Chapter Eight
Finley stood rooted to the same spot for several moments after Kieran disappeared from sight.
Were they flirting? It sure felt like it.
Was six months away from the dating scene long enough to forget the basics?
Maybe that was why he’d stumbled all over himself since Kieran had arrived on the ranch…
yesterday. Finley had to keep reminding himself that he’d only known the guy for twenty-four hours.
Their acquaintance wasn’t nearly long enough to justify the hold Kieran had on his thoughts and emotions.
Finley had always believed one should strike while the iron was hot, but this was ludicrous, even for his standards.
He forced himself to focus on the task at hand and turned back to the row of laundry machines.
His gaze landed on the blue fabric on top of the clothes pile.
Heat crept up his neck as his brain replayed the jockstrap incident in slow motion.
The thunk of the plastic basket hitting the concrete, followed by the mound of clothes teetering before settling again.
Then that insignificant scrap of blue fabric with a mind of its own toppling to the ground like a bright blue flag in a sea of gray machines and concrete floors.
He’d been mortified until he saw the hungry expression on Kieran’s face.
Hell yes, they’d been flirting, and wasn’t that what he wanted when he’d orchestrated their run-in?
The washer and dryer at the old homestead were in use, but he could’ve waited for them to become free.
It wasn’t like he had big plans later. But Finley had chosen to drag his overflowing basket of clothes to the crew’s laundry room because he’d seen Kieran go in there earlier.
He tried to convince himself that it was just curiosity and not him giving in to the magnetic pull he felt toward Kieran.
But he’d never grow and change bad habits if he continued lying to himself, so he acknowledged the hard truths.
He’d purposely sought out Kieran because he wanted to be near him, even though Kieran was giving him lukewarm signals, aloof ones at best. Yet there were moments when Finley witnessed something delicious sparking in his dark gaze, and he felt a resounding howl in his soul.
A persistent voice whispered that Kieran needed him, that they needed each other.
The question was: what was Finley prepared to do about it?
He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep cleansing breath.
He felt calmer and more focused when he reopened his eyes.
The answer arrived swiftly and resolutely. Nothing.
Kieran’s arrival changed zilch. Finley’s love life was still on hiatus.
He was determined to turn over a new leaf and only engage in healthy romantic relationships, but only after he sorted himself out.
The pull he felt toward Kieran was nothing more than horniness.
Finley snorted when he realized that the howling he’d heard was probably coming from his mournful libido.
He was just horny, which explained the dildo incident that had left him sore enough to attract notice.
It was also the reason he lied to Kieran about being good at poker just to have an excuse to be near him.
He’d never played poker a day in his life.
Though he knew enough about the game to know his fib was called a bluff, which Kieran would call during their first hand.
Finley could always claim his boast was about something else entirely, but that would lead him into dangerous territory.
He should make an excuse to back out of playing and busy himself doing anything else.
But would spending another Saturday night in solitude be the best way to combat his loneliness?
Or should he start working on strengthening his resistance to Kieran by placing himself around him more often?
Didn’t his mother have a meditation lesson on exposing oneself to temptations to build resistance?
Avoidance hadn’t worked out for him, so Finley decided to try exposure in a controlled environment.
He and Kieran would be surrounded by people at the poker game.
What could be the harm? Other than humiliating himself when it became obvious he wasn’t a card shark.
The solution was simple. He’d overheard the guys use terms like “five-card stud,” “jacks or better to open,” and “progressive” enough to know they were significant.
He typed the words into YouTube and found a host of tutorial videos on how to play the game and spot other players’ tells.
Two hours later, Finley was confident he could bullshit his way through one evening.
If he tanked, he could just blame it on luck, which wasn’t exactly going his way lately.
As game time approached, his confidence faltered, and he redirected his energy into something useful.
He located Ivan in their kitchen. The big guy had a cell phone in one hand and a takeout menu in the other.
“Mind if I take over food duties for the night?” Finley asked. “I thought we might expand the menu a little.”
