Chapter 11
Ash
“ T hanks for inviting me tonight,” I say over my shoulder as I climb out of August’s truck.
“Glad you could come!” his boyfriend, Tripp, calls out from the rolled-down window.
I wave back at them before bounding up the steps to Finn’s house. Making friends with August was unintentional, since it was his boyfriend who I started talking to first. Tripp works at the coffee shop in town, and they have the best raspberry lemon bars I’ve ever tasted. One afternoon last week, Tucker and I stopped in there after leaving the park, and Tripp recognized Tucker. We swapped numbers, and we’ve hit it off, which is nice. I could use some friends here.
When they invited me to dinner tonight with them and Tripp’s roommate, I was nervous because, other than Wednesday dinners at Gentry’s, I’ve never hung out with August. It was actually pretty chill, and I’m glad I went. As I unlock the front door, I wonder if Finn will be up or not. It’s nearing nine o’clock, and he tends to be an early bird most nights, but it is Saturday, and as far as I know, he’s not doing any work in the morning.
My lip tips up into a grin as the soft music of whatever record he’s playing reaches my ears as soon as I have the door open. Guess he’s up after all. I kick off my shoes, setting them by the bench, before I amble down the hall into the low-lit living room, finding Finn where he is every night; reclined in his chair, a glass of bourbon in his hand. I’m quickly discovering that Finn is nothing if not a creature of habit.
Head turning as he must hear me enter the room, his eyes look me over from head to toe before he tips his chin at me. “Hey.”
“Hey, didn’t think you’d still be awake.”
Walking over to the dry bar, I pull a beer from the fridge, cracking it open, and tossing the bottlecap in the jar on the counter before I take a seat on the couch. I bring the bottle up to my lips, letting the chilled liquid roll down my throat. I’m already a couple of beers deep from dinner, so this should give me a warm buzz.
“Tucker talked me into watchin’ The Lion King again, so he just went down not that long ago.” He shrugs. “Guess I’m not ready to call it a night yet.”
I chuckle, knowing that Tuck and I watched that almost every day this week. “He sure loves that one, doesn’t he?”
“Right now, he does,” Finn says gruffly before downing a sip from his bourbon. I shamelessly watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, wondering what it would feel like under my tongue. Fuck. Boss. Sister’s boyfriend. Knock it off, Ash. “He goes through his phases. In a couple weeks, it’ll be Moana, then Lilo and Stitch .”
This—us, hanging out together—has become a nightly thing over the last week. At first, I felt a little awkward, like maybe I was interrupting some time to himself that he wanted, but as the days pass, he seems to enjoy having me out here. He’s less grumbly and short with me when he’s out here with the music on, relaxing with a drink in his hand. Not that he’s an alcoholic or anything. Most nights he only has one, but if the glassiness to his gaze is any indication, I’d say he’s indulging a bit.
“Who’s this?” I ask, gesturing toward the record player.
Finn rolls his eyes, then drags his gaze over to me. “You’re jokin’.”
I breathe out a laugh. “I’m not.”
“It’s George Strait.” Setting his glass down on the coffee table, he sits up, resting his elbows on his knees as he fixes his furrowed gaze on me. “How the hell’er you from Texas, and you don’t know George Strait?”
Taking a pull from my beer bottle, I chuckle, setting it down on the same table as I match his position. “Well, wouldn’t exactly say I’m from Texas,” I start. “I moved here during high school, then moved away after graduation.”
He clucks his tongue at me. “Still. Where’d you live before that?”
The question has me arching a brow. “Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?”
“Why would I?” he asks, brows pinched.
“Uh, because you’re dating my sister.” I chuckle. “Surely, she would’ve told you that. She loves talking about growing up in Alabama.”
“Oh.” With a shrug, he grabs his drink, bringing it up to his mouth. “She’s never mentioned it, I guess.” After he takes a sip, and I once again greedily watch him swallow, my own mouth salivating at the sight, he asks, “Why don’t y’all have southern accents, then?”
It’s strange to me that he’s asking me this. Has he never met my parents?
“My parents are originally from the West Coast. After they got married, they moved to Alabama for my dad’s job. So, while Vi and I grew up in the south, neither of our parents had an accent, so we didn’t develop one either.”
“Interesting.”
Finn downs the rest of his drink before walking over to the dry bar to pour himself another. “Want another beer?” he asks, his eyes and rosy cheeks giving away how the bourbon has him feeling.
“Sure. Thanks.” I finish off the one I have before standing and strolling into the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. Finn’s already sitting in the chair as I make my way back in, and I’ve got a fresh, opened beer waiting for me on the table by the couch. “What about you?” I ask. “I know you were born and raised here, but have you traveled any?”
His lips thin as he nods. “A little, but not much.”
“Where to?”
“New York.”
I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. “New York? You do not strike me as the type of man to take a vacation to somewhere like the East Coast.”
