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)
Her small fist punches my abs. “Shut up,” she says into my shoulder, her breath heating my shirt.
Because she’s my girl here in this moment, I grab her fist, press it to my heart, and then kiss the top of her head. I don’t even notice my family gaping at me until I lift my head.
The look on my mom’s face is so relieved, she’s almost weepy with it, and it sends an uncomfortable prickle of guilt down my neck. That look tells me she’ll no longer worry that I’m lonely, but it’s too hopeful. She glances at Emily, and her happy smile grows.
She’s finally getting her grandbaby.
At my side, Chess is still bemoaning her big mouth.
“Don’t worry, Chess,” my dad says, leaning forward to give her a gentle pat on the knee. “You’ll fit in here just fine.”
Chess lifts her head, brushing the inky strands of her hair away from her face. I miss the contact immediately.
“Somehow, I doubt you continuously stick your foot in it,” she says to my dad with a wry smile.
“No,” he agrees with a chuckle. “But Finn certainly does, and we’ve decided to keep him around.”
“That and, whenever he loses a game, I get sympathy drinks at the bar,” Glenn adds with a wink.
Absence has made me forget what a dickhead Glenn can be.
Chess takes a cool sip of her margarita before replying. “You must not get many free drinks, then.”
It’s right there, on my parents’ sunbaked patio, with the tart taste of margarita on my tongue and the sound of Chess’s husky voice in my ears, that my heart, brain, and body come to one simple agreement: this woman is mine.
Dad starts telling Chess about places she should visit in San Diego, and I help my mother take in the empty chip bowl. She doesn’t need the help, but I have a few words for her.
As soon as we’re in her sunny kitchen, she rounds on me. “All right, let’s have it, then.” She braces herself against the counter.
“Oh, you mean the part where you invited Britt to stay here without asking me?”
“I can hardly ask, Finnegan, when you don’t answer your phone.”
Zing.
With a sigh, I lean against the opposite counter. “I said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have avoided you. But you can be stubborn as shi . . . as hell.”
My mom snorts and turns to put the dishes in the sink. “You can say ‘shit,’ Finn. I am a grown-up.”
“Mothers aren’t grown-ups. They are part chaste saint and part eternal nag.”
“Ha.”
I steal a mango from the fruit bowl and go in search of a paring knife. “I’m fine now, okay? Happy even. So, please, let it go with Britt. Let the scab heal.”
“Consider me done with meddling,” my mom vows with a lift of her hand. “A wise woman knows when to say when.”
I let it go that she missed that mark by a few months. Wise men know when to back away slowly.
“So . . .” my mom says in a voice that is distinctly meddling. “Chess is nice.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “Nice isn’t how I’d describe her.”
“Oh? And how would you describe her? Here, use a plate.”
Perfect. Fuckable. Stunning. Funny. Mine. Mine.
Mine.
“Great.” I put the mango on the plate. “She’s great.”
Mom sighs in exasperation. “Men. None of you know how to properly describe your feelings.”
She makes me grateful for every sunrise. Because I wake up knowing she’s in the world.
I set the knife down and face my mother. “Just . . . be nice to her, okay?”
“Finnegan Dare Mannus, I am never rude to my guests, and you well know it.”
“That’s not what I meant. She’s had a rough time. Lost her house, her workplace. Her best friend is off in a new relationship. I don’t think her parents are in the picture.” I run a hand over my face. “She needs a little care, okay? It’s important to me.”
Mom’s eyes meet mine. God, she’s welling up again. “Oh, Finn, you’ve gone and done it. You’ve fallen in—”
“Jesus. That’s it. No more heart-to-hearts with you for at least five years.”
“Just remember, Finnegan,” she says, ignoring my protest. “Love with your heart, not your head. Think about things too much and it all turns to shit.”
I grimace, hoping to hell Chess doesn’t hear her. Even so, I fight a smile. “Thanks, Mom, but don’t say ‘shit.’ It offends my delicate sensibilities.”
Before she can snap me with a towel, I grab my plate of mango and head out to find Dad. And some much-needed testosterone-injected conversation.
Chess
Finn’s old room is not a shrine to all things Finn as I’d expected it to be. There are a few tasteful black-and-white photos of him throughout his career, including a ridiculously cute peewee football shot, where Finn is basically an oversize helmet and pads walking around on tiny legs.