Chapter 13
“Do you have a map? Because I keep getting lost in your eyes.”
“No, but you’re right on track with getting lost.”
Adelaide
I put off starting class, waiting to see if Finn will show. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, and he’s not here. While I would’ve totally expected that the first week of class, I’m concerned now. He’s been so punctual, early. And so involved with the ladies.
“Has anyone heard from Finn? Should we wait for him?” I flit my gaze from face to face and back to the door, searching for his now-familiar wide smile.
“He texted me that he’s not feeling well, so he won’t be here today,” Virginia volunteers.
“You text?” The question falls out of my mouth, unbidden and completely without thought.
“Of course I do, Adelaide. I also tweet and snap.” The look she gives me over the top of her glasses is nothing short of condescending.
“Is he okay? Does he need anything?” As soon as the questions tumble from my lips, I see the gears turning, and Virginia types furiously on her iPhone.
“He says not to worry; he’ll manage. He’ll maybe try to go to the market after a while if his fever’s down.
” She reads from her screen. “I think it would be a nice gesture if one of us stopped by to check and see if he had everything he needed.” She looks around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes, before she blinks up at me.
“Unfortunately, I’ve got to bounce after this, so… ”
Virginia’s declaration is followed up by a chorus of, “Oh, I wish I could,” and, “I’m just not able to today.”
“I would go, but I don’t know where”—ping—“he lives.” I glance down at my phone and see a text from Virginia with an address. When I look at her, her face is a mask of innocence.
“Might be nice if you brought him some soup or something from the market, dear.”
I should have paid closer attention.
* * *
After finishing up at the community center, I swing through the market and pick up some homemade chicken noodle soup, crackers, and some ginger ale. And Twizzlers because, even when I’m feeling icky, it’s nice to have a treat.
The street that Virginia sent me to is full of cars with no parking spots in sight. As I turn the corner, I see a small lot behind the building and a spot open next to Finn’s little silver Kia. Once I’m parked next to him, I grab the bags from the grocery store and climb the stairs.
I knock gingerly at the door. If he’s feeling badly and sleeping, I don’t want to be the ass who wakes him up. I shift my weight, popping one hip out and then the other as I wait. Should I knock harder? Ring the bell?
As I lift my hand to rap on the door one more time, it swings open, revealing some guy I’ve never seen before in my life.
“Oh. Sorry, I must have the wrong address.” I back away, looking at the number on the mailbox and comparing it to the one Virginia sent.
“Not at all.” The distinctly Irish accent washes over me. “You’re looking for Finn then?” the dark-haired man says as he steps out of the apartment. “His is the room to the right, through the kitchen and down the hall a bit.” He lopes down the stairs and disappears around the corner.
Tentatively, I step through the doorway and look around. It’s every bit the bachelor pad. Worn dark-blue sofa, ridiculously large screen TV mounted on the wall with a gaming system sprawled on a makeshift shelf under it.
“Hello? Finn?”
It feels weird, walking through the space. Surely, the guy who let me in would have texted Finn to let him know I was here. Well, that someone was here.
I pop into the kitchen and set the bags on the table in the corner. Busying myself, I empty the bags and consider digging through the cabinets for a bowl.
“Are you stalking me, sweet Addie?”
I almost drop the container of soup at the sound of Finn’s raspy voice. When I turn, I’m faced with a lean, flushed chest and low-slung gray sweatpants, a roll of toilet paper trailing from his hand.
Damn it. What is it with stupid gray sweatpants?
“No. Virginia said you were sick, and I got volun-told to bring you soup and sick supplies.” I narrow my eyes and point at him as he takes a step closer to me. “Keep your germs to yourself. I do not have time for sick shenanigans.”
Finn’s eyes are glassy, and his nose is red, like he’s been wiping it with sandpaper. “Right. So, no kissing today.” The words barely make it out before he sneezes three times back to back to back. “Fuck.” He rips off a length of toilet paper and grimaces as he blows his nose.
I roll my eyes and replace the roll of TP with a box of super-soft, antiviral tissues.