“It wasn’t a vacation,” he murmurs. “My ex-wife—Tucker’s mom—is a dancer. We went there when we first got together because she had an audition. I hated the place.”
“Big surprise there,” I tease, unable to help but chuckle at his completely apparent distaste for the state, but my curiosity piques at the mention of Tucker’s mom. I’ve wondered more than once about her because nobody has ever mentioned her. I don’t see her in pictures around the house, and Violet’s never said a word about her either. I want to ask, but would that be…inappropriate?
Finn seems to be in a pretty relaxed mood, so it couldn’t hurt, right?
“So, Tucker’s mom,” I murmur. “She’s alive?”
Looking at me out of the corner of his eye, he studies me for a moment, like he’s making sure I really said that. Why the fuck is that the question I went with? After a few tense moments where I worry he may kick me out of his house and fire me, he chuckles.
Actually chuckles. A deep, throaty sound that washes over me.
“She’s alive,” he confirms.
I bring the bottle up to my lips, taking a sip as I contemplate what I want to ask next. Finn’s eyes never leave mine, as if he’s anticipating more. My body heats under his gaze, a bead of sweat breaking out along my hairline.
“Is she in the picture at all?” I finally ask.
He shakes his head. “Nah. She moved away when Tucker was a baby.”
“Why?” The question comes out harsher than I intend it to, but I truly don’t understand how a parent could do that. I mean, I know it happens all the time, but still. “Sorry, that was rude. It’s just…Tucker is such an amazing kid. Why would she leave?”
Finn watches me for a tense moment before lifting his glass and taking a pull from the dark amber liquid. As he places it on the table, his pink tongue pokes out, wiping the moisture off his bottom lip, and my mouth dries at the sight.
“I’ve never talked about this,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. “Nobody asks that.”
I wince. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”
Shaking his head, he says, “It’s alright. Riley never wanted kids; she was very vocal about that. Dancing was her focus, and I respected that. At the time, I was young and didn’t know whether I did or not. We got pregnant by accident; she was on the pill, and we used condoms. From the minute I saw those two pink lines, I knew I wanted to be a dad. There was never a sliver of doubt in my mind, but I refused to tell Riley that because it’s her body, and I knew her goals. I didn’t want to pressure her one way or another. It had to be her choice as much as it killed me, knowing there was a chance she could decide to terminate.”
“So, what happened?”
I’m on the edge of my seat, feeling like I’m watching a soap opera, waiting to find out the twist.
“Her parents are very traditional, old-school southern Christian people,” he explains, and that tells me everything I need to know. “Abortion wasn’t an option, unless she wanted to disappoint her folks. So, we got married down at the courthouse and had Tucker several months later. I wasn’t all that shocked when she took off in the middle of the night when Tucker was about four months old.”
My eyes widen. “She left without saying anything?”
“She left a note, but yeah.” He nods, draining what’s left from his glass. I do the same. “It was a shock, but I wasn’t surprised, if that makes sense. I saw it coming, but that didn’t make it any less jarring to suddenly become a single father.”
That blows my mind. And makes me sad for Tucker. Although, I’m not sure why. He clearly gets more than enough love and attention here. The family he’s got is a pretty rad one, and I say that as somebody who’s only been around for a few weeks. That’s how evident it is. I don’t think he’s lacking or wanting for anything.
“And she’s never come back?” I ask, standing up to grab another beer. Gesturing with my empty bottle to his empty glass, I lift my brows in silent question.
“Just two fingers,” he says, handing it to me. Our fingers brush as I take it, and I can feel the touch throughout my whole body. It vibrates and sparks, stealing my breath from my lungs. My eyes fly up to meet his to see if he felt it too, and based on the harsh way he swallows, I’d say he did. Clearing his throat, he says, “She came back once when Tucker was a toddler, but not to see him. Her parents were movin’ to Florida after they retired, and she came back to help them. She signed over her parental rights during that same visit, and I haven’t seen her since.”
Handing him his drink, I can’t help but notice how he purposely avoids touching me this time. Yeah, he definitely felt it.
“That must’ve been hard for you. Are you angry at her for leaving?”
“I was,” he admits. “At first anyway. But over time, I’ve come to realize that Tucker deserves more than a parent who wouldn’t be all in. It took a while and some therapy for me to grasp that, but Tucker is better off. I never want him to feel like he was a mistake or a burden.”
I watch him for a moment, almost admiring the man sitting across from me. “Tucker’s lucky to have such a great family here.”
His gaze lifts, meeting mine, and I can’t read the expression in them. Nodding once, he murmurs, “Yeah, but I’m the lucky one to have him.”
“Do you want any more kids?”
He rubs his bottom lip with his thumb, almost mindlessly, and it heats my blood. Finn is so effortlessly attractive. “I don’t think so,” he finally provides. “There was a time when I thought I might, because growing up with Hollis was great, but the older I get, the more I don’t see myself wanting to start all over.”
