Finch
Tag and his offspring have been here for two weeks. Two weeks of a baby crying in the night. Two weeks of overflowing trash cans and a fridge full of formula bottles. Two weeks of cuteness overload.
Okay, I admit it. The kid is cute. And Tag is pretty damn cute, too. He’s good and kind and he’s an attentive father, or at least he’s trying to be.
I hug my pillow to me tighter and pound my fist into it. The kid has been crying for a couple of minutes and Tag hasn’t picked him up.
I get up and walk into the kitchen. The sound gets louder.
I walk to his room and fling open the door. “Can you shut that thing up?”
I freeze when I see that the bedside light is on but Tag isn’t in the room. Where is he? Then I hear the shower running. Tag worked late, working for the Reeds. I heard him when he came in, and I heard him tell Wren good night. He must have gone straight to jump in the shower after.
I walk to the side of the crib and look down. Benji’s face is all red and he’s kicking his arms and feet. I lay my hand on his belly and he kicks harder, but he doesn’t stop crying. I scoop him up in my arms and cradle him tightly. Wren says babies like to be cuddled. This one doesn’t, because he just screams even louder.
I walk to the kitchen and get one of his bottles from the fridge. I warm it up really quickly, and he roots around as I stick it in his mouth, and finally latches on to it. Okay. This is kind of cool. I can feed him and then I can lay him back down.
The house is completely silent, aside from his sucking-humming noises and the sound of the fan running in the bathroom. I hear the door open, and Tag walks into the room. He skids to a stop and I have to remind myself to breathe.
He’s wearing a towel. And that’s all. The corner of the towel is knotted in his fist. His long legs are bare except for a tattoo on his lower leg, and his chest is completely exposed. Water drips from his wet hair across his chest, and I have a crazy impulse to lick it away.
Holy shit. This is bad. I look down at Benji and watch him as he greedily devours his bottle. “He was crying,” I explain.
“Did he wake you?” He runs a spare towel across his hair.
I shake my head. “I was awake.”
“I didn’t realize you were here,” he says.
“Apparently.” I finally look up at him and I let my eyes wander over his torso.
His face colors and he turns toward his room. “I should put some clothes on,” he says, his voice gruff.
“Not a bad idea,” I whisper.
He closes his bedroom door behind him, and comes back out a minute later. He’s wearing a t-shirt and some pajama pants. His feet are bare. “Do you want me to take him?” he asks. He reaches like he’s going to take Benji out of my arms. I block him by turning slightly away.
“He’s almost asleep.” I look down into his perfect little face. His mouth is slack around the bottle and I jiggle it between his lips to get him to suck. He grabs hold again and starts to drink.
“You’re pretty good at that,” he says quietly.
“Necessity is the mother of intention,” I quip.
He grins. “Isn’t it invention?”
“I know.” I smile back at him. “It’s something my dad used to do with me. He’d toss out these mis-worded quotes and sayings. He got us all doing it.”
“Your real dad?”
I nod my head. “Emilio.”
Tag looks at me quizzically.
I shrug. “He’s the only dad I’ve ever had.”
Tag nods.
“I’m going to go and visit my mom tomorrow,” I say quietly.
He rubs his hands together quickly. “Oh, a date! What time?”
“Whenever I get up.”
The bottle falls out of Benji’s mouth and I set it to the side. He’s sound asleep.
“Is he supposed to burp or something?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn’t.” He holds out his arms and I settle Benji in them. I run my hand across his hair, and I feel a sudden and overwhelming urge to bend and kiss his fat little cheek. So I do.
I lean over and hover over his baby-scented hair, breathing him in, with my eyes closed. Then I press my lips to his forehead and hold them there.
When I look up, I find Tag staring at me. Suddenly he grabs my shirt and jerks me toward him. His lips hover over mine. “Tell me not to kiss you,” he whispers, his eyes skittering across my face.
“Don’t kiss me,” I say.
His lips land on mine, hard. There’s nothing soft or sweet about his kiss. It’s hard and hot and I kiss him back. He sucks on my lower lip, and I nibble at his. I kiss him until some of the passion fades and I’m left with warmth and want.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Tag whispers, his face close to mine.
I nod. “Bad idea.” I swallow so loudly I can hear it.
He tips my chin up so I have to look at him. My eyes refuse to rise and I look everywhere else. “It has been hell having you around for two weeks and not being able to touch you,” he tells me.
Finally I look at him. “What’s stopping you from touching me?”
“I want to wait. Until it’s right.”
He leans and presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there just like I did with Benji. I feel the warm rush of air from his nose as he drinks me in, just like I did with his son. Only it’s not fondness or kindness I’m feeling from him. It’s heat.
“I should go to bed,” I say.
“Yeah, you should.”
“Good night,” I whisper.
“Night,” he replies.
Instead of going to my room, I go to Lark’s. I open her door and slip inside. She’s lying in her bed listening to music with her headphones on. I fall onto the bed next to her and finally let out a breath.
She tugs her headphones from her ears and stares at me. “Have you been drinking?”
“No.” But I feel like I have.
She lifts her hand to my forehead. “No fever,” she says.
“Nope.” I look at her, and a grin breaks across my face.
“Oh, my god,” she exclaims as she sits up. “Did you meet someone?”
I’ve met so many someones that I can’t keep up with them all. “Sort of.” I wince.
Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, sort of?”
“Tag sorta kinda just kissed me a little bit,” I blurt out. It rushes out of my mouth like wind through a tunnel.
“What!” she screeches. I cover her mouth with my hand.
“Shh!” I hiss. “He’ll hear you.”
She grins and starts to whisper. “So, how was it?”
“Perfect,” I say. My heart does a little dance in my chest.
“Oh, Finny…” She looks upset all of a sudden.
“What?”
“I was wondering how long it would take.”
My heart trips again. “What do you mean?”
“I saw him sneaking out of your room that night, Finny,” she says quietly.
“Oh.” Forgot about that.
“And I haven’t seen you bring anyone else home since then.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, wincing, “I better get on that.”
“You like him.”
“No…” I draw out the word.
“Yes, you do.”
I bury my face in my hands. I groan. “I don’t know.” I look at her finally. “Tell me what I should do.”
She lies back beside me and we both stare up at the ceiling. She takes my hand and holds it and doesn’t say anything more. The soft texture of the gloves she always wears slips across my skin.
Her breaths go soft and even and I realize she’s asleep. I get out of her bed and steel my shoulders. I’m going to tell Tag that I can’t do this. I can’t be that girl.
I go to his room and lift my knuckles to knock.
“Don’t do it,” a voice says through the crack in the door.
I freeze. “Don’t do what?”
“Don’t knock on my door.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“Okay.” I turn to go back to my own room.
The door opens and he sticks his head out. “I’ve been waiting for you to come and knock on my door so you can slap me for that kiss.”
“I wasn’t going to slap you.”
“I know.” He lays his forehead against the doorjamb of his room. “That’s what scares me.”
I nod, although I don’t understand at all. Not a bit. “Okay.”
I go to my room and he closes the door to his. I look back at his closed door for a moment.
What the fuck was that?