Chapter 10 #3
For a second, I let myself imagine it. “Still complicated,” I said then.
“Name me one thing that matters and isn’t.”
Yeah.
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, offset by the flow of laughter and an upbeat cover of a loosely familiar melody I couldn’t place, all jangly and summer-drenched, like trying to blink through sunspots.
“Or.” Shane turned the word into a full sentence. “Hear me out here, okay? Maybe you just need to get laid.”
I snorted. “Yeah, no. Wish it were that simple.”
He gave me a sideways look. “When’s the last time?”
“Seriously?”
“Come on. I was your roommate for four years.” One of his brows inched up, halfway between teasing and pointed. “I know that when you go quiet, it usually means you’re in monk mode.”
“I, uh.” I reached for my mezcal but didn’t drink. “Haven’t. Since him.”
Shane’s whistle was soft and low. “Dude.”
“It’s not that weird. I’ve been busy.” Now I did take a sip, relishing the burn. “Some of us get just one real weekend every couple of months, you know?”
“Ah, the sweet smell of deflection in the evening.” Shane tossed me a smirk, eyes crinkling up with it. “All I’m saying is: It might help. Go out, find someone for a night. Reset the mental compass, you know?”
It wouldn’t.
But the alternative was creeping home to a dark, lonely apartment and feeling sorry for myself. I swirled the liquid in my glass and watched the slow trails it left behind. Fuck, maybe I should hit a bar. Couldn’t hurt, could it?
I exhaled a slow breath through my nose, then glanced up and shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Bourbon and bass. It felt like a déjà vu.
The crowd was weekend-heavy tonight, strobe lights flashing over sweating bodies and bare skin. I should be in there trying to lose myself in the heat and the grind. Instead I was propped against the bar, slowly nursing my drink like someone watching a film that didn’t really move them.
Same place I’d first met Finn. It wasn’t deliberate, though. Just—it was close. Convenient.
And it did nothing to soothe the buzz beneath my skin.
Another sip, the flickering lights leaving bright smears along the backs of my lids, mixing with the amber glow of monitors that clung to the wispy edges of my thoughts.
Too much, too loud, too everything. Some guy bumped into me and smirked like I should be flattered, all confident swagger and bleach-white teeth.
Attractive, and he knew it. I shot him a thanks-but-no-thanks smile, same as the three guys that had come before him.
Reset my mental compass? Yeah, bang-up job there.
This wasn’t helping. I’d finish my drink and leave—only I didn’t want to go home either, my brain whirring like a fan that wouldn’t shut off.
Fuck. I wasn’t even trying.
Enough. I rolled my shoulders back and tipped up my chin, reached for a loose, easy stance. All right. I knew how to do this.
One more sip, then I let my gaze skim across the packed space. Faces and swaying bodies, the thick taste of desire in the air—a need to be seen, wanted. Tank tops showed off muscular forearms, hands raised in the air, drinks sloshing.
Try.
No one caught my eye. Not until—
Finn?
Oh, fuck. Jesus. Yes, he was—that was—yeah.
Finn. Like he’d been ripped straight out of my mind, half-shadowed on the edge of the crowd.
My breath staggered like a drunkard on the way home, like a free-fall with both feet on the ground.
He was leaning against a wall in a slightly rumpled shirt, the top four buttons undone to show off his chest.
And he was looking right at me.
Every cell in my body tripped over itself. Finn. A goddamn fever dream—that impossible mouth soft at the corners, light carving a line across his face, the gentle glint of sweat on his neck. I remembered that spot, fuck. Remembered tasting it.
Shadows dipped and flared. He was still staring at me—as if I was the only one he saw, the only one who mattered even though some guy was talking to him, leaning in close enough to make my spine itch.
I had no right. Still—Christ. I wanted to burn the guy’s expensive jacket.
Finn’s head tilted like he was pretending to listen, but his gaze stayed on me, one corner of his mouth lifting like a challenge, or a secret.
No—an invitation.
He dipped his chin, lashes like charcoal smudges—looked up through them and smiled. Just the barest hint, no more than a twitch of his mouth, but God, it landed like a punch. Come on, then.
The guy next to him touched his elbow. Finn didn’t look away from me.
Bass thumped against my ribs, pulse like static in my ears. Liquid confusion swam in my blood, leftover impressions of his shoulder pressed against mine, counting seconds in the dark, falling into a rhythm that felt like breathing.
This was a mistake. And I didn’t fucking care.
I left my glass on the bar and moved. The air shimmered with noise, something magnetic in my blood that pulled me closer to the one person I wasn’t allowed to have.
He watched me come with a smile that was small and sure and mine alone.