Page 60 of The Hot Shot

I snort. “You’d love me forever anyway.”

“True. But I’ll forgive you when you turn into a PMS rage demon from now on.”

“So magnanimous. But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead, I’m waiting.”

I look down at the coffee table I’m standing in front of. Cheese platter, baguette rounds, a plate of cured meats, a bowl of wasabi peas and roasted almonds are arranged just so. And a couple of Abita beers are chilling in an ice bucket. My cheeks heat.

At home, I often make myself a little happy hour for one—or two, when James sticks around. Life is short, and I like to enjoy the small things as well as the big events. But this spread isn’t for me. It’s for Finn.

He’s been gone for over a week and is due to arrive home at any time. What will he think of this? Is it too much? Girlfriend territory? I don’t know. All I know is that I want him to be happy coming home. I want to do things to show my appreciation. But maybe he won’t like this. Maybe it will freak him out and make him think I’m angling for something else.

Panic has my chest growing hot and tight. Shit. “I gotta go,” I tell James. “I’ll text you later.”

“I knew it! He just get home?”

I ignore the teasing lilt in his voice. “No. Girl issues.”

It’s our long-established code for me admitting I have to use the bathroom. And nothing will get rid of James faster.

As soon as I hang up with him, I reach down to clear the table. But the lock on the front door turns. Before I can move, Finn walks in.

There’s no more panic about cheese trays and beer, because he sees me and smiles. And damn if it doesn’t light me up like one of those old-fashioned pinball machines. I’m grinning back so hard my cheeks hurt, while those little zings of giddy pleasure bounce around in my chest.

He’s wearing gray track pants and a black Henley, which should make him look like a slob. He doesn’t. Those clothes hug that hard, fit body of his, showcasing every ripple, every bulge. I envy those clothes.

Finn tosses his gear bag onto the floor, never taking his eyes off me. “Honey, I’m home.” He says it like a joke, but his voice is thick and rough.

Exhaustion? Or something more? I can’t think. I should say something witty or light, but the only thing that comes out is, “Hey.”

Finn’s smile only grows. He heads straight for me, as if I’m the happy end of a very long day. And I can only stand there, shifting my weight on my feet, my fingers curling at my sides with the repressed need to grab him.

Before I can say a word, he’s sweeping me up in a big bear hug, my nose pressed in the small space between his hard pecs. The scent of clean cotton, warm skin, and potent as hell male pheromones washes over me like a sigh.

Finn’s voice rumbles in his chest and warms the crown of my head. “I’ve missed you.”

The simple declaration slides through my defenses with such ease, I don’t have time to brace myself. I close my eyes and give him a gentle squeeze, unable to form words, because I am not a sentimental girl. I don’t know how to say sweet things.

Maybe Finn senses that. Or maybe he’s just tired of hugging me. Either way, he sets me back on my feet. “How’ve you been settling in? Is your wrist still hurting?” He peers at my face as if trying to make sure I’m okay.

When he’s away from me, I forget how blue his eyes are. Azure blue. I’m a fan of brown eyes. Yet here I am, staring up at his eyes like I’ve never seen the color blue before.

And, holy hell, I don’t recognize this moony person I’ve become.

I take a step back and get some much-needed space. “I’m fine. The swelling has gone down, and the pain is nearly gone.”

He nods, but then glances behind me, catching sight of the food. Surprise registers first. His big body gives a little jerk. Then he blinks, as if trying to clear his sight.

I grow uncomfortably warm, my arms twitching with the desire to swipe the table clear.

But then his gaze meets mine. “Youdidmiss me.”

The heat inside me grows. “What a thing to say. Of course I did.” That soft expression of his expects too much.

“I should probably warn you...” I gesture toward my damn cheese tray. “I like to do this in the evenings.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up. “You think I’m going to complain?”