Finn
I flop down on the couch, rubbing my eyes and wishing I could have a beer. Or a shot. Or a shot poured into an ice cold beer. But I won’t. It’s not just that Mason has advised me against drinking, but because I’m here watching over kids. I’ll fuck myself up any day of the week, but not when there’s someone counting on me to keep them safe. After what happened to me, I can’t risk anything happening to anyone else.
Damn it. I rub my eyes harder when flickers of that day start poking their way in my head―those words said, that door slamming shut behind me. Why the hell can’t I stop reliving this shit? Is it because of what that idiot Yefim said? Is that all it takes to bring back everything I’ve worked hard to forget?
I start to rise when Sol drops down beside me, her back smacking hard against the long sectional. She’s not too close, but close enough to reduce my surging anxiety. “You finally get Lynnie down?” I ask her.
Her eyes are closed and her lips are opened slightly like she’s already asleep, but she manages to nod. “It took five full choruses of Born this Way plus popping in a Sesame Street video before she finally dozed off.”
“Yeah, I heard you on the monitor,” I say, laughing. “Just so you know, Gaga has nothing to worry about.”
She throws a pillow at me, but I catch it and place it behind my head. “How’d you do with Mattie?” she asks.
“Fine. Ferdinand the Bull put him right to sleep. I guess he’s beat from the mess he made and from coloring his sister.” I cover my mouth as I yawn. “I have to tell you, I work out at least four hours a day―more if I’m training for a fight. But those kids knocked me on my ass. Did you clean up the bathroom?”
“And the bedroom, and the playroom, and Lynnie’s room.” She pries an eye open. “Did you clean up all the cereal?”
“Yup. Cleaned up everything except Mattie’s room.”
“Why?” she asks, adjusting her position.
“He’s almost three. He needs to own some of his shit, you know?”
She laughs a little, but then her smile falters. “That was scary,” she says, her eyes opening to look my way. “I almost had a heart attack thinking he was going to react to the peanut butter.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” I admit. Bleeding fingers and all, I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to the little guy. “When I think about it, though, it makes sense he’s not allergic―knowing how organized Teo is and how prepared he always seems to be.”
She nods. “You’re right. But when it happened, I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight. I kept thinking he wasn’t going to make it.”
Again her voice trails. But this time, I don’t think it has anything to do with Mattie. “You didn’t look good,” I say, remembering how her skin blanched.
“I wanted him to be okay―and if he wasn’t, I wanted to be able to save him.”
“You didn’t want him to hurt,” I say, letting her know I’m listening and hearing beyond what she’s telling me.
She swallows with great effort. “No, I didn’t,” she responds quietly. “Nothing can happen to him.”
She says “him,” but I can’t help thinking she’s also talking about her mom. She doesn’t say anything more, appearing lost in her thoughts. At first, I don’t like it. I want her to keep talking, to keep me from my own damn problems. Yet despite the silence, the memories―those stupid flashes of things I’d stab my own brain to forget―they don’t come. Nope. Right now, my mind is all on Sol.
Not that you can blame me.
Most girls I hang with, screw around with, that sort of thing, don’t stop yapping, ever. Even when we’re in bed, they have something to say, even if that something is them screaming for more. This silence between me and Sol, it’s nice. For all I like to talk, and for all I want to get to know her, it just feels good.
Sometimes, I swear to Christ, the quiet and all the memories that come during that silence are going to drive me insane. That feeling is such a scary place and makes me feel alone, even when someone is sitting right beside me.
It’s not that way with Sol. I think she’s lonely, too. And like me, maybe just as lost.
“Can I ask you something, without it being weird?” she says, stretching her legs across the couch, but bending them so they don’t quite reach me.
I straighten her legs so they do touch me, her feet resting on my right leg. “Well, when you preface it like that―”
“Preface?” she asks. Despite the way her arm is draped over her eyes, I still catch sight of her grin.
“Yeah, ‘preface.’ I know what it means. Believe it or not, I’m smarter than I look.” I mean it as a joke. Even though I’ve made mistakes and say some dumbass things, I’m not stupid.
Sol doesn’t take it as a joke, dropping her arm away. “I know you’re smart, Finn. I don’t question that for a moment.” Her eyes trail over my arms, taking in my tribal tats. “You’re just so ‘street.’ And ‘preface’ isn’t exactly a street word.”
“No, it’s not.” She has a point. I probably wouldn’t use that word at the gym. I have a rep to maintain.
My fingers slide over her bare feet as I think back to our kiss. You can say I want more. Hell, you can say I want a lot more. But for now, I’ll behave. Maybe.
Her toes wiggle as I skim her instep. She had socks on earlier, but that’s before Lynnie soaked the bathroom floor. “So, you sayin’ I should stick to using words with four letters?” I murmur, paying close attention to the sweeps of her soles.
“Of course not,” she says, averting her chin.
She squirms when I pass my thumbs along the ball of her right foot. I grin, knowing I’m killing her in a way that’s probably turning her on. “All right, then,” I tell her. “Like I was saying, when you preface a question by asking if it will be weird, than my guess is that it will be. But what the hell? Ask anyway.”
“Are you okay?” she asks.
Am I unstable, she probably means. My muscles tense, but I force myself to keep the massage on her feet gentle. She doesn’t know anything about me, what I’ve been through. So I clue her in before I realize how much I’m really telling her. I shrug. “I’ve been dealing with a lot lately―pissed over shit I should just let go.”
“Like what?” she asks.
My fingers release her feet to trail lightly over her ankles. “I haven’t always made good decisions,” I answer, meeting her face. I’m not proud of what I have to say, but that doesn’t mean I’m a pussy about it. “I have a lot of anger. Fighting has always been a good way for me to release some of it out, but lately it hasn’t helped as much as it has in the past.”
