Sol

Damn it.

I hurry to pick up the contents of my spilled purse from the floor, then shove my iPad it into my already packed bag. Dr. Harte’s door always sticks. I have to pull on it when I lock it. I’ve always managed to hang onto my belongings before. Not today.

I rush down the hall, anxious to leave. Three hours, that’s how long it took me to catch up on my reports. If I didn’t know Finn was meeting with Mason, I’d be Beyoncé-strutting my way out the door, happy I finished my work. Instead, I’m all but stumbling out of here with what remains of my pride.

After four days, I should feel less humiliated, shouldn’t I? That dark cloud with thunder and lightning that followed me all the way back to my place after leaving Finn’s house should be gone and nothing but a distant memory, correct?

No. Not at all. Those stupid bolts still strike. It’s not just the embarrassment that’s been slapping me around―and believe me, that’s bad enough. Finn hurt me, totally and completely crushed me. He was that one ray of light I looked forward to. The one who caused all my silly grins and giggles.

He was also the one who rocked my world. The way he touched me . . . oh, my God. I lost total control, thrashing with each orgasm he gave me.

I thought he liked me. It’s what he claimed. And I believed him.

Until he kicked me out of his house.

“Call me when you get home,” he told me.

No fucking way, I didn’t say.

As it was, I cried when I finally in my bed, wondering what I did wrong. It’s not like I get naked in front of just anyone. But I did with Finn. I wanted to feel close to him and he wanted to feel close to me, too.

Or so I thought.

Every time I reason he simply didn’t want me, I remember how hard I made him by standing in front of him naked. But then I’m reminded of how uncomfortable he seemed when I touched him.

So even though it’s been days since that horrible night, I’m still tempted to crawl into the nearest hole and die. But there’s no hole and there’s still life, so for now here I am bolting out into the main hall as fast as I can.

I step into the elevator, sighing with relief as I punch the button to the lobby. Yet my relief turns to panic when I hear steps coming quickly forward and Mason calling, “Hold the door, please!”

I can’t hit the button to shut the doors fast enough.

Mason must have been a ninja in his former life. He’s suddenly there, his hand shooting out and catching the doors before they can finish closing.

Oh, and look . . . Finn is right behind him.

“Hello,” Mason says when he sees that it’s me.

“Hi,” I spit out, averting my attention away from where Finn is standing frozen.

I edge back into the corner, my face burning hot enough to set off the nearest smoke detector when Finn slips inside. I almost expect him to stay in the front or to march to the opposite corner―as in, keep his distance the hell away from me. Instead, he positions himself beside me, his back falling against the wall as he crosses his arms. “Hey,” he says.

Mason turns around, smiling politely. “Finn, this is my intern, Sol―”

His smile abruptly fades, his attention bouncing between my heated face and Finn’s. There are people who can pull off poker faces and then there’s us. Finn’s normally fair skin is red from his neck to his forehead. Although my skin’s olive, my blush is as bright as a woman kicked out of a man’s pad after blowing him, because hey, that’s exactly what went down.

Mason turns back to the front of the elevator, his head falling forward as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Dear. God. What did Finn tell my boss about me?

“I take it you two know each other?” he says, dropping his hand away.

“Um,” I say at the same time Finn says, “Ah.”

Freaking geniuses, that’s what we are.

The five levels we have to travel are the longest of my life. I should tell Mason we’ve known each other a few years and that my cousin is married to his brother―something! But by now, it’s so obvious we’ve seen each other naked, it’s all I can do not to climb through the vent and make my escape.

The elevator dings open at the bottom and Mason steps out. “Goodbye,” he says, going toward the parking lot on the left, while I shoot to the right.

“Sol, wait,” Finn calls out.

Of course, I don’t. As soon as I’m through the double doors, I take off in a sprint.

Finn, the MMA trained badass he is, keeps up in a steady jog. He doesn’t say anything, simply running beside me like he has all the time in the world. When it’s clear he’s not going to allow me to leave, I grind to a stop, whirling to face him.

“Did you tell Mason about us? About what happened Saturday night?”

He shoves his hands into his black biker jacket and glances around. “No?” he offers, like he’s not sure what the right answer is.

My stomach skitters down to cower behind my uterus. “Did you tell him what I did to you? About . . .” I can’t even get the words out. But as I catch Finn’s expression and all the guilt marching across it, I know I don’t have to ask. Everything I wanted to know and didn’t want him to say is right there. I clench my fists, trying to beat back the sting his betrayal causes. “I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”

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. My voice trembles. “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 or 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 any way 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. 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 knew about, 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.

I do as he asks and lock the door, quickly starting the engine. It’s not a bad area since we’re outside of the city, but teens sometimes do stupid things and it’s best not to wait around for them to act on their stupidity.

Finn, being street, doesn’t rush to the other side, even after I hurry to unlock the passenger door. He pushes off the car and walks in slow careful strides toward one of the older teens when he leaves the group and treads in our direction. Another young man follows behind him, but the way the remaining few exchange glances, they aren’t far behind.

“You have a problem with me?” Finn asks, meeting the leader square in the face.

