So am I. And it’s not from sleeping with my head pressed against the window that’s for damn sure.
We didn’t get much rest during our time in A.C.. I mean we did, but it was mostly small naps between rounds. I’ve had lots of good sex and a crazy amount of it. But it’s never been with the same woman―not for this long―and it sure as anything hasn’t come close to what Sol and I share.
I’m not complaining. I love Sol. I’m guessing what I feel for her plays a huge part in why I can’t keep my hands off her.
And I’m not alone.
I think it was about three in the afternoon yesterday when I went to use the bathroom. I was brushing my teeth when Sol walked in. She was groggy, her eyes still partially closed. But as soon she saw me, it’s like she was wide awake. She fell to her knees right in front of me, taking me deep. We were both bone tired, hungry, and pretty damn stiff. That didn’t stop us from going at it on the bathroom floor.
It’s like we both needed it―this time with just me and her. But as my truck draws closer to her neighborhood, it’s all I can do not to turn around and drive us back to my house.
Her hand finds mine, holding me gently. I lift it to me and kiss it, meeting her smile when I glance briefly her way. But that sadness that’s never far from the surface trickles its way into her voice as she leans her head against my shoulder. “Thank you for taking me with you,” she says quietly.
Man, it always kills me to hear her sound so sad, always. But today it hits me worse. Maybe because these past few days have reminded me how good we are when we’re together. I hate that I’m taking her someplace I’m not going to be. I want to tell her as much, but I don’t want to be a douche bag about it. “Thanks for coming. It meant a lot.”
She laughs a little. “That’s what he said.”
Ordinarily I’d laugh right along with her, since that’s what we do all the time: laugh, joke, have a good time. But I don’t laugh then because no matter how hot the sex is, I never want her to ever think I’m using her. Have I used girls in the past? Sure, just like they’ve used me.
My brothers and I are well known in Philly. We’ve all made a name for ourselves to some degree. Curran for being among the city’s most revered cops, Declan for being a bad ass D.A., and Killian and me for our performances in the octagon. Our looks have played a part, sure. But it’s our name and status that has gotten us the amount of tail we have.
When a couple of my brothers finally found love, I was happy for them. I was. I may have the rep for saying shit I shouldn’t and acting like a clown, but I’m not stupid. Tess and Sofia, they’re good for Curran and Killian, and bring out the good in them. Being as young as I am, though, I couldn’t help thinking how much they were giving up by settling down. I didn’t necessarily think they were pussies for it, but I couldn’t relate or understand. To me, the world was full of women for the taking.
I never expected one woman to become my world.
So no, I don’t laugh with her. Instead I squeeze her hand. “That’s not what I saying,” I tell her. I release a breath as I pull onto her street. Once more, my time with her has come to an end. She’ll have dinner with her family while me and Wren will either order in, or eat at one of our brothers’ places. Either way, Sol won’t be with me and I totally hate it.
“I know,” she answers quietly.
Most of the spots along the one way street are taken, so I have to park almost on the corner. I’m still on her side of the street, but we’re about eight houses down. I cut the engine, abruptly shutting off the heat and the radio.
It’s only fifteen degrees outside despite the sunshine. Being this close to March, it shouldn’t be so damn frigid, but there are years where it’s still snowing in April. I should keep the engine running, leave the heat on and keep her with me a little longer. But I’ve already pressured her enough by telling her I want us to live together. So if she needs a little space from me to think things through―needs to get back and check on her family, I want her to know I understand―that I’ll give her the time she needs, despite that it’s taking all I have not to pull back onto the street and drive away with her.
“What are you thinking?” she asks.
I don’t look at her because I can’t. I don’t want to meet those large, light eyes right now, the ones who looked so sleepy yet so happy when I took that selfie of us this morning. Man, I can picture that image so well: her tucked against my chest as I held my phone up and away from us. It’s my new wallpaper. You can’t see much skin, but it’s obvious we were naked and in bed. Maybe it’s inappropriate, but it’s my damn phone and this is how I like us: her close to me―not like she is now, moments from walking away.
“Finn?” she asks.
“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking,” I tell her.