Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Which I am.
“You’ve been gone awhile.” It sounds like an accusation.
“You had company.” Shit, that sounds like one, too.
Finn turns back to the screen. “Not anymore.”
There’s a tone in his voice that gives me pause. Sorrow or bitterness, it’s hard to tell.
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?”