Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
FINN
The heat of the sun on my face wakes me up what feels like only three minutes after I face-planted on the bed.
Wait, when did I get in bed?
My head snaps up with the realization, and I look around frantically for the beautiful brown-haired man with grayish green eyes I saw last night.
Fuck, am I in his room?
That is one hell of a loser move. My eyes stop on the door to the bathroom and... Well, this room is very similar to the one Beau and I dumped our bags in yesterday, but the feet dangling from the couch definitely don’t look like my brother’s.
They’re paler, for one, but also, Beau would sooner kick me to the floor than sleep on a couch when there’s half a mattress to be had.
No, sadly my actions from the early hours of the morning all come rushing back in painful detail. Including the way the beautiful man stared at me when I declared I needed to sleep and then just made myself at fucking home in his bed .
I’m never going to live this down. Well, I don’t have to tell Beau, but I think this story would more than likely bring a smile to his face which is the whole freaking reason why we’re in Vegas in the first place.
More importantly though, I’m the one who’s going to be acutely reliving the embarrassment I’m feeling right now.
For the rest of my life most likely.
I’m twenty-five damn years old for fuck’s sake, I should be better than this already but my impulse control has always been almost non-existent.
I get up slowly, not only to avoid jostling my pounding head, but so I make the least amount of noise possible. Despite my idea of getting out of here as soon as humanly possible, my bladder has other ideas. So I go into the bathroom and pee slowly, flush the toilet slowly—as if that’s going to make any difference at all—squirt some toothpaste on my finger slowly , and then wince when the water hits the sink.
I think about the kind man who didn’t call hotel security on me, and although I do want to flee the scene of the crime like my ass is on fire, I can’t help but want to see the beautiful man again. Maybe I can even learn his name.
And God, maybe if all the divine powers of the universe are looking down on me, he’s not straight. That would be pretty awesome. That would be amazing.
So it’s probably not going to go that way, is it?
“God,” I say quietly, and sigh as I lean my hip against the counter. I scrub a hand down my face then decide I better splash some water on it so I at least look a bit more awake.
How did I even end up here? I remember realizing I didn’t have a key but... One-two-one-two, I realize.
My room with Beau is one-two-two-one. Shit.
I need to apologize to the poor guy I woke up at four in the morning. I need to— let him sleep , I realize.
Yes, I need to get out of here quietly and then come back later at a more decent hour—wait, what time even is it? I check my phone and it’s all out of battery. Of course it is.
Okay, doesn’t matter what time it is. I’ll leave, go to my actual room, take a shower, put on some nice clothes and then come back here, knock like a civilized person this time instead of a deranged lunatic, and invite the stranger out for brunch. It’s the least I can do after all.
I take a deep breath, prepared to be extra quiet when I go get my shoes and twist the door handle as slowly as I can. I peek out, and I have to confess my heart stops for a long second when I see the couch is empty.
Fuck, did he leave?
I hear rustling, and snap my gaze to the bed to see him sitting on the side I didn’t sleep on. He’s somehow even prettier than my drunken memory of last night, and since I was suspicious about how clear my vision was last night, that’s fucking impressive.
“Uh, hello,” I say tentatively and open the door wider to take one tiny step out. I crossed so many lines last night, and I wouldn’t blame the guy if he started throwing shit at me. He doesn’t, though. I see his body tense, but then he takes a deep breath and pins me in place with those amazing eyes.
“Hello,” he says. He sounds calm, and his lips even tip up slightly, like he’s amused.
“I am so, so sorry. I obviously thought this was my room.” And the ramble starts again. “See, my room is one-two-two-one, and in my drunken haze I thought this was it. Which it obviously isn’t, and again, I am so sorry. I promise I left the bathroom super clean, but I’m sure housekeeping will disinfect it all if that’s what you need. And god, I slept in your bed. Thank you for being so kind and patient and I really can’t tell you how sorry I am, I?—”
He stops me with a raised palm, thankfully, because I could’ve kept that rant going for a while.
“What’s your name?” he asks simply.
“I’m Finn.” That finally gets me moving. I take the ten steps separating us but still leave a big gap. I don’t want to intrude into his space any more than I already have. “I’m Finn Heart. I’m a good person, I swear. I’m an accountant and have my own business. Not normally a deranged lunatic. And I also very rarely drink, and never drink as much as I did last night.”
“Probably why you were so drunk,” he muses, but his smirk grows. Okay, he really is amused. That’s really good. “I’m Lou Yates.” He puts his phone down on the mattress next to his hip and offers me a hand to shake.
I grip his hand and can’t help that my fingers tighten slightly when I feel the warmth of them, and they’re a bit calloused too. I look down, and for some reason, the way our hands look linked together entrances me for a long moment.
What’s that about?
I clear my throat to push that question away—it’s none of my business—and then I take a step back to give him that personal space again.
“I actually can’t believe you even opened the door,” I say just to have something to say. He tilts his head curiously.
“I’m not sure why I did, honestly. Living in a city as big as Chicago, I’m well aware of the dangers of a home invasion and that late night visitors aren’t welcome. I guess I was too tired and didn’t really think about any of it. Which is concerning, really,” he whispers that last part.
“You’re from Chicago too?” Now what are the chances of that?
“You live in Chicago?” he asks, eyes wide.
“Close. In Crushville, which is just forty minutes outside the city. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?—”
“Of course I have,” he interrupts me loudly and, thankfully, with excitement. “It’s on the list of best places to live in Illinois every single year. I’ve always wanted to check it out.” And he checks me out in that moment. At least, it feels like he’s checking me out when his eyes trail down my incredibly creased shirt and then jeans.
He snaps his eyes back up when he gets to my sock-clad feet, and though I see a blush start to bloom in those soft, barely covered with stubble cheeks, I can’t know for sure that he was checking me out unless I outright ask. And I’m not ready for that.
“I’m biased of course,” I say, my voice thicker than before, though I doubt he notices it’s so subtle. I’m thankful for the change of topic in the conversation. “I grew up there and never wanted to leave, so I didn’t.”
“All the pictures I’ve seen make it look like the idyllic small town.” There’s a note of wistfulness in his words, and I’m about to tell him he’s invited to barge into my place any time when the screen of his phone steals my attention.
“Oh, you’re buying a plane ticket?” I recognize the airline’s app.
“Changing it, actually.”
“Why?” I frown, and then it dawns on me. “Oh I totally fucked up your weekend, didn’t I?”
“No,” he says with a shake of his head and a tiny, fucking adorable snort. “I was already having a bad time, so it’s not all your fault. I’m here for a conference and I have my flight set for Monday, but the weekend is more of a social gathering than a conference. I think I’m ready to head home.”
Something inside me tells me to protest. He can’t leave now. I’m just now talking to him.
“Well, I’m really sorry. I made sure everything in the bathroom is pristine,” I repeat.
Lou makes me nervous. The way his eyes bore into mine makes me feel exposed. Like he can see every thought passing through my mind.
“And I borrowed a bit of toothpaste.” I wince, hoping he doesn’t mind that, and take a deep breath to keep going before I lose my nerve, and before he tells me to get the fuck out of his room once and for all. “So listen, I really do feel bad. Can I invite you out for brunch? As an apology?” I clarify. I don’t care that all the vibes I’m getting from Lou are awesome and very, very much welcome, you just never know with these situations and it’s sadly better to be cautious.
I wait with bated breath for his answer.