She nods like she seems to understand, even though I know she can’t. Women like Sol, they don’t rage. Sure, they have their freak-outs. But when they drink too much, they usually end up puking or telling the world that they love it. I don’t love the world when I drink. Sometimes I hate it and everyone in it. The drinking helps me dull that anger. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Thank you,” Sol says, putting my head back in the game.
“For what?”
“For trusting me and for telling me what’s going on,” she explains quietly.
“Is this the part where you slip me a twenty?”
“What?” she asks.
I remind her what she did at the diner. “You paid for my breakfast to thank me for making you smile. Now you’re thanking me for giving you my trust.” I rub my jaw. “Hmmm. Trust is a big deal. Don’t you think it deserves more than a twenty?”
Her shoulders and a couple of other things bounce as she laughs. “Are you trying to tell me you charge for your services?”
“Nah. That would make me a whore. But I can think of other ways you can thank me.”
“You’re funny,” she says, relaxing into the couch.
“No. You think I’m sexy,” I remind her, my palm sliding down her calf. “And I think you used the word hot, too, but either works.”
“I never said hot,” she claims.
“Maybe,” I say, tossing her a wink that causes her to wiggle. “That doesn’t mean you’re not thinking it.”
I expect her to either hold onto her smile or shove me playfully away with her feet. She doesn’t do either, she simply looks at me. So I try a little harder.
“You ready to make out?”
Oh, there’s that laugh. “Finn, I told you. This isn’t a good time for me.”
“All right.” I make a show of glancing at an antique wall clock to our right. “How about in another five minutes?”
She covers her mouth with her hand, as if embarrassed about laughing or about what I said. But then she drops her hand away and glances at the baby monitors that show Mattie and Lynnie fast asleep. “Okay,” she says.
For a second, she catches me off guard. Eventually, I was sure she’d let me kiss her again, but I’ll confess, I thought I’d have to try a little harder. Sol is beautiful and smart, and man, seriously smokin’. So, I’ll take that kiss and maybe a little more.
My hand glides along her leg. “Okay in five minutes. Or okay right now?”
She sits up, her thick hair falling around her face. There’s not a lot of light in the family room. Only the side table lamps are on. But I catch enough shimmer in her eyes to tell me she wants me, and maybe likes me more than she’s letting on.
“Okay now,” she answers.
Well, all right then.
My left arm hooks beneath her knees, my right circles around her waist. She’s tiny compared to me and a hell of a lot lighter. In one smooth motion, she’s on my lap, her eyes widening with how quickly I move and how easily I take her.
I wasn’t trying to show off. My only intent was to hold her closer. But I don’t think she expected my speed or my strength. Based on how she stills against me, she’s afraid. Shit. That’s the last thing I want. She has nothing to fear from me. Now, or ever. So I do my best to prove it.
I lift my free hand, skimming her cheek, my gaze fastening to hers. “Are you scared?” I ask.
The quick rise and fall of her chest assures me she is, and maybe something more. “Yes,” she whispers.
I don’t expect someone like Sol to admit she’s feeling vulnerable. So her confession alone is enough to ease my hold despite my need for her. “Don’t be,” I tell her, the rasp to my voice gaining an edge.
I lean in slowly, brushing my lips against hers and teasing her with my tongue until she returns my affections. Her arms wrap around my neck, her pouty mouth inviting me deeper.
She feels so good pressed against my body. I slip my tongue in when she pulls me closer. She likes what I’m doing. Sweet. I like it, too.
Her moan is barely audible, but I hear and feel it, just like I feel her full, soft breasts slide against my chest.
The heat between us rises, accelerating my pulse and luring the flicks of my tongue in for a deeper taste. My hands drag along her back. This girl can kiss and knows exactly what to do to make me hot.
I clutch her hip, our make-out session becoming more foreplay than the innocent act I intended when I saw how nervous she was. But now things aren’t so innocent. Now, I really want to touch her. Instead of keeping my hands where they’re safe, I slide one up to knead her breast.
I barely feel its weight when she draws back. She covers my hand with hers to move it down, but I beat her to the punch, knowing I’m way out of her comfort zone.
“Are you in a rush?” she asks, her lids heavy and her breaths quick.
“No. I just wanted to feel close to you,” I say, my heartbeat way out of control.
“To feel close to me?” she repeats.
“Yeah,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it.
My hand slides along her waist, enough to feel the bare skin her sweater doesn’t cover. Am I turned on? Totally. But she wants me to stop so I keep my hands from wandering. “You okay?” I ask.
I try to focus on her, rather than how tight my pants feel. Except that doesn’t help, not when I have a woman like Sol this close to me, and not when she gives me another quick kiss. “I’m not ready for this,” she says.
“The kissing?”
She shakes her head. “I mean you.”
“You’ve mentioned that,” I remind her.
She dips her chin, looking bashful and way too good to resist. “So why did you kiss me?” she asks, staring at me through a layer of the thick lashes.
My voice lowers. I know how to charm, but right then I’m not trying to get in her pants. Okay, I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t mean what I say. “Because you’re really pretty. Because I wanted to. And because you let me.”
She tilts her head, as if trying to figure me out. Maybe she thinks I’m blowing smoke, but for once I’m just being me, someone I haven’t been in a very long time.
I have to admit, it feels awesome.
“I wish you didn’t say that,” she says, so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
“Why?” I ask, my tone deepening further.
“It makes me wish you hadn’t stopped.”
Fair enough. So, I pull her close and kiss her again.