Page 12

Chapter twelve

Foxx

That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Hands down. No notes.

I should be embarrassed by how quickly that thought forms, how definitive it is. But I’m not. Finn let me own him, gave me everything, but pushed back exactly when I needed him to. It’s like he knew the balance I crave.

Now we’re sprawled across the bed, tangled together, skin tacky with sweat and cum.

My chest still rises and falls like I just ran a marathon, and his fingers trace absentminded patterns on my stomach, featherlight and easy.

I like it. The air is thick with heat and satisfaction, a lingering haze of sex that settles into my bones, making them heavy, satisfied.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this content, when it wasn’t just my hand giving me mediocre relief.

Finn shifts, and I brace for him to pull away completely, to slip back into that casual, unaffected ease he wears like a second skin. When he stands, his gaze catches mine, and in that single glance, I think I see something else, but I’m not sure if I’m projecting.

I clear my throat, voice rough. “You good?”

He pauses, stretching, the lean, sculpted lines of his body shifting in the dim light. He looks wrecked in the best way, flushed skin, swollen lips, hair a disaster.

“Better than good,” he says after a beat. “You?”

I let out a breath. “Yeah.”

His gaze drops to himself, and his nose scrunches in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but somehow is. Holding up a hand, he grimaces at the streaks of drying cum across his stomach. “Uh…you got a washcloth or something? Unless you want me to leave a sticky outline on your sheets.”

I chuckle, pushing myself up onto an elbow. “Top drawer in the bathroom. Help yourself.”

He gives me a lazy salute before sauntering off, completely naked and utterly unbothered.

The tap runs, and I hear him mutter something to himself.

I roll onto my back, dragging a hand through my damp hair. My skin hums with the aftershocks of everything we just did, muscles pleasantly sore.

The water stops running in the bathroom, and I hear the soft shuffle of his footsteps before the door creaks open. He appears in the doorway, a damp washcloth in his hand, hair still a chaotic mess. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.

“Here,” he says. “It’s a clean one.”

I take it and clean myself up. “Thanks.”

“Mmm.” He steps toward the bed, tosses the other washcloth onto the top of the hamper, and then flops down beside me with an exaggerated sigh. His skin radiates warmth where his arm brushes mine. “That was fun.”

I huff a laugh, throwing my cloth in the same direction. I’ll get it when my legs start working. “Fun is one word for it.”

We turn to face each other. “Mind-blowing? Earth-shattering? Life-changing?” he suggests, eyes twinkling with amusement and I really hope he’s not just fluffing my ego here.

He grins, stretching out and clasping his hands behind his head.

“I’m just saying, if you need to rework your top ten list, I get it. ”

My lips twitch as a laugh rumbles from my chest. I briefly wonder what I should be feeling right now, and I can’t be sure.

The truth is, I’ve only slept with one other person besides my ex.

This was supposed to be a casual hookup.

A fleeting indulgence to scratch an itch I’d ignored for too long.

But the realization that I feel comfortable, and not in any rush for this to end, hits me hard.

I know that won’t be the same for him, given his age and probable desire not to sleep with only one person, and I just have to accept that, I guess.

Jeez, this was supposed to be simple. So why do I want to keep him?

Finn’s eyebrows pinch, considering. “I should probably go,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” I say, throat tight. “Probably.” I think asking him to stay would be weird.

He sits up, running a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing and his hair flopping back into his eyes. Gathering his clothes, he dresses with the same easy confidence he seems to do everything. At the door, our eyes meet again, that look glossing over his once more.

“I’m gonna put this out there, since we didn’t actually fully hook up and have sex… Wanna do it again?” His cheeks turn pink, and a little shudder of giddiness? relief?... I don’t know, but it rushes through my veins too. Is he really saying he wants a repeat?

“Fuck yes,” I say on an exhale. “I want to do that again.”

Finn’s eyes light up, boyish and charming. He laughs and shifts on his feet, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the sudden thrill of getting exactly what he wanted. It’s also cute as fuck, considering how confident he is.

“Okay, cool,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, trying and failing to play it cool. “That’s...cool.”

I tuck my lips between my teeth, holding in a chuckle.

Then his grin breaks through again, all teeth and mischief. “For the record, that was easily in my top three ever hookups. In fact,” he adds, winking as he backs toward the door, “I’d boldly put you at number one.”

