Chapter 15
Fifteen
Finn
I take Chess to a restaurant on the beach. We sit on a huge terrace strung with lights, our table right beside the glass railing,
and watch the sun set over the ocean as Chess drinks a fruity cocktail and I nurse a beer.
“What’s good here?” she asks me.
For a moment, I can only stare. Her skin glows with a light tan that makes her green eyes brighter. The ocean breeze kicks
up the silky strands of her dark hair, making them dance around her slim shoulders. She looks happy, relaxed, and well satisfied.
I did that. I gave her that soft, content look. I gave her those kiss-swollen lips. Because I now can, because she’s right
here, I lean in and kiss her again. A gentle, lazy exploration of her mouth with mine. She tastes of tequila and passion fruit.
And I could gladly kiss her all night.
I pull back just far enough to see her smile, those green eyes lit with happiness, and I smile, too.
I want to tell her things. Important, emotional things that I’ve never said to anyone else. But this shift between us is too
new and the place too public. Besides, she wants to order food.
“Get the lobster tacos,” I tell her with another soft kiss.
She hums against my mouth and, when I sit back, gives me an assessing look. “Why do I suspect that you come home for tacos
almost as much as you do to see your parents?”
I laugh. “Because I do. They’re the best in SoCal.”
“Pretty sure there are taco lovers who would defend their own hometowns.”
“They can try.” I wink. Looking her over, a swelling sense of rightness fills me.
I’ve had moments I thought were perfect. They were preludes to this, to truly being with Chess.
“Our first date should have been like this,” I tell her.
Chess quirks a brow, but she’s still smiling. “I thought this was our first date.”
“Our first date was eating fried fish and talking about bad sex. We just didn’t realize it yet.”
“We didn’t?”
“Nope.” Slowly, I shake my head. “It was a date, but the execution was all wrong. I shouldn’t have made it a friend thing.
I should have gone up to you and said, ‘I like you at lot, Chester Copper. Will you go out with me for, like, real?’”
She snickers, but it sounds suspiciously like a happy giggle. “How do you know it would have worked?”
God, I love her smile. I want to keep teasing her just to see it bloom again and again. “It would have worked. I would have
kissed you the way I’d wanted to since we met, and you would have been mine.”
“Oh, really,” she deadpans, but I see the knowledge in her eyes.
“Really. I was made to kiss you, Chess.”
She goes soft at that, giving me those bedroom eyes. Her voice grows husky, making me hard and tight with anticipation. “Maybe
I was the one made to kiss you, Finn.”
Emotion rushes through my chest, taking my air, and I breathe deep. “You were.”
The waitress arrives to take our order.
When she’s gone, Chess looks out over the water, giving me her profile.
She’s flustered, her fingers tapping the glass in her hand.
Neither of us has been in a relationship, me because I didn’t want to, Chess because she never found anyone she wanted.
In a way, I’m glad that we’re both new to this.
We can be each other’s only. But part of me wishes we both knew more, or at least one of us had some knowledge of how to play this.
But it is what it is, and I’m content to drink my beer, watch the sunlight dance in my girl’s hair. Our food arrives and we
eat with gusto, talking about nothing in particular. The sun sinks behind the horizon, and the string lights twinkle overhead.
A dance floor is set up on one corner of the patio. Mostly older patrons are slow dancing to a Sinatra song. Chess watches
them, the corners of her lips tilted up. “I wish I brought my camera. That couple there . . .”
I glance back and see a man and woman who must be in their eighties. He’s dressed in a light gray three-piece suit, an honest-to-god
red carnation tucked into his lapel. The woman’s dress looks like something out of the ’40s. They move together in perfect
harmony, his hand in hers as they smile at each other.
Chess glances at me but then her gaze goes back to the couple. “What must that be like? To spend an entire lifetime with someone,
and the threads of who you are have become so interwoven, you can’t part without unraveling.”
I don’t know. But I want to find out.
The song ends and another begins. It’s slow, the woman’s voice filled with tender love and bittersweet nostalgia as she sings
along to the piano. I listen to the lyrics and start to smile. “This song was playing when I walked you home that first night.”
Chess’s brows draw together. “It was?”
“Elvis was singing it then.”
Her expression clears as she listens. “‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ I remember.”
I put my napkin down on the table and stand. “Dance with me.”
Chess blanches. “What, here?”
“That’s the idea, yeah.”
Her gaze darts from the dance floor to me.
I’m patient, but I’m not letting this go. Not when it’s this song, in this moment. “Some things you don’t take a picture of,
Chess. You live them.” I reach out to her. “Take my hand.”