Ivan arched a brow but handed Finley the menu. “You’re coming to poker night?”
“Yep.”
The big guy narrowed his eyes. “Why tonight?”
Finley tried for a casual shrug, but it felt more like a nervous twitch. “First you bust my balls for never playing, and now you’re going to give me the third degree when I relent?”
“Third degree? It was a single question.” Realization dawned slowly on Ivan’s face before his handsome features morphed into a scowl. “The new guy is going to be there, and you want to make a good impression.”
“Do not,” Finley scoffed. He shifted his gaze to the menu in his hand and mentally prepared an order.
“Mmmhmm.” Ivan’s tone said it all. “It’s fine with me if you want to fancy up poker night for the hot guy, but don’t forget to order the stuff the rest of us like too.”
Finley snapped his head up to meet Ivan’s gaze.
“Pepperoni, pineapple, and anchovies.” Ivan’s lips curled into a sneer, and it was impossible to tell which annoyed him more—the pineapple or the anchovies.
“I wouldn’t dream of forgetting the standard meat lover’s or supreme pizza.
I just thought I’d add some wings, garlic knots, and a few other options. ”
Ivan pursed his lips and rocked his head from right to left. “I wouldn’t turn up my nose at either of those options. Kind of annoyed I hadn’t thought of it myself.”
“Harriet, the hostess with the mostest, isn’t your sister, so you’re excused.”
The big man arched a brow, and Finley prepared to have his first bluff called that evening. Instead, Ivan said, “I want to try the atomic wings.”
Finley tapped his temple. “Already on the list.”
“Let me know how much I owe you,” Ivan said.
Finley was going to protest and insist on paying for the extra food, then thought better of it when he saw Ivan’s scowl. “Okay,” he said.
The foreman shook his head and walked away. “I’ll pick up the order so you can have extra time to primp for Romeo,” Ivan called over his shoulder.
Finley tried to come up with an appropriate rebuttal, but he hadn’t thought of one by the time Ivan’s bedroom door shut with a firm click, making his friend’s displeasure known.
He rolled his eyes and placed the order, texted the amount and pickup time to Ivan, then retreated to his room to find something to wear.
Fifteen minutes into the search, Finley realized he was treating poker night like a date and returned the pressed Western-style shirts to his closet.
He yanked a faded gray hoodie off the hanger and closed the door—literally and figuratively.
No more debating outfits or his motives.
In the shower, he spent his time replaying video clips he’d watched on YouTube instead of easing the ache between his legs.
Finley caught himself reaching for the cologne on top of his dresser and stopped.
Poker night. Not a date. But his heart sank when he caught his reflection in the mirror.
Finley’s eyes shimmered with excitement and anticipation that had nothing to do with playing cards.
No wonder Ivan had called his bluff. He didn’t have cartoon heart eyes popping out of his head, but he might as well have.
“No. This is not a date, and I’m not romantically interested in Kieran.
” I just really want to fuck him until neither of us can see straight.
No, Finley shook his head, half expecting his reflection to have a life of its own like in Mary Poppins.
No doubt his body double would nod vigorously or laugh at his ridiculous claim.
“Yo, Finley,” Tyler called from downstairs. “Food’s here. You already look pretty enough, so get down here.”
Finley and his reflection scowled at one another.
He was not pretty. His jaw was too square and his bone structure too prominent.
The only remotely lush or soft feature was his mouth, and he had received plenty of compliments about it from his romantic partners.
Finley had even seen Kieran’s focus drop to his lips a time or two when he spoke.
That he reached for his lip balm had zero to do with impressing Kieran; his lips looked dry.
Nothing more. Finley couldn’t sit around the table with the guys until he got his emotions in check.
He tried to summon a topic that would take his mind in the opposite direction of lust and attraction.
He either was too tired to think of something or he just didn’t want it badly enough because his mind drew a blank.
“We’ll eat without you,” Owen yelled up the stairs.