The command in his voice freezes them in place. Finn doesn’t wait for them to change their minds and continues advancing. The teens know they’re in trouble and begin to back away fast.

It’s only then Finn stops. He keeps his eye on the group, returning to my car and slipping inside after they disappear around the corner.

When you’re a city kid, you learn real fast who’s just talking to talk and who has the goods to back it up. Thank you baby Jesus in the manger playing with his toes, those kids knew enough to back away.

I shift into gear and drive around the building. “Where are you parked?” I ask, trying to keep my motions steady.

“Next building, rear lot. There wasn’t an open spot on this side when I arrived.” His body is relaxed, but I know he remains on edge and it’s not solely because of those dumb kids.

“You were saying you don’t feel numb around me,” I remind him, knowing I can’t let something so serious go and that we’re almost out of time. “Is that a good thing?”

“Very good,” he says, placing his hand on my thigh.

The movement is light, innocent, avoiding any intimate parts, yet so sexually charged, it hitches my breath. However, I’m Latina by heritage and Philly by nature. So despite his panty-dropping performance back there and the way his light strokes make my lady parts zing, I lift his hand and fling it away.

“You don’t get to touch me this way,” I tell him. “Not after the way you treated me.”

“All right,” he says.

“All right?” I ask, my brakes squeaking to a stop in front of his truck. “Is that all you have to say?”

And cue the dimple. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” The corner of his mouth tilts. “And maybe kiss you, too.”

I set my car in park and sigh. “Finn, what are you trying to do to me?”

“I’m trying to tell you I like you, Sol.”

“Then why did you push me away when I―” I can’t even bring myself to say what I did. “I don’t like games,” I tell him, wanting to sound stronger than I feel.

“So you don’t want to hear it’s me, not you?” he offers.

If he means to make me smile and ease the tension, he failed. “Only if it really is you,” I say, the sadness in my voice so evident, I know I can’t mask it.

“It is, baby,” he says, leaning in. He lifts his hand to caress my face, but then pulls away as if remembering he’s not supposed to touch me. He slumps back in his seat, or at least he tries to, but the muscles along his shoulders remain rigid. “I liked what you were doing. It felt damn good.”

I don’t typically talk about sex and foreplay with the men I’ve had sex and foreplay with. It’s something that simply happens and then it becomes this unspoken fact after all is said and done. But as young as we are, we are adults, so it’s time to step up and behave like one.

When I speak, I mean to keep my voice firm, but my insecurities from that night spill into it, reducing it to a whisper. “That’s not what it seemed like. You kept jumping, like I was hurting you. But when I tried to be less aggressive it didn’t seem to help.”

Finn threads his hand through his hair, as if angry or frustrated or maybe both. Again he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t he realize what it’s costing me to discuss such a personal moment openly and honestly?

“I need to go home,” I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“I liked what you were doing,” he repeats. “I just couldn’t enjoy it. Not with you.”

“What do you mean―” My words cut off and so does my breathing. Not with me, his voice repeats in my head. “You’re . . . gay?”

Of course he’s gay. Of course. All the effin’ good ones are always gay.

Finn turns his head slowly my way. “Is that what you think?” he asks, surprising me by grinning. “After how I played with you and made you come, you really think I’m gay?”

My face warms, the shimmer in his eyes mimicking the one when his fingers disappeared inside me. “You’re not?” I ask, or should I say, more like beg him not to be. Damn it all, as pissed as I am, I still want him.

“No, I’m not gay,” he murmurs, his blue irises smoking enough to fog my windows. “If I was, I wouldn’t want to go down on you as badly as I do.”

My heart stops beating. Stops. Just like that. Until the possibilities of what he says sends it speeding ahead. “Are you bi?” I squeak.

Oh, man, and there’s that heat surging between us again, tightening all my important parts. “Not even a little bit,” he answers, his voice heavy and low.

Okay. While I admit I now have hope and am more than a little horny, that doesn’t mean I’m any less confused. “Then why did it seem like you needed to get away from me?”

“Because I did,” he admits. He rubs his face hard. “Look, this isn’t easy for me to talk about, especially with you.”

“All right,” I begin, only for him to cut me off again.

“But I want to. I want to make it right.”

That’s what he seems to insist, but he takes his time to explain. “When you had me in your mouth, I felt the heat from your body, your tongue, and how hard you were working me.”

Well, we’re just putting it all out there, aren’t we? My body warms as I remember, causing me to involuntarily shudder with desire. But it’s the sadness trailing along his form that clutches me hard and doesn’t let go. “That’s not a good thing. Is it?” I ask.

As his features tighten further, I realize it’s not, but to hear it is something entirely different. “I usually zone out when it happens, but I couldn’t zone out with you.” He shrugs. “That’s why I told Mason. Like I said, I wasn’t bragging. I’m just trying to figure this shit out, you feel me?”

Actually, I do. The frustrated almost-girlfriend in me eases away, allowing the grad student forward. It doesn’t seem fair that you can’t be your own patient, especially when it matters. But while I couldn’t be there for me, I can be here for Finn. “Is this a control thing?” I ask. “Something you need to feel when you’re intimate with someone?”

“Yeah.”

