16. Finn
Chapter 16
Finn
T he moment Rune walks into the Lounge, it’s like the entire earth tilts on its axis. I’m drawn to her like a clichéd moth to a flame. With two whiskey sours behind me, it doesn’t even occur to do anything besides excuse myself from a conversation with two of my dad’s friends and go directly to meet Rune and her relatives.
I’ve already gotten the impression that Rune is far more introverted than her vivacious cousin. Her eyes are wide, scanning the room with what appears to be a mix of excitement and nervousness. Ella must notice it as well, because she steers Mairi and Rune off their original course, towards the bar, instead. Bless her thoughtful heart.
I hang back for just a moment, watching the trio as they toss back their shots. Then I’m striding towards them again, my eyes glued to Rune and that fucking dress she’s wearing. It shows off every curve on her body, from the luscious slope of her breasts to the sway of her hips.
I can’t help reaching out and brushing my fingertips against the sleek curve of Rune’s waist as I reach her side. She stiffens for a moment, startled. But instead of stepping away, she turns towards me. Her mouth widens into the cutest damn smile and my heart is suddenly lighter than it’s been all week. The girl is stunning. I could stare at her all night. Could—and do.
I try to keep up with the various conversations, playing the gracious host as is expected of me tonight. But my eyes keep finding their way back to Rune. She stands a world apart from everyone, like a goddess among mortals. Her brows are furrowed delicately; the only real sign she isn’t wholly comfortable here. It takes far too long to find an excuse to go to her side.
My hands shake a little from the nerves of talking to her, of wanting to make her laugh, of putting her at ease. She doesn’t seem to realize the amount of appreciative looks she’s getting from the other men. She deserves to be noticed, but it's irritating me beyond belief. Eyes on your own wife, Mr. Johnson.
By the time Sam and Ella leave our table, I’ve made up my mind: I am tired of this party and all I want is Rune to myself for the rest of the night. I offer my hand to her as a sort of question. She takes it without hesitation, her eyes fixed on where our fingers intertwine as I draw her through the crowds, in search of a quiet corner where I can talk to Rune without a room full of prying eyes on us. Without my mind going a little crazy from the sheer number of other guys checking her out.
We go around the corner to the small glass conservatory that’s typically used for smaller parties. A few tall tables line the brick wall, surrounding a couch and two armchairs set in a semi-circle in front of the gas fireplace in the middle of the room. It’s a blessed, quiet relief after the commotion in the bar.
I twirl my hand in a flourish.
“Yes, please.” She gives an adorable sigh and throws herself down onto the couch. I don’t know how she moves so gracefully in that tight dress. I join her, stretching out just enough so that my knee grazes hers. Her eyes flick to my leg. A little smile graces her face as she tips another sip out of her drink.
“Your mother seems nice,” she says right away, a slight inflection at the end, as if uncertain about her own opinion.
“She’s really in her element here,” I reply, a bit dryly. “She enjoys seeing her friends all in one place. Sometimes I’m not quite sure whether her and Dad come up to visit me or for—this.” I gesture behind us. It isn’t an absolutely true statement. My parents wouldn’t bother coming up in the winter if it wasn’t for the fact that I love it here. Even the prospect of some ice fishing for my dad isn’t enough to compensate for what the bitter cold does to his arthritic joints.
“It’s a nice party. I’m glad Ella made me dress up.” Rune smooths out a nonexistent wrinkle on the side of her dress.
“You look incredible,” I say. This time I don’t try to hide my appreciative stare as I take her all in. Her hair’s swept off to the side into some sort of twist that ends in a cascade of silk strands that brush the curve of her cleavage. I swallow and drag my eyes back up to find her staring at me.
“Thank you.” The words are soft, obligatory, like she doesn’t realize she’s a faerie vision.
“I’m glad you came tonight.”
“You invited me,” she says. “I wanted to see you.”
“Oh? And what do you think, now that you have?”
