Finn blinks, his brows lifting high. An awkward silence falls over us, and it’s all I can do not to escape to the safe harbor of my room. But I can’t do that. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” I tell him. “I don’t know how to navigate this roommate situation and it’s confusing.”
He gives a tight nod, then blows out a breath. “This isn’t a prison, Chess. I can’t make you stay. And, frankly, I don’t want you to stay if you’re uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable—”
“But if you want to know how I feel about it,” he cuts in. “I want you here. My life is better with you in it. I look forward to coming home. To you. And I really don’t give a shit if that makes me a selfish bastard.” With that, he turns and heads for his room. “If still you want to move, I’ll help you find a place in the morning.”
Chapter Eleven
Finn
* * *
I wake with a stiff back and throbbing head. It’s par for the course after a game. Doesn’t make it more bearable, though. The pain is bad enough to have me limping to the shower. Five pain killers and thirty minutes of standing under blistering hot water helps me feel almost human. I’m still sore, and my skull feels like glass, but I’ll manage.
What isn’t going away is the shitty heaviness in my chest when I think of last night. I was over the line when I lit into Chess. Britt’s appearance had thrown me for a loop, and I took it out on Chess instead. The burning bolt of jealousy I’d felt when I saw Nate’s text didn’t help.
Nate? Seriously? She goes out for two hours and she has some guy named Nate texting her?
Of course she has. Chess is magnificent. A guy would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice her. And he’d have to be stupid not to make a play if he got her talking to him. No, if he got her to confide in him.
I rub my chest as I hobble to my dresser. Fuck, it irks knowing she told some charm boy bartender that she needs a new place to live instead of coming to me with her concerns. Cursing, I tug my clothes and slam the dresser drawers shut.
Fact is, I’m the stupid one. I want Chess. I’ve wanted her since the beginning. But I got caught up in old habits and let her think I was a bad bet, good for only one night. And she’s made it clear she has no interest in taking a chance on me. Hell, I orchestrated it so that she wouldn’t.
Why did I do that?
I don’t have an answer, but now I have to face her, and tell her what? Hey, Chess, I know I’ve never dated a woman, but the thought of you leaving fills me with fucking dread. Because I don’t want to be your friend anymore. I just want to be yours.
Yeah, that would go over well. She’ll probably cut and run.
It occurs to me that this is why I don’t do relationships; I know fuckall about how to navigate one.
Maybe start by apologizing for flipping out on her last night.
Since Chess usually sleeps until ten, I decide to get her some breakfast as a peace offering. Apparently, she’s a sucker for beignets. I’ll jog over to Cafe du Monde and pick her up a bag.
As I turn the corner into the main living space, I halt in my tracks. Chess looks up from her spot at the stove. “Hey!” she says with forced brightness. “I’m making French toast. With sausages. Do you like French toast?”
Hey, Chess, I don’t just want you. I need you. I need you so much it hurts. I’m pretty sure if you leave it will end me.
I clear my throat. “I love it.”
“Good.” She waves her spatula in the direction of the coffee machine. “Coffee just finished, if you want some.”
I’m staring at her even as I’m pulling down two mugs and pouring the coffee. It feels like I’m walking through deep water. Meanwhile, Chess bustles around, flipping the French toast and dipping new slices into the egg batter she has set up in a shallow bowl.
I add cream for Chess’s coffee and two sugars for mine, then hand her her coffee. “This is new,” I say, with a nod toward her breakfast.
Chess glances at me from beneath her long lashes. Those clear green eyes hold a hint of regret, and my heart starts thudding. Is she moving out? Is that what this is? My fingers wrap around my mug, pressing into the heated ceramic.
“You’ve done so much for me,” she says, sliding the spatula under a golden brown toast and putting it onto the finished stack. “I just wanted to do something for you.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looks up at me, so fucking beautiful, I almost lean in and take a taste of her. That husky, sex voice of hers sounds small and sorry. “I want to.”
Her lips are delicately drawn, a soft pink shade that reminds me of candy. I want to press my mouth to hers. Again and again. And again.
Jesus, I’m waxing poetic like some lovelorn sap while she’s looking at me as if I’m touched in the head. And I realize I’ve been silent for too long.
“Are you staying?” I croak out.
Chess drops her gaze to the stove, and her fingers tighten around the handle of the spatula. “I like it here.”
I lean against the counter so I don’t make a fool of myself and fall to my knees. I love you here. I clear my throat. “You keep making me breakfast, and you can stay here forever.”
She snickers. “I’d hold back on that declaration until you’ve tasted your breakfast. I’m not known for my cooking.”
Then I’ll make you breakfast forever.
I dip my head over her shoulder and peer into the egg mix. “Is that a shell?” I tease, pretending I’m immune to the clean scent of her hair or the warmth of her slim body.
“Shut up.” Chess elbows me in the gut, and it’s all I can do not to pull her against me.
My control is so shot, I can’t stop myself from grasping her upper arm and holding on. She stills, not moving, not saying a word. My grasp is gentle, my palm pressed against the smooth warmth of her skin. I’m close enough that, whenever she breaths in, her shoulder blades almost brush my chest. A phantom touch. And yet I feel that contact as if it were real. It shivers over my skin, and I want more.