14. Vivian
fourteen
Vivian
M y eyelashes flutter, blurring the view of my door. There’s no way I heard him correctly. “I—I’m sorry?”
Finn’s forceful exhale is audible. “Neverm—”
“Yes,” I cut him off, turning to face him and pocketing my key.
I expect flirtatious Finn to hit me with that roguish smile, but his jaw tightens. “You’re sure?”
“I think it would be good practice. Don’t you?”
The tendons in his neck strain as he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you want, Vivian?”
You.
The unwieldy thought escapes before I can catch it.
But honestly, who could blame me?
Finn is masculinity perfected—all hard lines and muscles while still managing to be charming and kind.
The way his eyes seemed to sparkle whenever I spoke left me heady earlier.
And the stupid thing about it is that I’ve seen him pay that same rapt attention to others.
It’s a practiced skill. I know that. I know I’m nothing special.
The connection I feel with Finn is a figment of my unwieldy imagination, a byproduct of reading too many romance novels.
Tonight was all an act because I would never register on Finn’s radar had we not concocted this unusual alliance.
Regardless, I’m not ready for the night to be over.
And I really could use help. My only kissing experience had been from one of Noah’s baseball parties during high school.
It’d felt like Noah’s teammate had been two seconds from unhinging his jaw and swallowing me whole.
I know kissing can be slobbery, but surely that guy had a glandular disorder.
There’s no doubt that Finn’s kiss will be extraordinary—a triumphant culmination of years of experience.
Something I am desperately lacking.
“I want you to kiss me.”
I don’t tell Finn about my lack of experience. He’ll likely notice. And if I say anything other than the daring sentence that just left my mouth, I’ll chicken out.
The leisurely way Finn closes the distance between us is entirely too predatorial.
Though I’d expected fierce, focused intent, the way he’s looking at me has the potential to make my heart implode.
When my back bumps against the door, I almost ask him to stop.
But then Finn pauses, and the intense pressure vaporizes.
The hesitant way his breath skirts over my temple doesn’t feel like a suave maneuver. His broad chest heaves at an erratic frequency, matching mine. It’s not until Finn wavers as our noses brush, a thick swallow bobbing his throat, that I finally understand.
He’s being slow and cautious because that’s how Atticus would kiss me.
My dating coach has thought of everything.
The slight tremor in his fingertips as they slide up my bare arms is intentional. The broken-glass-in-a-cement-mixer quality of his voice as he murmurs “Vivian” is above and beyond showmanship. I almost smile at how easy he’s making this for me.
By the time Finn kisses me, I’m ready. The slight press of Finn’s mouth to mine isn’t what I was expecting, though.
Indescribable energy cracks down my bones, righting my organs in its wake.
I don’t feel flustered anymore. Instead, a sensation of wholeness straightens my spine.
I’m somehow stronger with Finn’s whiskey-tinged lips on mine.
The overwhelming sense of rightness flooding each and every nerve ending is so satiating that a breathy sigh escapes me.
I feel Finn’s smile rather than see it, and the spike of joy pistoning through me threatens to knock me sideways. Because…
This feels like a memory. Like something we’ve done before.
Which makes absolutely no sense.
Finn’s face lifts from mine, and my body seizes control. It’s a hostile takeover. My brain is duct taped to a chair somewhere with a purple paisley handkerchief over its mouth. It knows I should allow that chaste kiss to be the end of this particular lesson, but the rest of me vehemently disagrees.
I chase after Finn, unabashedly capturing his mouth while my hands grip the shirt over his stomach as if it’s made of the finest silk.
Finn, it seems, needs little encouragement to continue our practice session.
One of his hands slides into my hair, expertly tilting my head as he deepens the kiss.
Light fragments and refracts behind my closed eyelids, leaving blazing phantom streaks in its wake.
This is so different from anything I’ve experienced before that I don’t know how to catalog it.
Finn’s pace remains unhurried. It’s almost as if he’s relishing every small touch, every sensation.
He gives me time to absorb each movement, and when I reciprocate, a soft sound of encouragement vibrates his chest. I feel savored and priceless, but not fragile or incapable.
The way Finn is kissing me spurs the impulse to take, to demand what I want.
It’s new and dizzying, but suddenly, my hands fisting Finn’s shirt feels like a waste.
Why would I touch cotton when I could be exploring the hard panes of muscle from hours of dedicated gym time?
I release the fabric, my fingertips pressing firm and sliding upward until they’re just below where I’d take his chest measurement for a garment.
A surprised inhale slips into Finn’s mouth as he breaks the kiss.
Our gazes lock, and a thundercrack slices through the air, leaving thick electricity trailing in its wake.
My brow tightens. The forecasted summer storm isn’t supposed to hit Wilks Beach until Thursday. I glance up, expecting clouds but seeing an open, endless sky. Maybe the skull-shaking sound was a figment of my imagination? Maybe Finn is such a good kisser he gives women auditory hallucinations?
