11. Read My Mind
11
READ MY MIND
Jules
My heart is settled, but my mind is busy. What’s next? Part of me wants to bolt. I’m lying in bed with my father’s best friend, after all.
I should go.
Clean up, get dressed, and say thank you . Then call a Lyft home. He can’t really want me to spend the night. What are we even supposed to do now? Talk?
I’m too wired to sleep.
Isn’t sex supposed to make you tired? It’s having the opposite effect on me. My cells are buzzing.
Finn’s hand grazing along my arm breaks me out of my reverie. “Are you hungry? There’s a great Korean place that’s still open. A twenty-four-hour diner. And I also have leftovers from last night. If you like pizza, that is.”
A laugh bursts from my chest at the absurd question. I turn to him, giggling in spite of how weird I feel lying in bed with this man—this man with hair mussed up from me tugging on it when he fucked me. A burst of possessiveness fills me—I made him look that way. And he’s made me laugh. “If I like pizza? How is that a question?”
“Because of the if, I suspect,” he says dryly.
“Fine. But seriously, who doesn’t like pizza? That’s illogical. That’s like not liking pajamas or sunshine.”
He rakes his gaze over me. “You’re not wearing pajamas. And I like you.”
My breath catches. While I know what he means—he’s not an eleven-year-old boy giving me a construction paper heart—those three words still do stupid things to my heart.
Stupid, dangerous things.
I sit up, searching around for my bra. “I should get dressed. For the pizza, that is,” I say.
“You’re right. Eating pizza naked is weird,” he deadpans.
There he goes again, saying things that disarm me. “It is,” I say playfully, trying to keep the mood light.
Light is better.
I tip my chin toward the bathroom door. “Your bathroom is right there?”
He used it a few minutes ago to ditch the condom. But it feels presumptuous to just go in there without permission.
“Yes. Take your time,” he says, then swings his legs out of bed and pads toward the walk-in closet. The view of him naked is hard to look away from. He’s all long and muscular. His ass is spectacular. Firm and strong. Am I an ass woman? I just might be.
But then a terrible reminder of why his ass is so terrific lodges in my brain. He’s a triathlete. He works out with my father.
On that unpleasant reminder, I head to the bathroom and shut the door.
A few minutes later, I emerge, still naked and a little sore, but no longer sex-disheveled. Finn’s lying in bed, reading on a tablet, and wearing pajama pants.
Hello, view.
I’d like to whistle my appreciation. Those navy-blue pants are low-slung and sexy as hell. I stare. I can’t not.
“Liar,” I tease. “You do like pajamas.”
As he sets down the tablet on the nightstand, he meets my gaze. “So do you.” He’s busted me for ogling him.
“I told you I did,” I say, but I’m thinking I should have brought my bag up here so I wouldn’t have to walk downstairs naked to get dressed.
Awkward.
But Finn’s already up and out of bed, grabbing the shirt he wore earlier tonight. “Wear this to sleep in,” he says, and my belly flips from the sexy offer.
He closes the distance between us and hands me the shirt. I take it and slide my arms into it. It’s big on me, so I cuff the sleeves twice, then reach for the buttons to do them up. But he sets a hand over mine, stopping me. “Jules,” he says, like a low warning.
“Yes?”
“You look incredible in my shirt,” he says, then tugs on the panels, letting out another hungry sigh. “So fucking good.”
This man makes me feel like a goddess, especially as he buttons the shirt for me, stopping midway. He leaves it open at my cleavage, then runs a hand possessively over the tops of my breasts. “Perfect. These are perfect pajamas for you.”
My heart flutters. He makes me feel so wanted, especially when he curls a hand through my hair to draw me in for another kiss.
When he breaks it, I follow him downstairs, passing the landing on the second floor.
I stop for a second.
There’s a toy truck on a small table in the corner of the landing. I missed that on the way up.
When we reach the main level, and he flicks on the living room lights, my gaze lands on a framed photo on an end table. It’s a picture of a little boy scrambling up a jungle gym.
Immediately, I flash back to the box of cheddar bunnies on the kitchen counter, putting the clues together. “You have a kid?” My voice pitches up.
I had no idea Finn was a dad. But I didn’t know Finn was a dominating pleasure-giver either. So, there’s that.
He looks back at me, smiling in a whole new way. “I do. That’s Zach,” he says, pride in his tone as his eyes linger on the frame. “He’s seven now.”
Which means Finn had him when he was…I don’t even know his age.
And I’m curious. But I’m more curious about this new side of the man I’m spending one sordid night with. Finn’s a flirt, he’s a tease, and he’s a dirty talker. He’s a giver. He’s a friend. And he’s a doting father.
Which makes me strangely sad for a few seconds. So much separates us. Even if my dad weren’t between us, we’re far apart in our lives. I’m just starting my career. He’s at the pinnacle. He’s parenting. I don’t even have a cat, and don’t get me started on plants. My thumb is one hundred percent black.
I try to shake off the differences.
Obviously Zach isn’t here tonight. I’m curious where he is, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask. Besides, he’s probably with Finn’s ex-wife.
