19 Early Friday Morning

(One day before the wedding)

FINN’S WORDS SEEM TOlinger in the cool mountain air. One word in particular… love.

I swallow, and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Well, it’s pretty late,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m sure you want to get some sleep.” As I swing my legs into the hammock so I’m settled the right way, Finn stands up, caps the bottle, and begins to tuck the Yeti blanket around me.

“Wait, where are you going to sleep?” It feels so nice, having him tuck me in so gently, like he really… cares.

“The car will do for me.” The hammock gently sways as he stands and begins to walk away, and I feel the darkness of the night wrap around me, the piercing intensity of the stars, so far away—light-years. And even though he’s only feet from me, Finn feels just as unreachable.

Maybe he’s right about people not being fully in control of their feelings. Maybe the two of us are a ticking time bomb. What was the word Finn used? Inevitable. The memory of our kiss tonight in the elevator comes crashing back, and suddenly I don’t feel a bit tired. Energized by this electric something that keeps pulling me to Finn, even though I should almost certainly know better by now. Maybe all I need to do is finish what we started in the elevator. What we started on the rooftop in New York. In Katie Dalton’s pool. Really, what we started in the back of that debate team bus when Finn first slipped his hand into mine.

“Finn, wait,” I call out.

“What, what is it?” he asks, backtracking until he’s sitting perpendicular to me on the hammock. He pulls my legs across his lap, and the hammock sways slightly. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah, I’m just… I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” I tell him truthfully. Despite the fact that I’m exhausted, my heart is racing, my mind numb with some feeling I can’t name, some need I can’t say out loud.

“Why not?” he whispers. His hand moves to my ankle. “Scared of the woods?” he asks, a slight, playful taunt in his voice.

“I just…” How do I say it? How do I make him understand? That I don’t want him to stop touching my ankle, don’t want him to walk away, to sleep in the car, to let this moment just slip away like all the other moments between us before. “I just—I don’t want to make another mistake.” My voice breaks, and I feel foolish for blurting that out. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

“I don’t want that either,” he says softly. In the darkness, I can’t read his expression.

“I want to be able to trust you.”

He sighs. “But you never seem able to.”

The pain is in my throat, but I push past it. “And why do you think that is?”

He shifts. “Look, I know there were times when you felt like I wasn’t there for you—”

“I ‘felt’?” I interrupt. I hate that kind of bullshit non-apology. He wasn’t there for me. That wasn’t just my perception of the situation, it was a fact.

“But I’ve changed. Only you can’t see that because you—”

This time Finn cuts himself off.

“I what?” I demand.

“Forget it.”

A wave of boldness holds me to the spot. “Come on. Tell me what you really think.”

He shifts slightly so he’s facing me, his hand on my knee now. “What I really think is that you don’t let yourself trust me; you don’t trust most people, in fact. You’re afraid of anything—or anyone—that you can’t control.”

His words make me want to cry, but I refuse to let him see that. “Screw you, Finn.” The words don’t come out as venomous as I want them to—more just deflated.

“Am I wrong, then?”

I wish I could say he was. But what I’m feeling now? The mix of desire and confusion and… dread? He’s right on the money. I’m terrified to let myself fall.

In the silence, he inches slightly closer to me, pulling my knees toward his lap. “I’m sorry, Emma, but you don’t get to control me. That’s not on offer.”

There’s something so sure, so powerful and confident in him, it takes my breath away. “I never said that’s what I wanted,” I protest, pushing the blanket off me, unsure whether to be angry or pleading.

My face is mere inches from his now as he asks, “So what do you want, then, Emma?”

The words are too hard to say, and so I don’t say it, I show him instead. I lean forward, slowly, until our lips touch. There’s no hesitation from Finn. He returns my kiss hungrily, opening my mouth with his tongue. Kissing him feels so good, I let the knot that had been forming inside me begin to unravel. He pulls me gently onto his lap. My legs are on either side of him. The hammock sways, driving my hips into his, and he lets out a soft groan. In this moment, the truth overpowers me, how much I want this, to be this close to him—out here in the middle of nowhere, where we could be the only two people on earth.

His hands reach for the hem of my sweatshirt; I help him lift it over my head, along with my T-shirt, both tossed to the ground in seconds.

