Page 65 of The Hot Shot

I bet he is.

Finn is better.

Finn is in his apartment with a supermodel.

I hand Nate my phone, and he punches in his number. Not even a glimmer of anticipation in my belly.

“So,” he says, happier now. “You want another drink, pretty little lady?”

Pretty little lady?I’m regretting my decision more and more. “Another drink and I’ll be buzzed. Better give me a menu.”

“Let’s get you fed, then.” Nate grins. I know he thinks I’m lingering because of him, but I can’t return to Finn’s anytime soon. Short of walking around, I have nowhere else to go, which utterly sucks.

I eat my dinner and chat with Nate and a few patrons who sit down at the bar until my butt is numb and I’m fairly certain I’m leading Nate to a very wrong conclusion.

When he’s occupied, I leave some money on the bar and slip out into the fading light. And then I do walk around, until it’s dark and I can’t stall anymore.

At Finn’s place, I turn the lock to his front door as quietly as I can.

Please don’t let me hear them. Please let them be in his bedroom.God, the horrible prospect of seeing them makes me pause, my heart thundering in my chest like cannon fire.

Like a thief, I creep in. The living room is dark, and I heave a sigh of relief as I ease my way toward my bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Finn asks from behind me.

With a stifled yelp, I pivot and press a hand to my heart. “Jesus, sneaky much?”

Finn raises a brow and gives me a pointed look.

“I was trying not to disturb you.” It’s only now that I notice the TV is on, pressed to Pause on one of his games. Finn is in sweats and an old Nike T with the wordsJust Do Itsplashed across his broad chest.

“I’m disturbed that you’re tiptoeing around like some cartoon villain,” he says with an eye roll and then heads for the couch, a sports drink clutched in one hand.

Setting my purse down on the side table, I follow him. “I wasn’t tiptoeing. I was being quiet.”

Finn snorts and plops on the couch before peering up at me as if I’m full of it.

Which I am.

“You’ve been gone awhile.” It sounds like an accusation.

“You had company.” Shit, that sounds like one, too.

Finn turns back to the screen. “Not anymore.”

There’s a tone in his voice that gives me pause. Sorrow or bitterness, it’s hard to tell.

I make my way over to the couch and hover by the arm, not sure if I should sit down or leave him alone. Finn doesn’t bother to look up, but takes a long drink from the bottle in his hand. The faint lines that fan out from the corners of his eyes are deeper now, tight and unhappy.

“You eat?” he asks, setting his sports drink on the table. “I had to put the cheese away. It was getting sweaty. But I can pull it back out.”

I clear my throat. “No, I’m good. I ate at a bar.”

Quietly, he nods and then reaches for his game controller. I turn to go when his voice stops me.

“Stay.” He glances up, and I nearly rock back on my feet. Because he looks haunted. Angry. Lost.

I find myself sitting beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, but not close enough to risk leaning on him. “You all right?”