mistaken impression that Jacob wasn’t burning for him—touching or no touching.

“You have a lot of faith in my self-control,” Jacob pointed out.

“Not really,” Finn said cheerfully.

So that was the game then. Push Jacob until he gave in, gratefully , and Finn got what he wanted.

But it wouldn’t just be Finn, would it? Because Jacob wanted this too. So badly, it was practically a miracle he hadn’t pulled Finn up a dozen times during dinner—every time he was funny or charming or kind or heart-stoppingly gorgeous—and dragged him to the bathroom.

Self-control, my ass.

Jacob let out a breath. Then another. There was every indication that this would be a massive disaster, a garbage fire in the making. But before it blew up, it promised to be very, very good.

And, a voice inside him that sounded remarkably like his brother’s said, you haven’t had enough of those very bad, very good things in your life. You’ve been so fucking careful. Enjoy this while it lasts. Whatever it is.

He put the car into drive and pulled out, heading not towards the college but his house.