I try to walk away, but Finn clasps my elbow, holding me in place. “Sol, wait. It’s not like that. I didn’t tell him it was you. I told him it was someone else.”
I glance at the way he’s holding me, as if what happened between us didn’t happen. But I know better, and because of it, what I have to say causes my voice to tremble. “But he knows it’s me,” I point out. “I can tell by the way he reacted.”
“Don’t you mean by the way we reacted?” His fingers slide down my arm to link with my hand, the motion so intimate, it’s more like he’s kissing me than simply stroking my skin.
“It’s hard not to react considering what happened.” I swallow hard. “I’m not exactly made of stone.”
He pulls me toward him, grasping my other hand. “I know you’re not, beautiful.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say, averting my gaze.
“Why?” he murmurs. “It’s what you are.”
I lift my chin, wanting to wrench away and yell at him. After all, he deserves that and possibly a kick to the balls. Not only did he humiliate me in his home, but then he embarrassed me at work. But as my face meets his, I don’t see that idiot who told me to go home―the one who made me cry and who spilled the dirty details to my boss. I see Finn, his soft stare meeting mine and that gorgeous face that reveals both his hardness and his innocence.
This sucks. I’ve spent the last few days trying to convince myself he’s not who I need, and not worth my time. But now, the way he takes me in, I’m not so sure. Puppy dog eyes aside, I refuse to swoon. He owes me an apology.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his tone something I feel down to my bones.
I bite my lip. Okay . . . he may have apologized, but it’s not enough. He owes me an explanation. “Why did you tell Mason about what happened between us?”
Finn tightens his jaw. When it becomes clear he isn’t going to answer, I pull away and start walking toward my car. He trails me behind me, matching my slow pace, but keeping quiet.
I unlock my car, sighing when he leans against the rear door and crosses his arms. “I wasn’t bragging,” he says, staring ahead and onto the main road. “Back there, when I told Mason what happened between us, I didn’t tell him what I did to make me look good.”
“All right,” I say, glancing his way. “Because you didn’t.”
He winces like I hurt him, but he’s not the only one in pain. “I really liked you,” I confess, my words heavy with emotion I wish I could hold back. “You didn’t have to treat me this way.”
He angles his chin to meet me square in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to treat you anyway but good,” he says.
“I wish I could believe you,” I respond, reaching for the car door. “But I can’t.”
“Wait,” he says. He mutters a curse, turning away from me briefly. “Look, what happened between us was messed up.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Not what you did,” he adds quickly. “And not how you did it.”
I almost expect that grin when I glance up at him, but it’s noticeably absent. Instead shadows darken his face as the sunlight creeps behind the distant buildings and the February chill gathers around us. “There’re lots of reasons I’m seeing Mason,” he says. “Like I’ve told you, I have a lot of rage―anger that sets me off that I can’t control. But I also have a lot of numbness . . . numbness I don’t feel around you.”
The rage I did know about, not only because he told me, but primarily because of his chosen career. Boxers, MMA fighters, people who get paid to knock someone out, don’t just fight because it’s something they’re good at. There’s always more to it: a history of pain, some past trauma. I don’t know much about Finn’s childhood. But he’s mentioned his absentee father who cheated on his mother, so I know enough to assume it wasn’t ideal. Recognizing as much should scare me, yet it never has. That numbness, however, does scare me.
“When you say you feel numb, what do you mean?”
He shrugs, kicking at bits of remaining salt littering the lot. “It’s hard explain. I sort of check out. My mind’s still there, but my body isn’t. It’s like if someone were to come up to me and stab me in the gut, I’m not so sure I’d feel it, at least not as much as I should. The initial sharpness of that knife going in might be there, but the twist and burn would likely fade away.”
My mouth falls open as the power of his words dig in. Everything he says should have me stepping further away. This is a man who’s deeply hurt. So then why is it taking me everything not to throw my arms around him?
He frowns as he looks up to where a crowd of young men have started to gather at the corner, motioning in our direction.
“Check her out,” one of the bigger ones says.
“Get in the car,” Finn tells me, as the entire group looks our way.