Chapter 10 #2
I make my way over to the couch and hover by the arm, not sure if I should sit down or leave him alone. Finn doesn’t bother
to look up, but takes a long drink from the bottle in his hand. The faint lines that fan out from the corners of his eyes
are deeper now, tight and unhappy.
“You eat?” he asks, setting his sports drink on the table. “I had to put the cheese away. It was getting sweaty. But I can
pull it back out.”
I clear my throat. “No, I’m good. I ate at a bar.”
Quietly, he nods and then reaches for his game controller. I turn to go when his voice stops me.
“Stay.” He glances up, and I nearly rock back on my feet. Because he looks haunted. Angry. Lost.
I find myself sitting beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, but not close enough to risk leaning
on him. “You all right?”
His expression shutters. “Just tired.”
The finality in his tone makes it clear he’s not going to answer any more questions. I’m almost relieved. The last thing I
want to do is console him on his love life. Even so, I don’t like that he’s hurting.
He glances my way but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I can put on something else if you want.”
“No.” I kick off my shoes and set my phone on the coffee table before curling up more comfortably on the couch. “Let me see
you kick some ass with your big guns of fury.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Are you throwing shade, Chester?”
“Me?” I blink innocently. “I would never.”
Finn hums as if dubious, but his expression is lighter as he starts up his game.
Content to sit next to him and watch him play, I zone out, my body growing heavy and warm. I’ve only been gone a couple of hours, and I’ve missed him like it’s been weeks. I’m so screwed.
He finishes the game and turns on regular TV, flipping through the channels. “Oh, wait,” I cry out. “Stop here.”
“Friends? Really?”
“Don’t give me that look. It’s funny!”
“It’s like . . . what? Old.”
“You’re old,” I quip with some asperity.
“Hey!”
I grin at his outraged expression. “Should I not watch you on TV?”
His brows rise at that. “Do you watch me on TV?” He sounds both hopeful and skeptical.
“James is a huge fan. I’ve been watching you play since the beginning.”
For a long moment, he says nothing, his gaze darting over my face as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m being truthful. But
then a slow, pleased light fills his eyes. “It’s unnerving how much I love knowing that.”
It’s all I can do not to squirm. “I should clarify that it was mostly out of the corner of my eye, and you were not much more
than a padded-up dude hiding under a big helmet.”
Finn shakes his head and tsks. “You’re not going to ruin this for me, Chess. You’ve seen me play. End of story.” He sprawls
out, his long legs slanting over the coffee table, like some lord of the manner.
“Are you going to let me watch my show or keep crowing all night?”
“I’m good,” he says a touch too happily.
“I’ll make a convert out of you with this show, just wait.”
“I’ve already seen it. Dex is a fan.” He grabs his drink. “You remember him from the shoot? The big guy with the beard and
tats—”
“And piercings,” I cut in. “Yeah, I remember, all right.”
A choked gurgle gets caught in Finn’s throat as he jerks his head up. “Jesus, Chess.”
“What? The man has his dick pierced. It’s kind of impossible to ignore. Or didn’t you know?”
His brows meet over a dark scowl. “It’s not the kind of thing I want to notice.”
God, it’s hard not to grin; he sounds so put out and aggrieved. But the devil in me can’t resist poking the bear. “I’d think
a piercing like that would be the talk of the locker room.”
As predicted, he reacts with an agitated scoff, but then turns back toward the TV. When he speaks, his tone is almost sullen.
“Dex is your type.”
Oh, we’re going to talk about type now? After I’ve come face-to-face with Ms. Golden Goddess Pouty Lips?
“I suppose he is,” I agree. Because Finn is right. Dex is one hundred percent my usual type. We’d even discussed our mutual
love of art and painting when I’d taken his picture. Yet, I hadn’t felt anything past a gentle fondness and the need to put
the big guy at ease. “Are you trying to set me up with him?”
I’m pretty sure I’ll have to kill Finn if he starts trying to get me to go out with his friends.
The corners of Finn’s mouth tighten. “Sorry, but he’s taken.”
“Good for him.” I mean it. I like Dex.
Finn grunts in response and shifts his position on the couch, moving his legs around as if he can’t get comfortable. We’re
both out of sorts, and I can’t tell if we’re trying to fight or not. The thought makes me tired and depressed.
“You need a big ottoman to rest your feet on,” I say, distracted.
“Usually I stretch out on the couch.” Finn glances at his coffee table then at me. “But you’re right, an ottoman would be
better. We should go buy one.”
We? Oh, hell. I curl up tighter into the corner of the couch. “You don’t have to go through all that. I can always sit on the
chair and give you the couch.”
“Or you could sit on my lap.”
“Cute.”
“I thought so,” he agrees.
It’s our typical back-and-forth, but everything feels off. I’m tense as hell, and he’s lacking his usual easy charm. The glow
of the TV paints his face in flickering blues and reds. The lines of his face are pinched, his shoulders held tight. His hand
rests between us, large and wide, the nails trimmed.
