Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FINN
I go through the motions of checking my gear, adjusting my bunker pants, inspecting the regulator, but my thoughts keep drifting to Genevieve.
And the pregnancy test she planned to take this morning.
Is it negative, and she needs time to process the result before she shares the news with me?
Or is it positive, and she wants to tell me in person instead of over text?
A mixture of emotions grips me, excitement tangled with something bittersweet. This is what she wanted. What we both wanted. I should be happy over the possibility she might be pregnant.
And I am.
But it also means I’ll never get to touch her like that again. Never feel her body pressing into mine. Never growl as her nails dig into my skin. Never hear that soft little gasp she makes when I first slide inside her.
I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think of something other than Genevieve, just as soft footsteps echo through the bay.
I snap my head up, a warmth filling me at the sight of Genevieve standing in the open bay doors. She’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that says “A book worth banning is a book worth reading”. I definitely don’t remember a librarian ever looking this hot when I was growing up. Maybe if they were, I would have spent more time reading.
But despite her smoky eyes and full red lips, there’s a sadness about her, especiallyas she lifts a Tupperware container, offering a small, practiced smile.
“I made cinnamon rolls for the guys this morning.”
She doesn’t have to say it. I know in an instant.
The test was negative.
She spent the morning baking because she didn’t know what else to do with the disappointment.
I move without thinking, closing the space between us. Taking the container from her and setting it on the ledge of the truck, I pull her against me, enclosing her in my arms. She stiffens at first, then exhales, melting into me.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur into her hair, savoring in her familiar scent. The feel of her body against mine.
As much as I hated the idea of never losing myself in her again, I hate this more. Hate to see her hurting, feeling the quiet sadness in the way she grips onto me as if I’m the only one who can ease the pain. I’d take it all away if I could.
“I knew the chances of it working on the first try were low.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.” Pulling away, she swipes at the few tears that managed to escape.
“It’s okay. We’ll try again…if you’re still willing.”
She nods. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
She looks up at me, her gray eyes damp with the lingering weight of disappointment and, for a moment, I forget everything else. Why we’re here. What we agreed to. How we swore this wouldn’t change things.
As I hold her gaze, my attention dips to her lips — full, soft, inviting. I shouldn’t be thinking about them. About how they felt beneath mine. How they parted on a quiet gasp the first time I kissed her, hesitant but needy. How she sighed into my mouth as if she’d been waiting for it just as long as I had. I shouldn’t remember the way she tasted, sweet and warm, or the way her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer.
But I do.
And I’ve missed it. Missed feeling her mouth against mine. Missed the way she shivered when I traced my tongue along her bottom lip. Missed the quiet, desperate sounds she made when I deepened the kiss, when she pressed herself against me like she couldn’t get close enough.
It’s only been a matter of days, but it doesn’t feel that way. Not when I still wake up remembering the way she felt wrapped around me. Not when I still catch myself staring at her, wondering if she thinks about it, too.
Would she let me kiss her now? Just for a second? Just to feel it again?
My hands twitch with the urge to frame her face, tilt her chin up, and steal the moment before she can overthink it. Before she can remind me this is supposed to be just a means to an end.
As if sensing exactly where my thoughts are going, Genevieve increases the space between us, slipping back into the businesslike composure I hate, shoulders square, head held high.
“I’ll let you know when we should start trying again once I figure it out.”
It shouldn’t bother me. This was the agreement. But her words feel cold. Like she’s scheduling an appointment with her dentist.
“Sounds good.” I force a smile, pretending to be completely unaffected.
“Great.”
She turns to go, but before she can take more than a few steps, I call out, “Genevieve.”
She pauses, facing me again, a brow arched in anticipation. I stare at her for several long moments, unsure what to say. Why I even called out to her.
Then I erase the distance between us and wrap my arms around her again. Just like minutes ago, she briefly stiffens before melting into me, her body fitting so damn perfectly against mine.
Like we were made for each other.
But I don’t say it. I don’t say anything. Instead, I just hold her, relishing in the rise and fall of her chest against mine, her heart beating a steady rhythm.
Eventually, she pulls away, and I let her go, our gazes locking in silent understanding before she turns and disappears through the bay doors.
I exhale slowly, taking a moment to shake off the weight in my chest. When I turn, I find Murphy watching me with a curious expression.
“What was that all about?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I grab the container of cinnamon rolls and head toward the stairs.
“Didn’t look like nothing,” he calls after me.
I pause and face him, leveling him with a glare. “Genevieve’s dealing with something personal and wanted to talk. That’s all.”
It’s not a complete lie. She is dealing with something personal. But so am I.
“If that’s what you need to keep telling yourself.” He gives me a knowing smirk.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gestures toward where Genevieve just stood. “That wasn’t just a friend consoling another friend. When are you going to stop pretending you don’t have feelings for her?”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t know how to answer.
Instead, I push past him and make my way up to the workout room upstairs, needing to do something to take my mind off everything.