For a second, she just stares at me as if she’s never seen me before. I don’t move, don’t look away. Chess licks her lips
and, slowly, she puts her hand in mine.
The world shifts there and then, and it’s as though I’m taking my first breath. I hold her hand and lead her to the dance
floor. She moves into my embrace, and then there is nothing else. Just Chess. The scent of sea and sun in her hair, the smooth
satin of her skin. I am a fucking goner. A man capable of cheesy poetry and big gestures.
I don’t even care. Bring it. I want it all.
We flow together, barely dancing, just swaying and listening to the music. Her cheek rests against my chest, her arms wrapped
around my waist as if she doesn’t want to let go. I hold her closer, smoothing my hands up her arm, down the narrow slope
of her back.
Part of me wants to get to my knees before her. I press my cheek to the crown of her head and breathe in, let myself fall.
A white light flashes, and for a second, it doesn’t register.
There is another. I turn my head, and spot the guy holding a camera phone aimed at me. Rage punches into my gut so hard, I
make a sound. Chess stops, moving back a step, her gaze zeroing in on the guy, too. Her body stiffens, and it kills me.
I’m used to getting my picture taken without my permission. But that fucker didn’t just violate my privacy, he violated Chess’s.
I take a step, and her hand presses against the small of my back.
“Don’t,” she says in a low voice. She looks at me with pleading eyes. “It’s not worth trouble.”
My thumb strokes her chin. “He does not get that piece of us.”
Another flash, and now my eye is twitching. No fucking way.
“Trust me, it will be all right.” Giving Chess a tight smile, I take her hand and head toward the asshole snapping pictures of us.
Dude stiffens as soon as he realizes I’m coming for him. I almost feel guilty about the way his gaze darts around and his
mouth trembles, as if he can’t decide to smile or bolt. Physically intimidating guys weaker than me is not my style. I make
it easy for him.
“Hey, man.” I hold out my hand. “Finn Mannus.”
He glances at my hand for a second, as if trying to decide whether I’m going to rip his off. But then he relents and gives
me a weak, quick shake. “Hey.”
When I don’t do anything aggressive, his grip gets a little stronger. “Manny, I knew it was you. I fucking love you, man.”
Yeah, no shit. I nod, giving him an easy smile, as Chess hovers at my side, gripping the back of my shirt. I drop dude’s sweaty
hand, but my smile remains. “Saw you taking pictures of me and my girl.”
Just like that, dude gets stiff again, thrusting up his chin. “You’re in public.”
And you’re kind of a dick.
“Sure. I was wondering if I could get a copy.” I nod toward Chess, as I wrap my arm around her. “It’s our first date. Be nice
to have a memento of it.”
I can feel Chess’s stare. She’s wondering what the hell I’m doing. It makes my smile a little more genuine because I love
the sound of her chiding voice in my head.
Dude’s date, who hasn’t said a word until now, perks up. “Oh, that’s so sweet. Dougie, isn’t that sweet?”
He gives his girl an annoyed look, as if to say he’s in charge, but then puffs up his chest a bit. “Yeah, sure, Manny.”
“Cool. Can we have a look?” Another fake smile. “My girl really wants to see them.”
Dougie is not entirely stupid and hesitates.
I hold out my hand and stare him down, but keep my pleasant expression. If he says no now, he comes off as a complete dick in front of his girl and his supposed idol.
Finally, he hands over his phone. Jesus, he took a lot. My anger rises. At my side, Chess’s fingers dig into my arm, but she
doesn’t let her emotions show. “Your eyes are closed in that one,” she points out lightly.
“I like slow dancing with my eyes closed,” I tell her with the same levity, as I highlight the photo and a half a dozen more.
They’re grainy or overdeveloped with the flash, but every image shows what I’m feeling for Chess with perfect clarity. While
I’m not the least bit ashamed of that, the idea of them being all over the internet—and I have no fucking doubt that’s where
these are headed—makes me want to crush the phone in my hand.
A sense of violation coats my insides like hot tar.
Dougie, the little fucker, also recorded the last bit. I don’t play it because I’m not sure I can keep my temper if I do.
I send the entire lot to an email address set up for Charlie to check, with the code I use to let Charlie know it’s from me
as the subject line. He’ll keep them safe for me and then block Dougie’s email address later.
Dougie sees that I’ve sent the pictures on and starts to fidget in his seat. Because I’m still holding his phone. It’s clear
that he’s worried I’m going to delete them.