And then he leaves, and I don’t even realize I’m still grinning until my cheeks start to ache.

***

Saturday morning arrives with the faint hum of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I blink awake, squinting at the screen. It’s a notification from the app where I met Finn, and my heart catapults behind my ribs.

But that hope quickly dies when I see it’s not him.

It’s a stranger with a generic greeting.

I swipe it away, uninterested, and I can’t help the disappointment that plagues me as I get out of bed and head for the shower.

I need to start my day with a fresh slate, clear mind.

Not stuck on some of the best sex I’ve ever had.

And it wasn’t even full sex; it was messing around.

I try so hard not to focus on the fact we said we’d do it again, and the fact I’m itching to message him asking when.

I’m not going to be that needy guy. I need to give him at least a little space, right?

Fuck, I’m so out of the loop with casual dating.

Thirty minutes later, I’m dressed and about to find my shopping bags, when there’s a knock at my door. I open it to find Eugene standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his windbreaker.

“You ready, neighbor?” he asks, tapping his tote bag over his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” I reply as I grab my keys and bags and step out to join him.

The walk to the farmers’ market is familiar, the roads winding behind our apartment building.

Eugene chats about the best tomatoes and the cutthroat politics of the local beekeeping community he’s a part of.

I nod along, but my mind drifts back to the app notification, to the way I’d hoped it was Finn.

I hardly notice the root vegetables I’d planned on buying as I walk by them, or the fresh herbs and spices that I wanted to get. I’m too distracted.

Eugene nudges my shoulder. “Are you listening?” he asks, squinting at me while juggling a carton of eggs.

“I always listen to you, Eugene.” Except for right now.

He quirks an eyebrow. “No, you’re distracted today. You’ve got that look.”

I scoff. “What look?”

“The ‘I had sex’ look,” he says bluntly.

I splutter a cough and duck my head, but I can’t fight the smile that tugs at my lips. And as we wander toward the stand with the apple cider donuts, with me still keeping my mouth shut, Eugene nudges me again. “So…” he says. “Was it worth it?”

“Can we not do this here?” I feign innocence, perusing the deliciously glazed treats.

“There’s a guy you’re clearly hoping will message you back,” he says, eyes twinkling. “You’ve checked your phone three times, and you never do that.”

I laugh softly, more to myself, because I didn’t even realize I’ve been checking it. “Yeah,” I admit. “It was worth it.”

Eugene chuckles. “Well, then,” he says, eyeing the tray of donuts, “grab one each of those, and let’s walk a little slower.”

“Eugene, I’m not about to talk about my sex life with you. It was a great night with a great guy. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s unfair.” He pouts, bushy grey eyebrows drawn. “I have to live vicariously through you.”

I snort at that. “Says the guy who has Margerie from upstairs over for dinner once a week. You do enough living, old man.”

Eugene pays for the donuts and throws me a look. “Margerie and I play cribbage, Foxx. Cribbage . There’s no scandal there, despite what your overactive imagination might think.”

“Cribbage is that what they’re calling it these days?” I say dryly. “And I suppose the candlelit dinners and homemade pies are just part of the game strategy?”

Eugene grins, unrepentant. “A gentleman never tells. Just tell me this, are you going to see him again?”

“Are you saying I’m not a gentleman, Eugene?”

He gives me a don’t-give-me-that look, and I hesitate.

It was a hookup, we both knew that. But I have no idea what this is now.

Friends with benefits? Were we even friends beforehand?

It’s not lost on me that it’s probably not my wisest idea to get involved with someone a lot younger than me, but I know one thing is true; I don’t want to call it off.

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know right now.” My reply is weak, and somehow hopeful.

Eugene hums. “A maybe is just a yes waiting for confidence.”

I shake my head, amused despite myself. “Or it’s just a maybe.”

“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, son.” He hands me one of the donuts.

I chuckle, taking the first bite, the sweetness coating my tongue. “You really have too much free time, you know that?”

“And you really need to get laid more often.”

I groan around a mouthful. “Oh my god, Eugene—”

“I’m just saying!”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the laugh that escapes. We walk on, the morning sun warming our backs, and I find myself glancing at my phone again, just in case.