“You look nice, too.” This time it’s her turn to eye fuck me, and damn if it doesn’t make me have to shift my position a little. Especially when she daringly flicks her eyes to my crotch.
“I’ll tell you a secret: it’s more impressive without the clothes.”
The blush that suffuses her face makes the dumb dick humor totally worthwhile.
“So, your parents like parties?” Rune asks, abruptly changing the subject.
“It’s always a whirlwind,” I allow. “Their visits tend to make me question my own sanity. But I’m an only child, so even if it’s not always convenient—I’m the only one they have to visit.”
“Where do they live? I sort of assumed you grew up here.”
“I did, for the most part. When they became empty nesters they decided they wanted to travel: Arizona in the winter, Europe in the spring and fall, and usually somewhere like Maine in the summer.”
“Wow.” She looks suitably impressed.
“Yeah, wow,” I mimic. I guess it’s cool, if you’re into that kind of thing. I prefer my house with all of its familiar comforts.
“That’s right, you’re not a traveler.” Rune seems to catch the drift of my thoughts.
“Sometimes it can be fun,” I amend. “Depends on who you’re traveling with—and why. What about you, Rune?”
She shakes her head, but her eyes are thoughtful. “I’ve never been farther than Cincinnati. I think I might like to travel someday. See some ancient castles in Europe, or maybe go camping in Scotland or Scandinavia. My sister Jules is always telling me about the places she’s visited, but I would want to travel differently than she does. I’d want to find a cozy house to rent somewhere off the beaten path. Hide there, like a personal retreat from the world, and work on my drawings. Anyway. Some day.” She flicks her fingers dismissively and takes another drink.
But I’ve already caught what she didn’t say. “Drawings?”
Her mouth twists. “It’s a hobby.”
I stretch out my legs and lean towards her, settling in for the conversation. “Okay Rune, what’s your dream career path?”
I expect her to brush off the question, maybe change the topic. She surprises me with a prompt, “I would want to be an illustrator for fantasy novels.”
Well, this is unexpected. “Really.”
“Fantasy romance, to be exact.” She leans forward, a sparkle in those dark eyes of hers. She's actually excited about this. “I’m obsessed with it. The world-building. The layers of plots and subplots. The romance.”
My kind of girl.
“Have you illustrated anything yet?”
“I’ve done some illustrations for my sister, who’s been dabbling in fae smut.” She wrinkles her nose. “Her writing is good, but she refuses to get it published. Otherwise, I have been doing fan art for my favorite series.”
“Which is…?”
“ Crimson and Roses by R.E. Andersson.”
“Really.” My eyes narrow.
“Have you heard of it?” Her eager expression falters at my response.
“Ye-es.” I draw out the word. It’s a safe answer: the books have risen to a status most authors only dream of. Every book in the 5-book series has hit the bestseller list multiple times, alongside the ongoing momentum of turning the whole thing into a TV series. “Why is that your favorite?”
“Because it’s brilliant,” she says, a bit defensively. “Are you judging me?”
“No, I just—why is that series your favorite?” I don’t know if she’s playing me or what, but I’m prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“Have you read the books?” Rune demands.
“I’m familiar with the story, yes.” A non-answer, but the best I can manage at the moment until I see where she’s going with this.
“Well, I like the story. The plot is incredibly well-thought-out and the characters have so much depth. They’re like real-life beings living in little book pages. R.E. Andersson is brilliant, and I’m obsessed with every twisted plot line she comes up with.”
I choke on a startled laugh and attempt to disguise it as a cough. “She? Is it a woman? I’ve always pictured them as a male of sorts.”
“They say it’s a man, but I don’t believe it,” she says, leaning in as if telling me a secret. “There’s too much internal character development, for one thing. If R.E. Andersson was actually a man, there would be much less of that. And probably a lot more breasts.”
I almost spit out my drink. “God, Rune, stereotype much?”