Quite possible.
Finn’s gaze falls to my fingertips, transfixed.
A surge of power zips through me at his open-mouthed expression.
He’s even more breathtaking with a glimmer of devastation alighting his dark beard scruff, his thick eyelashes flickering against his tanned cheek, and his firm chest rising and falling beneath my touch.
Good gracious , he’s a pretending pro. I feel like if I were to slide my palms over his heart, it would be his end—plain and simple. Before I can test the theory, Finn steps beyond my grasp, wiping his mouth with the back of his fist.
“Was that your first kiss?”
I want to joke, say something flippant that will make the both of us laugh like we’d been doing all night, but all I can manage is a simple “No.”
An emotion flits over his cheekbones before Finn tucks it away. Disappointment? No. That doesn’t make sense. Why would he be disappointed?
Finn slides his hands into his pockets, his roguish smile tugging his lips. “I’d say you’re well prepared for your first date now.”
A sensation of déjà vu overwhelms me, my brain racking to remember when I’d seen this before. That slight glimpse of a vulnerable underlayer before Finn threw charm upon it. It’s undeniably intentional, and I suddenly want to dig into what Finn is hiding like pirates searching for buried treasure.
“Right.” My forced chuckle sounds as hollow as it feels. “Thanks, Coach.”
I’m rewarded with a tiny wince before Finn composes himself. There! I wasn’t imagining it. My gaze drifts off while I think of why Finn would be unhappy…
Oh my goodness!
It has to be me.
I must be a terrible kisser.
That’s why he’s frowning now that it’s over. I probably slobbered all over him like an untrained puppy, and Finn was so accurate with his portrayal of Atticus that I didn’t even notice. My skin flames, and I nearly rip a hole in my dress pocket, searching for my key.
“Thanks again for everything,”—I turn my back, failing twice to put the key into the lock—“but I need to get to bed. Long day tomorrow. It’s prom season, and well, you don’t know what that means, but it’s busy.”
“Vivian.”
“I love sequins as much as the next girl, but they make alterations so much harder.”
The sensation of the lock releasing beneath my shaking hand almost makes me sob. And I plan on crying— hard and messy —but not until I’m safely behind not only this door but the door to my shop. I’m going to burn through an entire box of tissues in five minutes flat.
“Vivian.” This time, a firm hand grips my wrist and flips me before I can turn the handle.
How it’s possible for Finn to be breathing harder now than he had while kissing is unfathomable. His gaze bounces all over my face, his grip on my wrist loosening but not yielding.
“What is it?”
I shake my head at the soft question, pressing my lips tight and willing my eyes not to spill their sheening tears.
“Please tell me.” The tender way his free hand frames my face sends goosebumps over my skin.
I hesitate, goldfishing for several heartbeats. “It was bad, wasn’t it? My kissing.”
Finn closes his eyes with a hard exhale. “No.”
The honesty in his gaze when Finn focuses back on me steals my breath.
“It was good. Too good. You made it easy to get swept up in that kiss, to forget who we are, but it’s my job to make sure no lines get crossed.
” He releases me and steps back. “We’ve got a good thing going here, helping each other out.
My colleagues are finally regarding me with something other than disdain, and you not only talked to Atticus today, you got his phone number. That’s huge.”
With him beyond the reaches of the wan lamplight, it’s harder to scrutinize his features. “I’m glad I was able to help you tonight, but in the name of our friendship, I don’t think it’s a good idea to practice kissing again.”
“Our friendship?”
“That’s what we are, right?”
As much as my imagination would like to apply the completely inappropriate label of lovers to our fledgling relationship, I say, “I don’t know when we switched from mentee/mentor to friends, but I’ll take it.”
I make sure to lace my lightly toned sentence with a toothy smile.
Finn’s tense shoulders finally relax. “Goodnight, then.”
“Night, Finn.”
I tell myself that watching Finn walk home from the living room window until I can’t see his sturdy shadow in the distance is something a caring friend would do. So is double-checking that said friend made it home safe via text.
Vivian
Any ruffians give you trouble on the way home? Apparently, the island is teeming with them.
Finn
Har. Har.
Vivian
I’m serious. Apparently, safety is a real issue. Should we move?
Dots blink for an inordinately long time before Finn’s message comes through. I can’t blame lack of service for the delay in his answer. Wilks Beach might be out of the way physically, but its cellular service game is strong.
Finn
If I get the directorship, I’ll be leaving at the end of the summer.
I knew that. He’d be coordinating the entire library system from the Central Library in Virginia Beach.
The whole point of our arrangement is for him to get that position.
The gnawing pinch in my stomach is probably hunger related.
I open and stare blankly at the fridge contents before grabbing the container of grapes.
Delicious sweetness crushes between my molars as I type out an answer.
Vivian
You’re absolutely going to get that job. By the time we’re done, everyone on this island will love you.
And if I’m not careful, I will too.