Then, I reach for the Lysol wipes I bought.
Lord have mercy, germs are the devil. Snapping on the gloves I made sure to bring, I go on a mini-cleaning frenzy, wiping surfaces around the kitchen, throwing away trash, and straightening little bits of everything. I’ve gone completely into mom mode.
“I brought some chicken noodle soup. Which cabinet do you keep your bowls in?” I pull one down from where he’s pointing and watch as a violent shiver rolls over him. “Finn, are you…”
He looks like he’s burning up, goose bumps all over him, bright red painting his cheeks.
“Have you taken any medicine?”
“I haven’t. ’M f-f-fine,” he chatters, arms wrapped around his torso.
He’s not. I shuffle him out to the couch and get him settled.
“Hang on, let me get you some Advil.”
He’s half-lying down when I come back with a glass of water, some pills, and the bowl of soup.
“Here, sit up for a minute.” I hand him the water and pills, watching his grimace as he swallows. Replacing his water with the soup, I look around the room. “Do you have a blanket? Want me to get you a shirt or—”
“In my room, there’s a quilt on my bed,” he says as he starts in on the soup.
I don’t know what I was expecting from his room, but the tidy, well thought-out space is not it.
The soft cream-colored sheets, rumpled from sleep, are not the nasty dark ones that single guys usually go for.
Like, since they’re dark, they can get away with not washing them very often.
His closet is open but organized. His shoes are lined up, clothes hung up neatly. It’s just not what I imagined.
I pick up the handmade quilt pieced together in a mix of blues and grays. When I hug it to me, the fresh smell of fabric softener wafts up, and I inhale deeply.
“Did you find it?” Finn looks at me over the back of the couch. “Christ, yes.” He reaches back toward me, making grabby hands. “Are you sniffing my woobie?”
Eyes wide, I push it away from me and huff, “No. Did you finish your soup?”
I round the end of the couch, shaking out the quilt. Finn takes hold of it and pulls hard, sending me toppling to the cushion next to him.
“I did. Thank you.” He stifles a yawn and settles into the corner of the couch. Broad shoulders, pale and lightly dusted with a smattering of freckles, slide out of sight as he wraps his blanket loosely around them. “You didn’t bring me a pillow, too?”
“Would you like me to get you a pillow?” I ask, trying to force patience into my voice.
“I would.” He tries to do his usual douchey smile, but cuddled with a blankie, his nose bright red and hair a tousled mess, he just looks freaking adorable.
“Fine,” I sigh and grab a pillow from his bed. His very large, comfy-looking bed. I roll my eyes. The bed where he’s taken countless women, if the rumors are correct. “Here.” I chuck the pillow to him when he turns, and I start tidying up his tissues and bowl.
“Will you stay for a bit?” Finn calls as I scrub my hands under scalding water to kill any germs that might have gotten to me.
I dry my hands and bring him a fresh glass of water. He’s completely snuggled in. Completely.
I shift from one foot to the other after setting his glass on the coffee table in front of him. “I don’t know. I don’t do germs well.” Reaching up to center my septum ring, I panic for a beat, wondering if I washed my hands thoroughly enough.
“Please? Just till I fall asleep?” His eyes are drooping, so surely, it won’t be long.
I slide onto the far end of the couch and suppress a shudder when he tucks his feet under my thigh. What do I do? I don’t like feet any more than I like germs. Feet are disgusting unless they belong to an itty-bitty brand-new baby.
Oh my God. This is why I don’t like people. They have germs. And feet.
Finn sleepily mumbles, “Thank you,” as his eyes close and his breathing evens out.
I count to thirty, and then unclenching my fist, I tentatively reach out, touching his calf.
The muscles are relaxed under my hand, so I push myself off the couch, trying not to disturb him.
Finn rubs his feet together, the warmth of my ass no longer warming them.
I pull at his quilt to cover him up better, but when I lift it, he shifts in his sleep, tucking one hand up under his pillow.
And the other? The other is firmly in place, cupping his dick.
Of course.