I remember the last time I was bared to Finn like this. The mild crispness of a September night cut through with the heat of his breath against my skin, the lights of the city sparkling around us. Now it’s cool mountain air and the sparkling of stars, but the heat is the same. And it’s the same flicker of hope sparking in my chest that flares to life again. The intensity that I’ve spent the last two years trying to find with other guys, but never did.

Finn’s words about Sybil and Liam echo through my mind. Maybe she just needs some closure.

Is that what I need too? But it doesn’t feel like closure, it feels like another new beginning.

Through ragged breaths he says, “If you want to stop, just tell me. I’ll stop. We’ll stop.”

“Do not stop.” It comes out as more of an order than I mean it to.

He smiles against my mouth. “Yes, ma’am.” And with that, he rolls me onto my back, switching our positions, and he’s on top of me, kissing me, moving his mouth down the length of my body. He gets off the hammock and kneels on the ground, sliding me to the edge, slipping my shorts off. My breath hitches at the sight of Finn on his knees in front of me, and I lean back into the hammock. Slowly, he kisses one knee and then the other.

“Emma.” I feel his lips now grazing along my inner thigh, and I nearly unravel in that moment. “Let me be the one in control this time,” he whispers.

He drags his tongue along my skin, my thighs trembling, as he’s kissing and licking, up, up, until I can hardly breathe, feeling like I’m coming undone at the seams.

“Can you let me take charge?”

“Yes.”

My underwear is gone in seconds, strewn somewhere I may never find it.

Just as I feel like I can no longer hold on, he pulls away, and I can’t help reaching for him. I tug at the neck of his shirt until he pulls it off. Bare chested, he grabs my hand and presses a soft kiss against my wrist. His tongue flicks briefly along my skin. When he releases me, a breeze blows across the damp spot where he’d pressed his lips, and a shudder racks my body.

“Emma.” He stands, looking down at me. Exposed beneath the full moon, I feel luminous and otherworldly. And the way Finn is looking at me, it’s like he thinks I am those things too. I don’t feel any closer to closure. I just want more of him. All of him.

“Are you sure?” Finn rasps, reaching smoothly for a condom.

I nod, and then gasp as he pulls me back in, against him. A small sound escapes from him too.

“Emma,” he whispers, moving deeper, holding my hips. Totally in control. Even though I’m completely naked, Finn’s body is a furnace against mine, keeping me warm. He cups one of my breasts, and I gasp as his mouth closes around my nipple. His tongue swirls around it, and there’s a soft scrape of teeth. I buck, and the hammock rocks me further into him, forcing him even deeper inside me. He lets out a soft curse, and the puff of air against my damp skin sends a shiver through me.

“You are so beautiful,” Finn breathes into my neck, and then he begins moving against me with more urgency, and I begin to let go of everything, of all control, until my whole body breaks apart in shivers, and I’m free.

After, we lie together for a long time, my legs wrapped around his body and my cheek pressed to his chest, where I can hear the beating of his heart.

A FEW HOURS LATER,I wake up to birds chirping and the warm glow of morning brushing over the tops of the trees. I don’t know exactly what time it is, but it’s clearly well past dawn. I smile to myself. I guess there are ways to turn off my body’s internal alarm clock after all. I’m tucked against Finn’s chest, and his breathing is still deep with sleep.

For once, my mind is soft, languid. I want to hold on to this sense of calm, to be fully present in this moment. I start running through the 3-3-3 rule like Finn taught me. See: Slate-colored mountains. The Singer. My discarded shorts… Hear: Birdsong. A car starting in the distance. The wind rustling through the trees… Feel: Warm skin. Soft skin—

Finn moves beside me, and I look up to see his eyes on me.

“Good morning,” he says. His eyes search mine while his fingers find a lock of my hair. He begins twirling it, and something flutters in my chest.

“Good morning,” I say back, smiling. He returns the smile, and something like relief flashes briefly across his face. For a few more minutes we lie suspended in the hammock, listening as the forest around us begins to wake up too.

My stomach growls, and Finn lets out a laugh. “Let’s get you something to eat.” He presses a kiss onto my forehead before swinging both legs out of the hammock. “Maybe one day we’ll make it to a bed.”