I know that, when stretched wide, his hand is ten and three-fourths inches from the tip of his thumb to the tip of his pinky.
They actually measured it for the Scouting Combine before he was drafted. Because, as Finn had once laughingly told me, hand
size matters. Perhaps to the NFL it does. Right now, I’m more worried about the way he digs his fingers into the cushions
as if he needs to hold on to something.
I want to pick up his hand, trace the bumps of his knuckles and the fine fan of bones that lead to his wrist. But it isn’t
my place to do that for him.
“I’m glad you’re home.” His voice is low but strong, and it resonates through my bones.
Our gazes meet. Looking directly at him aches, makes my head light and my heart heavy. A petty, small part of me wants to
yell at him for having a life that doesn’t involve me, for so clearly being gone on a woman who isn’t me. I hate myself for that hypocrisy. He isn’t mine. I can’t make those demands.
But the tender, needy part of me wants to crawl into his lap and rest my head on his shoulder. That’s all I’d need right now.
Just that. “Me, too.”
That seems to please him, but the solemn expression doesn’t ease. “You didn’t have to leave, you know.”
“Yeah, I did.”
His gaze slides away. “Not for hours, you didn’t.”
There’s a heaviness about him now, a slowness that isn’t the Finn I know. And I realize it’s pain. He’s in real pain. My throat closes in on me, and it’s hard to say the words. “She broke your heart, didn’t she?”
Finn flinches then holds himself utterly still, his lashes lowered. “I guess she did, in a way.”
I officially hate the woman.
“I thought you didn’t date,” I blurt out like an idiot.
The corner of his mouth quirks sadly. “I don’t.”
He doesn’t expand on that, and I’m left confused with the hard hand of jealousy pushing down on my chest. Clearly, I’m not
good enough at hiding my feelings because, when he glances at me, he does a double take, his brows knitting together. “Chess—”
My phone pings with a text and then another one. Finn reaches for it as if to hand it to me but freezes when he sees the screen.
His nostrils flare on an indrawn breath. “Who the hell is Nate?”
I have absolutely no reason to feel guilty. I snatch the phone out of his hand. “A bartender I met tonight.”
“Tonight,” he repeats as if it’s a bad word. “And what does he mean when he says you didn’t tell him what kind of place you
were looking for?”
I can almost hear his teeth grinding. My fingers curl around my phone. “I’d rather leave before I overstay my welcome. That’s
just awkward, you know?”
My joke falls flat. The muscle in his jaw bunches. “I said you could stay as long as you wanted, and I meant it.”
“And I appreciate that. So much.” A cold, sticky feeling lines my insides. “But I’m in your way. Tonight—”
“Jesus,” he snarls, standing to pace away. “Is this about Britt showing up here?”
My face flushes hot. I officially hate her name, too. “I’ve had roommates in college, Finn. I don’t want to relive listening
to hookups while stuck in my room.”
He scowls. “You think I was fucking her? Is that why you stayed away so long?” He snorts, an ugly, pissed-off sound. “What am I saying? Of course it is.”
“I was being polite,” I snap.
“Polite,” he scoffs. “First off, I never bring a hookup to my home. Ever. I don’t want them knowing where I live. The last
thing I need is a stalker situation.”
“Well, that’s . . . bleak.”
“It’s reality, Chess. Mine.” He sets his hands low on his hips as he glares down at me. “I didn’t fuck her. I haven’t fucked
anyone for six damn months, if you want the truth.”
“Wait, what? Why?” And, what? How can that be? Has he seen himself?
His expression turns pugnacious. “That’s my business.”
“Then why tell me?” I grit out.
Finn turns away, his face flushed, before pinning me with a look. “I know I joke about hooking up and it gave you the impression
that I’m a player. That’s on me.” He takes a step in my direction, and the lines of his body grow hard. “But you’re talking
of leaving because you think I’m some revolving fuck door, and that’s bullshit.”
“I’m not judging you, Finn.”
“Yeah, you are,” he says with a bitter laugh. “At least have the guts to admit that much.”
“I freaked, okay? I didn’t expect a woman to show up here because I never picture you with other women.” Only with me. “Not because I think you’re some walking sex act.”
Finn blinks, his brows lifting high. An awkward silence falls over us, and it’s all I can do not to escape to the safe harbor
of my room. But I can’t do that. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” I tell him. “I don’t know how to navigate this roommate situation,
and it’s confusing.”
He gives a tight nod, then blows out a breath. “This isn’t a prison, Chess. I can’t make you stay. And, frankly, I don’t want
you to stay if you’re uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable—”
“But if you want to know how I feel about it,” he cuts in. “I want you here. My life is better with you in it. I look forward
to coming home. To you. And I really don’t give a shit if that makes me a selfish bastard.” With that, he turns and heads for his room. “If you still
want to move, I’ll help you find a place in the morning.”