Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
OAKLEIGH
My mind is stretched between here and my house during the entirety of my shift.
My house that currently has an empty plate in my sink.
A plate that I had found full of pancakes, eggs, and bacon this afternoon when I felt brave enough to walk out of my bedroom to an empty house. I didn’t even have bacon in my fridge.
It left me dazed and confused and something unknown twisted in my chest knowing that I was a thought in his mind the entire time.
The knowledge that someone, anyone, even Finn, felt I was worth going the extra mile makes the air feel less cluttered.
Out of everyone in my life, Finn is the last person I expect to think about my best interest. And yet here he is, going out of his way to make sure I eat breakfast. He left his sheets folded neatly in my laundry room, and my scrubs were in the rinsing stage in the washing machine.
It had all felt so … mundane, so normal, knowing he was in my home working away and maintaining the house in the simplest ways.
That lead to fear; fear of the relationship that I have with Finn changing into—
Oh, that sneaky bastard.
I see the game he’s playing…
This is how he plans to win. He’s playing it sweet and thoughtful, be the golden-retriever boyfriend of every woman’s dreams, until I fall. And he was so smooth with it that I didn’t even realize.
While I’m able to keep my attention on the job at hand, flashes of breakfast, folded sheets, and fresh scrubs still play through my mind and spur on my competitive nature.
When I walk to the exit and once again see a sleeping Finn by the entrance, I do the only logical thing in my mind and keep walking.
I speedwalk to my car, hoping that by the time I hop in and drive away, he will be—
“You really thought you could leave without me?”
Damn it.
“You were asleep,” I mumble as I turn to see Finn standing behind me, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“Oh, so you were purposefully avoiding me?”
“Well, you just were sleeping so peacefully, sweetheart. It would have broken my heart to wake you up.” I’m not sure if my tone is meant to be snarky or playful.
His, however, is definitely snarky. “That’s funny, because I seem to remember someone yelling in my face the last time.”
“Have you ever considered that you just have a face that makes people angry?”
“Oakleigh,” he groans. “I do not have time for your particular brand of crap right now.”
“If you don’t have time, then why are you here?” I ask, now feeling a fire light beneath me.
“Because you just finished work.”
“And?”
“And … I’m here to drive you home.”
“If you don’t have time to drive me home, why are you doing it?”
“Because that’s what boyfriends do. I don’t care how busy I am, I’m making sure you get home safe.”
“Could I not just message you to let you know I got home?”
“Would you?” he asks knowingly.
“If it stopped people thinking I have a homeless boyfriend who likes to sleep in the hospital waiting room, then yeah.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“Who the hell shoved a stick up your ass?”
“You did.”
“Me? How?”
“Because can’t you see that I’m trying?” He storms closer to me, his hands now balled into fists. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to be more than just your best friend’s annoying brother? I’m actually trying to be your—”
My breath catches. “My what?”
He looks like he’s in pain, like he’s chewed on something bitter, but he can’t spit it out.
“Your friend,” is what he eventually says, but I can’t help but feel like he’s forcing himself to give that answer. The word “friend” on his lips sounds foreign and rough, the implication even more so.
“My friend,” I say, if anything so that I can see if the words taste just as sour when I say them out loud.
“Is the thought of being friends really that far-fetched?”
“It is when you’re also telling people that you’ve been fucking me for the last eight months.”
He steps even closer, close enough that I can smell the muskiness of his cologne and the floral whisper of his fabric softener. “I don’t recall telling anyone about us fucking. Do you?”
I don’t answer in some pathetic attempt to keep some of my dignity. The heat spreading across my face rats me out and there’s no way of hiding it.
“Unless…” He leans down, his nose brushing mine and leaving a stinging sensation in its wake. “Unless it’s actually you who has been doing that?”
My spine snaps straight. “You wish.”
He lets out a low hum and for a second, I think that yes, maybe he really does wish. How can I not think so when the frustration that had pulled his face taut has now vanished, and in its place are eyelids that droop with lust and a bottom lip that is pulled between teeth.
“And if I do?”
My mind whirls like a storm as a sense of déjà vu sends my memories hurtling back to eight months ago, when a single kiss managed to disrupt my entire brain structure.