My heart leaps at the thought of more nights with Finn, a future with Finn, but it’s quickly followed by a tightness in my chest. Just yesterday (is it possible it was only yesterday? The whirlwind that started Wednesday night and carried through to our wild-goose chase on Thursday has completely messed with my sense of time), he said he was “not in a relationship place right now.” When has Finn ever been in a “relationship place” in all the time I’ve known him? He’s never wanted that. At least, not with me. Finn and I had one mind-blowing night together, but that doesn’t erase an entire track record of noncommitment. Last night was just fun, I remind myself. Two people with a decade’s worth of sexual tension finally relieving the pressure. What happens 120 miles outside of Vegas, stays 120 miles outside of Vegas.

After we’ve dressed (me slipping into my clothes sans underwear because I truly cannot find them anywhere) and shoved all of our gear into the Singer, Finn presses me against the car door, the aluminum still cool from the night before, and kisses me. It’s slow and easy.

Until it isn’t. After a few kisses, I’m back to the same level of desperate for Finn that I was last night.

One more time, I think. Just to make sure he’s really out of my system…

I reach for the zipper of his pants, and he helps me. He scoops me against him, places me on the hood of the car, then focuses on pulling down my shorts. In the daylight, it feels even more erotic than last night. Just watching him get the condom is a turn-on. My legs are splayed open on the hood of the Singer as Finn pulls me forward onto him. He begins moving against me, and I can’t believe how quickly I find release. His hand reaches between us, and I nearly slide off the car as an orgasm courses through me. But Finn’s hands are firm, holding me. He groans into my neck a moment later, spent.

We’re still holding each other, leaning against the hood of the car, when my stomach lets out an audible growl again. I feel Finn’s chuckle against my neck.

I want to laugh too. I feel giddy, almost unhinged with happiness.

We re-dress hastily, like naughty teenagers, giggling. He whistles as he makes his way over to the driver’s side and shoots me a grin over the roof that makes my knees buckle.

I put a hand on the car to steady myself. The sun beats down over the campground. I feel sticky with sweat—from the growing heat, sure, but more from the exertion of what we just did on the hood of the car. The languid feeling from earlier this morning has faded away. I can’t focus on the things I can see, hear, and feel. Because my head is suddenly full of questions. Doubts. Anxiety begins to creep into my nerves. What did I just do? What does it mean for Finn and me and the friendship we were just finally starting to rebuild?

I linger with a hand braced on the hood of the car as Finn fires up the ignition. But before I get into the Singer, reality begins to sink in, serious as daylight. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a second, trying to hold myself together. As soon as we’re back home, this—whatever it is—is over, I decide. I don’t want it to be, but I have to give myself some boundaries. I have to make this promise to myself. I can’t let this become just another mistake on our list. And I know—even though I hate to admit it to myself—I know I can’t trust myself to stay casual with Finn, and that he doesn’t want anything serious. He said so himself. I can’t let my heart run away with me again. The last time I did, things ended in disaster—a mortifying scene at a wedding that still haunts me nearly five years later.

There’s a pressure in my chest, but I ignore it. I can’t let Sybil’s wedding be ruined like Katie Dalton’s was. I need to be mature this time. I need to be the one in control.

I square my shoulders and slide into the car. I can do this.

We look up the nearest diner—taking a moment to check Sybil’s progress. She’s still chugging along, headed east on I-40 toward Albuquerque. I watch the small blue dot that is Sybil creep across my screen, and avoid looking at Finn. Tapping the steering wheel along to the Stevie Wonder song spilling from the radio, he doesn’t seem to notice.

I roll down my window to clear my head. It’s all I can do not to beg him to pull over again, and again, wanting not just the feeling of him inside me, but the closeness, the intensity. But however good Finn makes me feel, it’s no match for how much he could hurt me. How easy it was to forget that last night—and again this morning—and I know I could keep on forgetting it and keep on getting heartbroken. He’s done it before, and it’d be foolish of me to think it won’t happen again. People are who they are. It’s not Finn’s fault. He’s been nothing but up-front with me. I’m the one who’s been a liar—I’ve been lying to myself, about how much I care.

The wind whips across my face, making my eyes water, but I blink away the tears.