“He’s with his grandparents,” Finn adds, as if reading my thoughts, something he’s becoming scarily good at.
“Oh, it’s nice that they’re close,” I say. But I’m not sure I want to spend too much time on the topic of family. We might get too close to my family.
“Actually, I share custody with them,” he adds as we reach the kitchen.
My brow knits. Sharing custody with grandparents is unusual. But I do my best not to pry since I wouldn’t like it if he did it to me. “He seems like a happy kid.”
“He is. I’m very lucky,” Finn says, beaming like he’s glowing inside. “I’ve been getting to know him for the last eight months. I didn’t know I had a kid until then, so it’s been an adjustment. But a damn good one.”
That’s huge, and now I’m dying to know more, maybe over pizza. Finn opens the fridge, takes out a red and white box, and says, “This is from Zach’s favorite place. But his eyes are bigger than his stomach, so there’s plenty for any ridiculously sexy pizza lovers in the kitchen right now.”
But when Finn opens the box of half-eaten pizza, I wince. There’s sausage on it. I suppose I can just pick around it though. “Looks good,” I say, upbeat.
Finn tilts his head, studying my expression. “You don’t sound sure.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s great,” I say with false brightness. It just seems so rude to turn the food down after I went on about my love of pizza.
“Ah,” he says, realization dawning. “You don’t eat meat.” The man is too intuitive when it comes to me, and the weird part is I don’t mind. I kind of like when he figures me out. When I don’t have to spell out my wishes. I don’t know what to make of that feeling though, so I try to set it aside.
“I don’t. But I can pick it off. It’s a vegetarian life hack,” I say, making light of it. “It’s no big deal.”
He scoffs, then shuts the box, saying goodbye to the pizza. “A better life hack is getting you what you want. I want you to have a meal. Not something that you have to…reassemble.”
It’s just food. But I like his insistence. “I like Asian cuisine. Noodles and tofu and veggies and anything with spice.”
That earns me a sly grin. “You like it hot?”
I’ll take that innuendo and run with it. “The hotter the better.”
He groans, then steps closer. “It’s strange that I find your love of spicy food attractive. But…” he says, holding my chin, “I do.”
I shiver, torn between wanting to get to know him more, to ask questions about his son, and wanting a kiss. But he’s shifted gears, so maybe he doesn’t want to talk about family anymore. I part my lips, letting a kiss win. He sweeps one across my mouth, making me gasp before letting go.
He turns away, and as he orders food from his phone, I notice an open window letting in that tempting smell of honeysuckle. With a deep inhale, I savor the scent as he keeps busy on the screen. Does he have a garden past the kitchen? Does Zach play in it? Does my father hang out with Finn and his son right here in this house? Has he been in this kitchen? Cracked open a beer? Eaten a meal?
I rub my temple, trying to scrub away the thoughts that don’t go with honeysuckle as Finn puts down the phone. “Should be here in twenty,” he says, studying me. “What are you thinking?”
You don’t want to know .
I flash my all is good here smile. “Nothing,” I lie.
His expression darkens and he looks at me skeptically. “I don’t believe you.”
It’s impossible to dance around the truth with him, so I exhale heavily, then ask, “Are you running on Sunday with my dad? I heard you two talking about it in his office.” Maybe acknowledging this discomfort will defuse it. Let me move past it, at least for the rest of the night.
But his expression falters, turning somber, and I’ve ruined this moment. This perfect night that’s happening out of time, outside of consequences.
“Yes. That’s the plan,” he says.
“Will that be hard for you?”
“I don’t like lying. Lying eats away at you,” he says, and he’s clearly speaking from experience, but whether he was the liar or the lied to, I don’t know.
“It can,” I say, tentatively. I don’t think I want to know more. It’s too heavy for a one-time thing.
“But I can’t find it in me to feel an ounce of regret over fucking you,” he says, holding my gaze, his eyes intense. “Do you? Regret tonight?”
How could I? I’ve wanted him since the first masquerade. And I’d much rather talk about us than about my dad, as it turns out. “No. I’ve been thinking of you too. Ever since I summoned you at the piano,” I say, enjoying admitting that.
“I had a feeling you were calling me over,” he says, lips curved up. “Now, tell me, Jules. Are you now as much of a fan of sex as you are of jammies?”
I smile, warming to his change of topic, my cheeks flushing. My stomach swoops as he wraps an arm around my waist. “It was better than my fantasies,” I admit.
“I bet you have very elaborate fantasies,” he says.
“I do.”
“Are you sure it was better?” He doesn’t sound uncertain—more like he’s playing with me. Like he’s flirting us right into our next bedroom liaison.
I wriggle against his hard frame. “I don’t know. Try again later and see.”
“Mmm,” he says, then nuzzles my neck. “Worth it.” He draws a deeper breath. “You wore Summer Day.”
“Well, you like it just a little,” I deadpan.
“I’m obsessed with the way you smell,” he adds. “And the way you look.” He fiddles with a button on my shirt. “In my clothes.”