“That makes sense.”
I wonder if Violet knows that.
“What about you?” he asks, taking me by surprise.
My head snaps up, and our gazes collide. “What about me?”
“Do you want kids?”
“Eh, I’m cool either way,” I reply honestly. “I adore kids, and if I wound up with somebody who had them, I’d love that, but I don’t know if I’d ever go beyond that.”
Finn blows out a sigh before taking a swig off his bourbon. “Well, you’re great with Tucker. If you ever did decide to have kids, I’ve got no doubt you’d make a great dad.”
My heart stutters, and I’m taken aback by the compliment. Especially coming from him. “Thanks,” I murmur softly.
This is the most I’ve ever heard Finn talk. When we sit out here at night, we talk, but it’s typically me talking and him giving one-or-two-word grunted responses. But this feels like I’m seeing a whole new side to him. A tender, protective side, and I’ll admit, daddy Finn does it for me. Despite knowing with absolute certainty that I shouldn’t, I can’t help it. Finn is not only sexy as hell, but he’s also a caring, loving father, brother, and son. His work ethic is astonishing.
He’s the whole damn package.
But not only is he way off limits because he’s my boss and my twin sister’s boyfriend, but I’m also ninety-nine percent sure he’s also completely and totally straight. Which is fine because, you know, again…off limits.
“For what it’s worth, you’re a good daddy,” I say, my eyes widening and flying over to Finn when I realize what I just said. His lips are parted as he watches me with furrowed brows. “Oh my fuck. Dad!” I sputter. “I meant to say you’re a good dad .”
I can feel how red my face is, and I’m waiting on bated breath for him to react, but what he does say takes me all the way by surprise.
Finn cocks his head to the side, lip curled into a half-smirk. “I am a good daddy.”
My jaw drops open, and a lick of heat rolls down my spine, pooling low in my groin. That has no business being as hot as it is. Finn is a dad. So him saying that isn’t sexual…but to my horny, gay, sex-deprived ears, it so, so is.
As a filthy image of him standing in front of me as I kneel at his feet flashes through my mind, my dick gives an appreciative twitch inside my pants. His cock in hand—which, no doubt, is massive—as he strokes it. My mouth waters, imagining the way he’d taste. The salty flavor of his arousal, the clean, musky flavor of his skin as he slid the heavy length across my tongue. I imagine swallowing around his thick girth as he seats himself deep in my throat while I show him what a good boy I can be for daddy. How unraveled I can make him.
Is he the type to make noise? Fuck, I bet he sounds sexy when he moans.
Is he a dirty talker? Would he talk me through it? Tell me I’m doing a good job? Tell me I can take a little more?
Fuck, what I would give to find out the answers to those questions.
It’s only after I’ve been staring at Finn for entirely too long that I realize he, too, is watching me. He sips his bourbon, hooded and bloodshot eyes locked on my face. It’s heady, and the air in the room feels tense. Goosebumps break out over every inch of my skin as my heart pounds harder.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but eventually, Finn clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I should get to bed,” he announces, draining the rest of what’s left in his glass.
“Uh, yeah. Me too,” I awkwardly mutter as I raise off the couch at the exact same time he does.
Except as soon as he stands, he takes a step toward the direction of the hallway, but all that does is put him directly in front of me. Before my brain even has a chance to catch up, we’re practically chest to chest. So close I can smell the bourbon on his breath. Can see the way his pupils dilate as he takes me in, and the way the vein in his neck pulsates. I’m willing to bet if I placed my palm over his chest, I’d find his heart thrashing beneath my touch.
My breath catches in my throat as I watch Finn’s gaze slide down to my lips before coming back up to my eyes again. He swallows, throat bobbing as he does, and for a long moment, I think he may lean in and kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
Of course he doesn’t.
Taking a healthy step back, Finn shakes his head, a chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Shit, guess I shouldn’t have had that last drink,” he muses. “Can’t even walk straight.”
The excuse is like a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over my head. I can do nothing more than breathe out a laugh, and it sounds forced even to my own ears. Avoiding my gaze, Finn steps around me, leaving me standing there in the living room, unable to process what the hell just happened.
After he drops his glass off in the kitchen and hurries down the hall to his room, I make quick work of disposing of my empty beer bottles before I head to my room too.
It’s not until I’m undressed and underneath the covers that my annoyance hits me. Annoyance from the fact that Finn just tried to blame whatever the hell that was on the alcohol. And the worst part of it all is, I’m not even sure who he was trying to gaslight out there; me or him, because there was clearly a moment of something between us, and I know I’m not the only one who felt it. I could see it all over his face. And I refuse to believe it was simply from having one too many drinks.
Whether he’ll ever admit it, he thought about kissing me tonight.
Finn Moore, my sister’s boyfriend and my boss, thought about kissing me.
Holy fuck.