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 horror of actually seeing them makes me pause, my heart thudding 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 baggy sweats and an old Nike tee with the words “Just Do It” splashed 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 a while.”
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 and go to my room. 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?”
His expression shutters. “Just tired.”
The finality in his tone makes it clear he’s not going to answer any more questions. I’m almost relieved. The last thing I want to do is console him on his love life. Even so, I don’t like that he’s hurting.
He glances my way but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I can put on something else if you want.”
“No.” I kick off my shoes and set my phone on the coffee table before curling up more comfortably on the couch. “Let me see you kick some ass with your big guns of fury.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Are you throwing shade, Chester?”
“Me?” I blink innocently. “I would never.”
Finn hums as if dubious, but his expression is lighter as he starts up his game. Content to sit next to him and watch him play, I zone out, my body growing heavy and warm. Two hours I’ve been gone, and I’ve missed him like it’s been weeks. I’m so screwed.
He finishes the game and turns on regular TV, flipping through the channels.
“Oh, wait,” I cry out. “Stop here.”
“‘Friends’? Really?”
“Don’t give me that look. It’s funny!”
“It’s like… what? Twenty something years old.”
“You’re a twenty something,” I point out with some asperity. “Should I not watch you on TV?”
His brows raise at that. “Do you watch me on TV?”
He sounds both hopeful and skeptical.
“James is a huge fan. I’ve been watching you play since the beginning.”
For a long moment, he says nothing, his gaze darting over my face as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m being truthful. But then a slow, pleased light fills his eyes. “It’s unnerving how much I love knowing that.”
It’s all I can do not to squirm. “I should clarify that it was mostly out of the corner of my eye, and you were not much more than a padded up dude hiding under a big helmet.”
Finn shakes his head and tisks. “You’re not going to ruin this for me, Chess. You’ve seen me play. End of story.” He sprawls out, his long legs slanting over the coffee table, like some lord of the manner.
“Are you going to let me watch my show or keep crowing all night?”
“I’m good,” he says a touch too happily.
“I’ll make a convert out of you, just wait.”
“I’ve already seen it. Dex loves this show.” He grabs his drink. “You remember him from the shoot? The big guy with the beard and tats—”
“And piercings,” I cut in. “Yeah, I remember all right.”
A choked, gurgle gets caught in Finn’s throat as he jerks his head up. “Jesus, Chess.”
“What? The man has his dick pierced. It’s kind of impossible to ignore. Or didn’t you know?”
His brows meet over a dark scowl. “It’s not the kind of thing I want to notice.”
God, it’s hard not to grin; he sounds so put out and aggrieved. But the devil in me can’t resist poking the bear. “I’d think a piercing like that would be the talk of the locker room.”
As predicted, he reacts with an annoyed scoff, but then turns back toward the TV. When he speaks, his tone is almost sullen. “Dex is your type.”
Oh, we’re going to talk about type now? After I’ve come face to face with Ms. Golden Goddess Pouty Lips?
“I suppose he is,” I agree. Because Finn is right. Dex is one hundred percent my usual type. We’d even discussed our mutual love of art and painting when I’d taken his picture. And yet I hadn’t felt anything past a gentle fondness and the need to put the big guy at ease. “Are you trying to set me up with him?”
I’m pretty sure I’ll have to kill Finn if he starts trying to get me to go out with his friends.
The corners of Finn’s mouth tightens. “Sorry, but he’s taken.”