With one hell of sizzling grin, he shifts back to his seat, cranking the engine as he yanks his seatbelt back on. He waits for me to click my seatbelt in place before pulling away from the curve.
“Sol,” Sofia says, the poor thing still hanging in. “If you need a break from your stress, you’re welcome to stay with me and Killian.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, trying not to laugh because she’s all but begging me not to have sex with Finn. “Sofia, I’ll be okay. I promise I will,” I assure her.
“Hey, what happened to me being your favorite, Sofe?” Finn calls out as he drives.
At first I’m not sure if Sofia hears him, until she says, “Be careful.”
She disconnects then. Although I was initially giggling like a silly kid, her final words kill my giddiness, reducing it to a distant memory. Maybe it was her tone. There was a definite sadness to it, like her heart was breaking. But why would she sound like that? Sofia likes Finn as much as she claims.
“Hey,” Finn says, his hand massaging my knee. “I meant what I said, we don’t have to do anything. We can stop whenever you want to.”
I nod because I don’t know exactly how to respond. When he says he’ll stop if I tell him to, I believe him. If I didn’t, I certainly wouldn’t be alone with him. But again, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex.
It’s not like I couldn’t have sex. It was there for the taking if I wanted it bad enough. I live in Philly. An invitation for sex only requires a trip to the nearest bar and a “hello” if I’m being honest. How many times did I hit the clubs with my girlfriends and have guys point-blank ask me, “Do you want to fuck?”
Finn’s not asking me―well, not in that way. If he was, I’d be running for the hills. But he’s definitely ready to do a lot more than touch me. Yet as much as I was, too―Sofia, my darling and loving Sofia―is making me doubt whether I should. Funny, considering she didn’t say much. But what she said was enough, and very much sounded like a warning.
Finn slips his hand over mine, drawing my attention to our entwining fingers. My hands are slender, reminiscent of Barbie doll hands compared to Finn’s. His are huge, his knuckles rough and calloused from hitting too many heavy bags and even more faces.
“Can I ask you something?” I say to him.
“Yeah, sure,” he answers
“What’s the worst you ever hurt anyone?”
It’s not an easy question to ask―and probably too personal, but I can’t help wanting to know. For as much pain as he inflicts in the octagon, and for as brutal as he’s rumored to be, how can he hold me with such tenderness? It almost seems impossible for someone so vicious to be this gentle.
He takes a breath, using the intersection we reach almost like an excuse to keep his focus on traffic and away from me. “In the octagon?” he asks.
I tilt my head when I realize what he’s saying. Finn has a rep for taking on guys outside the cage. From what I hear, he’s just as fierce on streets. Yet I can’t help thinking those fights are the ones he most likely regrets. I don’t want to make him feel bad, that’s not my intention. But I do want to know more about this man I adore.
“Yes, in the octagon,” I clarify.
He loosens his grip, probably concerned about scaring me. I give his hand a squeeze, assuring him I don’t want him to let me go. He glances at me briefly, meeting my soft smile, yet this time, he doesn’t return it.
“You’re not going to like what I have to say,” he answers quietly, rolling to a stop at a light.
My other hand covers his. “Tell me anyway.”
It takes him a long moment to answer, but I stay silent and give him the time he needs. “At my first professional match, I broke my opponent’s jaw.”
Um. Whoa.
He waits for me to respond. When I don’t he adds, “Like me, this guy had fought in a few amateur bouts. His manager or trainer―whoever he was―was moving him up slowly. Like Kill did with me. See, Kill was pushed pretty damn fast. When he lost his mentor, he thought he found a good manager in that asshole Gil. But Gil shoved him into matches Killian wasn’t ready for. Some he won, but just barely. Others could have flat out fucked him up for life. So Kill wouldn’t allow me to sign up for a fight on two weeks’ notice―like he was duped into doing. Before each match, I get a full training camp, and because of it I’m better prepared and able to dominate more fights.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to understand where he’s headed.
“The thing is, this guy wasn’t ready like I was. We had about the same amount of experience and were supposedly evenly matched on paper. But when I stepped into the ring with him, I knew he wasn’t ready for me.”
I edge closer to him, wanting to erase that distance I inadvertently created. “How did you know? Did he look scared?”
“No. He thought he should be there, too. But he wasn’t standing like someone prepared to take a blow. His arms were up, ready to strike, but not to protect. It’s like all he knew was offense. No defense there whatsoever, even when I charged.”