“Every time?” I question.

At his nod, I try not to think what this stems from, but I do. I try not let that awful feeling digging its way into my chest scrape against my heart, but it does. I try to beat back the nausea and fear. Regardless, it all comes. Someone who needs to feel in control all the time is someone who has suffered severe abuse, sometimes physical, but the majority of times―especially given the circumstances―it’s sexual.

Cold sweat pours down my spine. Someone hurt Finn. Someone . . . raped him.

“Hey,” he says, his hands cupping my face. “You okay? You don’t look good.”

I don’t need a mirror to know he’s right. But it’s my forming tears that clue him in that I know what happened. His hands fall away from me, a look of horror finding its way onto his blanching features.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking.

His chest rises and falls quickly. He knows what I’m saying, it’s that obvious. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat.

He wrenches away from me, throwing the door open and placing a foot out. “Finn,” I say. “Please don’t go.”

He freezes in place, but he won’t look at me, his voice as rough as crumbling granite. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t you fucking pity me.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I’m only sorry about what happened.”

Now is not the time to ask him for specifics. It’s a time for forgiveness. “Can we start over? You and me, can we try again?”

For a long moment he doesn’t respond. When he does, his voice lowers in anger. “You still want me? Even now that you know what happened to me?” He huffs when I don’t answer. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know. I saw the way you looked at me.”

“I’m upset, and angry, and disgusted,” I admit, not missing how rigid he becomes at my words. “But only because I hate what happened to you. It breaks my heart that you hurt so much.”

I unsnap my seatbelt, edging as close as I can to him. When I smooth my hand along his back, I realize how much I’ve missed him.

He bows his head, his hands balling into fists so tight they shake. He’s losing control. I know he is. Without meaning to, I’ve wounded his pride. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

He raises his head slightly, the muscles along his spine feeling more like stone than flesh. “Don’t you feel sorry for me,” he rasps.

“I don’t,” I repeat, surprised by how husky my voice becomes as I tell him the truth. “I just really need you to kiss me right now.”

I’m not prepared for his speed or how quickly he lunges at me, gluing his body to mine. Those lips . . . those I’m ready for. Just as I’m ready for the way his arms pull me closer.

I didn’t fully believe he wanted me as much as he claimed. But as his mouth devours mine, all those insecurities that have kept me up at night disappear, leaving me and Finn and reminding me how much our bodies crave each other.

His lips and tongue move fast. It should be an awkward kiss based on our position and how aggressively he charges. Yet it’s not, the glide of his hands through my hair making it sweet, steamy, and romantic, stirring my moans and making him hard.

His erection jabs me in the belly as he yanks my shirt up. My head lolls to the side, sliding against the cool glass of my window as Finn nibbles my throat. I don’t want him to stop. But he does.

“We can’t stay here,” he says, wrenching away from me and falling back into his seat.

Like some reckless teen, I’m about to say no one can see us, point out that this office building emptied out hours ago and that my car and his are the only ones that remain. Instead my inner adult reminds me we’re in public―and wasn’t I just bitching about being embarrassed?

“All right,” I say.

Finn shakes his head as if I missed something he’s trying to tell me. “Those kids are too close. It’s not a bad area, but it’s dark.” He looks at me then. “Will you come back with me? To my place?”

I want to answer yes, but I can’t. “Not tonight. I have to stay with my mother. She’s not―I can’t leave her unattended,” I add quickly. I glance at the clock on my dash, groaning when I realize what time it is. “I have to get back,” I say, my voice growing quiet.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll follow you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I do,” he responds in a way that tells me there’s no point in arguing. “I need to make sure you’re safe.”

“All right.”

Finn doesn’t say anything more. He simply slips out of my car and shuts the door. I wait for him to crank the engine of his truck before pulling out of the lot. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. Nor do I know if I’m making the right choice. What I do know is that as angry and hurt as I was, I can’t deny how much Finn means to me.

I pull into my neighborhood twenty minutes later, parking directly in front of my house. Finn parks on the opposite side a few houses down, but by the time I gather my things and reach my stoop, he’s already there.

He’s not smiling, and neither am I. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m opening and closing the gym tomorrow. I’m also training during and in between classes for my upcoming fight.” He sighs. “I should be done by ten-thirty. Will you stop by my house for a late dinner?”

“You’re making me dinner?”

He frowns. “Hell, no. I’m picking up take-out from that Italian place you like.”

I laugh a little, holding onto my smile when I see his. But my smile dwindles as I realize that he’s not just inviting for dinner or to talk. Oh, no, not by the way he pulls me to him for another long kiss.

He lifts his hand, his thumb stroking my jaw as he loosens his hold. “I want to make things right between us. Will you let me?”

I want to say something poignant to assure him that I’m here for him in whatever way he needs me to be. But those words I so need fail to form in my mind, so instead I borrow them from my heart. “I’ll let you do anything,” I answer.

He leans back on his heels, realizing what I’m offering. “Good,” he tells me.

He bends to give me a quick kiss, watching me as I make my way inside. I hurry to the window to catch one last look at him, but as I spread the curtains and poke my head out, I realize he’s already gone.