Since then, I’ve kissed a total of two men, and neither of them even touched the sides of the hole that Finn left that night.
Neither of them managed to stir up such a reaction as Finn does with me.
Anger seeps into my bones, because how fucking dare he do this to me. How dare he make it so that my nerves are severed in a way that only he can heal. How dare he disrupt my life with one little kiss. And how fucking dare he not experience the same reaction.
I want him to struggle as I do. I want him to look at another woman and feel his initial attraction to her disappear because he notices that her lips are nothing like mine; that they don’t taste the same because they aren’t smothered in cherry-flavored lip gloss.
A smirk tugs at my lips as I stare down the man in front of me.
“Be careful of the challenges you put in front of me, Finley.”
His head tilts in silent warning, but I don’t care. My skin feels like it’s on fire and my brain and body are warring with one another. He needs to feel the same. He needs to struggle as I struggle. It’s only fair.
His movements are slow, calculated. His lips skate across my jawline, not a kiss in sight, but something much more intimate and heated.
He lets out a purposeful breath across the shell of my ear.
A hand reaches up and grabs the front of my loose T-shirt in his fist, pulling me until I’m flush against him.
I’m hot, I’m restless, I’m desperate, I’m—
“Get in the car, Cherry.”
—fucking furious.
I stare at Finn like he’s lost his mind. He releases my shirt and moves around me, opening the passenger door and waiting for me to get in. I do so in a dazed fever dream that I honestly don’t know if I want to remain in or wake up from.
He hops into the driver’s side, his long legs barely fitting in my small car. Before I can protest, he reaches over me, his eyes never leaving mine as he pulls my seatbelt across my body and clicks it into place.
He straps himself in, looks over at me and smiles. “Come on, friend, let’s get you home.”
* * *
I’m woken up by quiet shouting coming from my living room.
It took what felt like forever to fall asleep, my body still reeling from that moment in the parking lot.
And that’s exactly what it was—a moment.
A hot, confusing, and demanding moment that has ensured Finn has a hold on my …
well, my everything. Nothing, and I mean nothing, worked to get me to sleep except the obvious …
my right hand and my overactive imagination.
The knowledge that Finn was asleep on the other side of my thin wall did nothing but heighten every sensation.
The arguing becomes slightly louder outside. Whispered shouts that echo throughout my small cottage and tell me that my best friend is inside my house. I get out of bed and groggily put some clothes on. I’m two seconds away from opening the door when I freeze.
This doesn’t feel like something I should really intrude on.
I’d be interrupting a private conversation between brother and sister.
Then again, it’s pretty obvious that the conversation is about Finn’s and my impromptu relationship, so maybe I have a right to include myself?
But how can I when Wren sounds so fired up and wounded?
“Cherry, you can come out.”
How?
I sheepishly open my bedroom door and poke my head out.
“Hey.” I mumble.
Finn flicks his head, motioning for me to come over.
I have a clear view of him from my bedroom—loose-fitting brown pants and a white tee that gently hugs every muscle.
He holds an arm out for me, and I reluctantly put myself against his side, allowing him to wrap an arm around my waist. He turns me until my chest is flush against his stomach.
A subtle kiss is placed on my forehead.
“Hey, look at me.”
I warily do as he asks. Warm hazel eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles down at me.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“What?” I ask, noticing Wren in my peripheral standing with her arms crossed.
“I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I deserved that night on the couch, to be honest.”
He deserved the night on the … oh. Oh.
Oh my God, Wren has a spare key to my house. Shit. She probably came in this morning and caught Finn sleeping on the couch.
Finn’s eyes are pleading with me to play along. With an internal sigh, I wrap my arms around his neck. “I’m glad you see now that you were wrong.” In a moment of panic, I let my lips meet his for the briefest second, but even that has my stomach turning. “Thank you for apologizing.”
He places another kiss on my forehead and cradles my face in his hand, and for a brief moment, it’s difficult to see the ingenuity in his words.
He lets me go and moves over to the kitchen.
I watch him—well, I mostly watch his ass—as he moves around the room, gathering everything he needs to make a cup of coffee.
Finn isn’t the most comfortable in unknown spaces, and yet since the first time he stepped inside, he’s looked as if he belongs here.
Like there is nowhere else he would rather be in this moment.