She only shrugs, confident in her analysis. “I picture her being my book bestie. Someday I’ll meet her and we’ll hang out over coffee. I’ll show her my fan art, she’ll sign my favorite bookmark, and then I’ll get the inside scoop on everything she’s written so far: what her favorite characters are, and whether she has come up with back stories for the side characters. All fan girl stuff, you know?”
I am rarely speechless. But right now, I couldn’t formulate a single word if I wanted.
“I’ve re-read the series at least four times,” Rune continues, “and each time it just gets better, even though the last book hasn’t been written yet. I’m planning a re-read for when it does come out. I even bought a cosplay outfit so I can dress up as the main character at ren fests.” As soon as the words are out, she winces, as if wishing she could take them back.
Too bad she can’t and now I know.
“Next time I’ll make sure to insist that my parents host a costume party. Because this is an outfit I have to see.” I toss a wink at her and she looks almost relieved. I realize that I should probably say something more, maybe burst that little bubble of hers, but…I’m a bit floored that she seems to honestly have no idea. Should I tell her? Or is that a dick move in this particular moment?
“Are you done judging me for my taste in literature?” Rune raises her brows at my silence.
“I’m not judging,” I hasten to assure her.
“Hm. You look like you are.”
“Never,” I vow. “I have, in fact, read that particular series by R.E. Andersson and share your enthusiasm for the overarching story. I’d be very interested to see your illustrations.”
“Maybe. I don't show many people. Are you a reader?”
“I’ve been known to crack open a book or two.” I’ve amassed hundreds of books over the years. Probably more than a thousand. I’ll have to count them. “And don’t ask me to pick a favorite because I can’t. Maybe if we could subdivide by genre, but—no, still probably not then.”
“Favorite genre, then.”
“Fantasy romance.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“I swear on the grave of my childhood turtle, Shelly.” I hold up my hand as if swearing in court.
“So R.E. Andersson has to be up there on your list. You can’t possibly have anyone else even close.”
“What about Starlight Hiddleston?” I name another popular fantasy romance author.
“I personally thought her characters fell flat. Not to mention the glaring plot holes in both Dragon and Edge .”
“The spice scenes are well done.” I lift a brow in challenge, seeing if she’ll take the bait, but she just brushes it off.
“Maybe, but they’re still cliché.”
“Name one fantasy sex scene that isn’t.”
“Macie and Robert in book three of Crimson and Roses ,” she replies promptly. “It’s one of the most surprising and emotionally raw scenes I’ve ever come across.”
“Really.” If I wasn’t already smitten with this girl, I would certainly be by this point.
“I sobbed like a baby the whole way through.”
“Is that how you typically react to spice? Cry?” I’m thoroughly amused now. Rune reaches over to flick my arm.
“Cry with pleasure, maybe,” she says nonsensically.
I shake my head, grinning, and we both take a drink. She’s so much more relaxed than when she first walked into the bar. Her eyes are bright; her cheeks flushed with the softest pink. I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes up, especially as she leans forward to take off her high heels. I wish we were really alone. I’d tug that neckline down farther—pull the whole damn dress off—and indulge myself with exploring every inch of her.
The force of that thought startles me.
I’m not a teenager who can’t keep it in his pants. Even when I was a teenager, I was never that kid. To be fair, I’ve also never encountered anyone who tempted me as much as Rune. Those big brown eyes. That perfect little mouth. The way she's grown so animated throughout our conversation. I won’t deny the powerful, physical side of my attraction, but there’s something more; something that plays on the harp strings of my soul with every word, every expression that crosses her face.
Thanks to the growing volume of the music wafting around the corner and our own bantering conversation, Rune and I have drifted closer to each other on the couch. Her legs are curled up underneath her; the picture of poise and interest. Our proximity, mixed with the number of drinks I’ve consumed, is an absolute recipe for disaster. Possibly a great disaster that sends us both reeling. But first, there’s a tiny confession that I should probably make. Soothe my conscience before I ask her to sacrifice some of her already limited time with her aunt and cousins—and spend it with me, instead.
I clear my throat. “So, anyway, funny story…”