I strike a pose, enjoying my…after-sex costume. “I do like this shirt,” I say coyly.
“So much you should wear it home,” he says.
“Like a sex trophy?”
“Exactly, Jules,” he says, and it turns out I do like getting to know him as much as I enjoy kissing him.
So much that I have to satisfy my curiosity. “Do you have a thing for honeysuckle? I smell it outside the window. I noticed it when I arrived.”
“There’s a shrub in the little yard. It was there when I moved in several months ago. Do you like it?”
“It’s pretty. It reminds me of…”
But am I really going to say it reminds me of my first teenage fantasies? To tell him it makes me think of an afternoon tryst on a hot day, the kind I used to daydream about when I first thought about sex, when I first craved a man’s touch, and now already it reminds me of you?
That’s a lot for a one-night stand.
“What does it remind you of?” he prompts. He’s not going to let me get away without answering.
But maybe I can say a little .
“Wanting,” I say, and that seems like more than enough. “It reminds me of wanting.”
Finn lets out a low rumble. “Then now it will remind me of you.” He holds my gaze with a particular intensity that emboldens me.
“How old are you?” I ask.
He smiles softly, perhaps a little embarrassed. “Forty.” There’s a pause, like he’s waiting for a reaction from me. Shock? Surprise? But that’s not what I’m feeling. I’m feeling like forty is the sexiest age ever.
And I’m getting the sense he wants to know I think that. “A very sexy forty,” I add.
“And you are…?”
“A no-longer-virginal twenty-five,” I say.
His eyes gleam with possession and pride.
“And I got to be the one,” he says, and I love that he seems as pleased by that as I am.
Soon, the food arrives, and after he pays and thanks the guy, he gestures to the stairs. “Want to eat on the balcony? It’s my go-to dining room on warm nights. I call it my outdoor café.”
No fucking way.
But I don’t want Finn to read this part of me. I absolutely don’t want to admit to him that I have OCD. So I try my hardest to put on an easy smile. “Kitchen is fine,” I say, breezily. “I mean, I’m half-naked.”
Like that matters. But maybe it’ll distract him from asking more.
Something flashes in his eyes, though, as he opens the fridge. Something like understanding. “I should have remembered. You don’t like heights?” he asks, grabbing a jar of chili flakes.
Oh.
Wow.
He remembers the rooftop, and how I said no to it. I cycle through my options—I could deny, or I could make light of it. But he’s been open when I’ve asked questions about his son and about his best friend.
I want to give him a morsel of honesty in return. “You’re right. I really don’t like heights.” That’s a true thing. I won’t share the scope of my dislike. That’s part of the side of me that goes to therapy, the side my family doesn’t even know about.
“That must be really challenging,” he says thoughtfully as he sets the flakes on the counter. How is this guy a sex master and super understanding?
“They make me really uncomfortable,” I admit. Apparently he has truth serum powers too. “They kind of freak me out.”
Wow. That was…sort of cathartic. I didn’t know I’d needed to say those words.
Irrational fears are so embarrassing. So hard to admit. But a tiny weight’s been lifted now.
“Is it just heights outdoors? Or was my third-floor bedroom uncomfortable for you too?” he asks, and I rush to reassure him.
“Bedrooms are fine. Indoors is fine. It’s just things like balconies, bridges, and rooftops.”
“I get that. I do. Everyone has fears. We all have things we try to avoid just because…And it works just as well to eat here,” he says with kind eyes and a welcoming smile.
That’s not at all how he looked at me when he was seducing me. That’s not how he looked at me when he fucked me either.
It’s a new look, and it makes my heart speed up. How is it possible that in a few short encounters, I’ve glimpsed so many of his sides? His determined side, his hungry side, his dominating side, his loyal side, and then his guilty pleasure side that said fuck the world, I want her more .
Now I’m seeing another side, and I bet this is the man he is with his son. Kind, thoughtful, big-hearted, and accepting.
“I guess that’ll be our secret too. My fear of balconies,” I say, and I’m sure this one is as safe with him as the others.
“I’ll keep them all, Jules. Every single one,” he says, and there’s resignation in his voice.
In my heart too.
He hands me a plate, and I scoop some noodles onto it, but when I open the jar of chili flakes, I arch a brow, then show it to him. “Empty.”
He peers inside. “Then these noodles better be spicy on their own.”
They are, and we rate them a five out of five for spice.
Later, we’re back in bed and it’s past two, but I don’t feel anxious about the rest of the night. I’m not playing out scenarios or worried about what I’ll say. Here, in bed, I feel like I can speak my mind, and do it safely. “Kiss me,” I say softly.
He covers me with his body, kissing me deeply till I’m arching, writhing, and asking for more. I whisper his name, savoring how it feels on my tongue, like the last bite of a fine dessert.
His scent envelopes me, but it’s like another version of his cologne mixed with notes of sex and me, the fading embers of a fire, and the last lingering hints of orchids before the flowers crumble.
Darkness wraps its arms around the city, the moon sealing up our stolen night, racing too fast to dawn.