Once we’re seated at the diner and the jet-fuel-level coffee the waiter pours us starts to take effect, I’m more in control of my feelings. I know what I need to do. I need to strike first, just like in debate. Sitting across the table, Finn reaches for my hand and drags his thumb along the top of my knuckles while he reads through the menu, and the casual intimacy of the touch makes me feel more vulnerable than the sex we’ve had. I pull away and reach for the sugar. My hand isn’t steady, and I end up dumping more than I mean to into my cup.

We place our orders, and I imagine what it would be like for this to be my morning every day: waking up next to Finn, knowing how he takes his eggs (over easy) and his coffee (actually Earl Grey tea). Those thoughts are too dangerous. Time to make sure Finn and I are on the same page.

I clear my throat. “About last night,” I begin. Finn’s face breaks into a grin, which slices through me like a knife, but I force myself to continue. “I think we can both agree it was a onetime thing.”

A stillness settles over Finn. “If that’s what you want.” He carefully sets his mug of tea on the table. “I thought we had a pretty good time last night.”

“I had a great time,” I say with forced brightness. “This isn’t an indictment of your…” Waving my hand in a circle, I search for the right word and land on “prowess.”

There’s a beat of silence. Finn’s eyes take on a dangerous intensity that sends a rush of heat through my body. “I’m not concerned about my ‘prowess,’ Emma.”

“Oh, that’s good. You shouldn’t be.”

“Thank you,” Finn says tightly. I hope he’ll leave it at that, but he presses, “Why was last night a onetime thing?”

Taking a long pull from my too-sweet coffee, I say, “It’s not a big deal. Just two people getting something out of their system, right?”

His eyes don’t leave my face. “And am I out of your system now?” His voice thrums through me, and I have to look away. I make the mistake of looking out the window at the hood of the Singer, and the memory of this morning comes flooding back to me. I can still smell Finn on my skin. I feel myself blushing. No. I don’t know that I’ll ever get Finn out of my system.

“Yes,” I lie.

Something vanishes from his eyes. Something like hope. “All right then.”

THE CAR CRUNCHES OUTof the gravel parking lot, and Finn maneuvers us back to the highway. He doesn’t tap along to the beat of any oldies now. Instead, he switches the station to Bloomberg Radio, and I learn more about the bauxite commodity market than I ever wanted to. I take the time to reply to a few work emails and text an update to Nikki. We’re almost past Flagstaff before I think to look up flights from Albuquerque for Sybil.

“If we can get her on one of these five p.m. flights back to LA, I think she can make it to most of the rehearsal dinner.” Our window to catch up to Sybil is tightening, but we might still have a shot at getting her back in time for tonight’s event.

Something flickers across Finn’s face, but he just nods. “Let me top off our tank before we get too far past Flagstaff.” Those are the most words he’s said to me in a row since we left the diner.

Finn handles gas while I run inside to get snacks. We’re getting to the end of our time together, and I don’t want to end it on such a sour note. I grab all the snacks I remember Finn packing for debate trips. One time, sitting on the bus, he turned to me very seriously, and said, “The secret to a perfect snack is the combination of salty and sweet. You need your sweet snacks.” He held up a half-eaten package of chocolate cupcakes. “And you need your salty.” He pulled a Slim Jim from his backpack and twisted it in half, handing part of it to me. “It’s all about balance, Emma.”

As I drop a handful of Slim Jims into my basket, I wonder if it’s even worth the effort. It’s really not fair that Finn is so pissy right now. Isn’t this what he wanted? No strings. After paying, I head back toward the Singer. Unwrapping a Snickers bar, I take a few bites as I cross the parking lot. Finn is still parked beside the gas pump, but he seems to have finished filling the tank. He’s on the phone, his back to me, but I can still hear him, and my ears perk up when I realize who he’s talking to.

“Sybil, I know you. I know you sometimes just need to take things to the end of the road. To see how far they’ll go. But remember what I told you that night—you deserve someone who will love all of you. Okay?”

Relief floods through me that Finn has been able to nail down Sybil. He ends the phone call and turns around. I smile at him. “What did she say? Can she meet us at the airport?”

But as soon as he sees me, Finn freezes.

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