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Chapter thirty-four

Foxx

My hand reaches across the mattress before I’m fully awake, searching for the warmth that should still be there, but it’s just fabric and empty space.

As my eyes blink open, for a second, I have no idea where I am.

The ceiling isn’t mine. The muted gray light filtering through the curtains isn’t familiar.

There’s a faint scent in the air—lavender, salt, something clean that isn’t my detergent.

Then the memory of last night rolls in. The ocean, Finn falling apart in my arms. Then later, his body under mine, the way he looked at me while I touched him. The way he clung to me when he came. The way he held my hand after, and we fell asleep wrapped up in each other.

It’s the kind of memory that I never want to forget.

But as I shift to sit up, seeing my glasses resting on the bedside table, I remember that the room is still and quiet. No sound from the bathroom. No creak of the floorboards outside. It’s just me in the silence, and something uneasy passes through me.

Has he left?

I don’t get to ponder the thought, because the doorknob twists and the door swings open. Finn walks in, wearing one of my hoodies I brought with me, carrying two paper cups of coffee in a holder and a brown paper bag in the other. His hair’s still a little messy, cheeks pink from the wind.

My breath lets go all at once.

“Hi,” I say.

He looks down at my bare chest, all heat and want in his gaze. “Good morning.”

Running a hand through my hair, I lean back against the headboard, trying to shake that feeling of him not being here. It doesn’t matter now because he is, I remind myself.

“What’s that face?” he asks, eyebrows pinching.

I forgot how perceptive he can be. I shove a hand over the back of my neck, rubbing the remaining tension out. “Thought maybe you’d… I don’t know.”

“Vanished in the night?” He sets the coffee on the bedside table, not even a little offended by my assumption. “You really think I’d let you fuck me like that and ghost you?”

I let out a breath that might be a laugh, could also be embarrassment too. “No. I just…woke up and you were gone.”

“I went to find a place that sells real coffee.” He passes me a cup, then crawls onto the bed beside me with the paper bag between us. “And breakfast sandwiches. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, cracking the lid, releasing the earthy aroma.

He nudges the bag toward me with a cheeky grin. “I know you’d probably rather eat me for breakfast—truly, I don’t blame you—but I didn’t go all the way across the street so it could get cold, so eat. It’s still warm.”

I smother a bubble of laughter at his playfulness sneaking out again, even after the heaviness of last night. “All the way across the street, huh? Tough going for an athlete like you.”

He takes a bite of his sandwich. “I know, it was a hike, which is why I’m going to let you eat, then I want to revisit the little tidbit of information you let slip last night.”

I reach in and unwrap one of the sandwiches, searching my brain for what I said.

“Which part?” The slightly greasy paper crinkles in my hand, and I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I take the first bite.

Finn’s already halfway through his, legs stretched out in front of him, hoodie bunched up at the waist. He’s sitting close, our thighs touching.

“The part where you said you’d let me fuck you.” My food tries to make a hasty exit through my windpipe, making me cough and splutter. Setting my sandwich down, the heat building in my body is hotter than the coffee he brought me. “Did you mean it?” he asks, unabashedly honest.

Clearing my throat, I take a swig of the coffee, almost burning my tongue, but it helps me breathe normally again and tell him, “Yeah,” I manage, giving him my full attention. “I meant it.”

A familiar smirk blooms over his mouth, and he looks away. “Cool. Good to know.”

I huff a laugh at his response. “That’s it? Cool?”

“Come on, you’ve gotta know that I’m not about to make plans and put our sexcapades in the calendar that you share with your Saturday boyfriend. Where’s your spontaneity?”

“Math professor, remember?”

“Right, right. Probable outcomes, blah blah.”

He shifts a little closer, and I let my knee lean into his. There’s a quiet in the room I don’t want to break. The peace is something worth protecting.

His head rests on my shoulder casually, but something inside me lurches at the comfort he’s seeking from me.

It’s my heart, I think, trying to escape my chest and climb into his hands.

His hair brushes my jaw. It’s still a little damp, smells like citrus and soap, and that’s all I can focus on, all I want to breathe in.

“The water is going to be freezing,” he says, glancing toward the window, the one that faces the water, even though we can’t see it fully from here.

I watch the movement of his throat when he swallows.

“I kept thinking about it this morning,” he says. “About how I felt after.”

I stay quiet, letting him talk.

“For a while last night, when I was out there, I thought I was going to stop breathing altogether.” He looks over at me, not blinking. Those bright blue eyes are clearer than I’ve seen them. “But you were there, and when I could breathe again, it was you that my lungs filled with.”

I don’t speak right away.

I want to. I think I should. But there’s something caught in my throat that won’t move. I don’t want to fill the space with words that aren’t big enough to hold whatever he needs. Not when they mean so much to me.

I set the coffee down and reach for him instead.

He comes into my arms with ease. His body is warm, solid.

Then he exhales a slow breath against my shoulder, and I feel the moment he lets go.

His hand finds the back of my neck, fingers curling there, and I press my face into his hair and hold him tighter.

I’ve missed this contentment with someone; it’s one of the easiest things to come from being with him.

We stay like that for a while, his heart beating against my chest, mine against his.

He pulls back, so I can see him.

“I don’t want you to be scared of the water forever,” I say.

“I don’t either,” he replies, voice raspy. “That’s why I want to try again.”

I search his face for doubt but find none.

“Alright,” I say. “We’ll go slow. You set the pace.”