As I put the kids through some simple drills, my thoughts kept slipping back to a certain actor and a certain party. Would Finn want to go if I asked him? Charlie had said to bring a date…
Not that Finn would be there as my date, obviously, but as a buddy. We could pull that off with ease. A couple of friends—no benefits—just hanging out with a bunch of jocks. How heteronormative could you get? No one would think a thing about him being there. If we told the guys that I was helping him with a role in a hockey movie that would cement the lie.
Someone fell down beside me, began crying, and that jarred me from my daydreams about me and Finn going out in the world together. I hoisted the little girl up to my hip. She reminded me of my little sister. She clung to me until her mom showed up to take her.
“You’re so good with the kids. When are you going to have some of your own?” Mom of the Crying Child asked.
I mumbled some words about skate blades. She nodded, then carefully moved across the ice with her daughter in her arms. The little girl gave me a timid wave that I returned.
Kids? Me? Pfft. Yeah, no, not anytime soon. Kids required time, love, and commitment. I seemed to be lacking in most of those key areas I’d been told more than a few times by more than a few people. Mostly, people I’d left after getting my itch scratched. Love and commitment required time, and as we had covered just a moment ago, I had little of that so…
Nope to kids right now. Maybe later. After hockey. When I had a partner.
My life was fine at the moment. Me and Finn were doing good… if you called hiding and lying good. Which I did, right? Sure. I was happy with things. No strings. Lots of sex. A few cuddles. Tons of takeout food. Yep, it was the perfect arrangement.
So why the hell was I already tapping out a text to Finn? Had my fingers been possessed? I hit send before I could change my mind. Great, now I was rebelling against my better judgment. What kind of spell had Finn Kerrigan cast on me? A finger enchantment maybe? I stared at the sent text. Shit, he had already seen it. Too late to delete it now. Fuck. Now came the dread of waiting for a reply. Maybe Rottie was right. Maybe the loss to Boston had given me slow mindfulness…
Hey. Want to go to a party on Friday night? NOT A DATE! Just as buddies. ~ CC
Chapter 11
Finn
“You can do this.” I told my reflection. I’d taken my meds, found my center, drank herbal tea, worked through all the worst-case scenarios, and then dressed as my nerd-fantasy, Thor.
It was movie-Thor, or at least my version of Chris Hemsworth’s Thor, who was staring back at me now, complete with fake hammer, long blond wig that Jimmy-K had weaved into my own hair, and make-up that accentuated my cheekbones.
Or that was what Jimmy-K said the makeup did, and as he reminded me that he was an artist to the stars. He’d made me look good in all three Rapid films, so I had to trust him. He’d just left, after assuring me that naked chest was a good look on me, and that I’d be pushing people away with a stick.
Or a hammer.
The man had jokes.
I swear there should have been more to this outfit—Chris Hemsworth had a black bodysuit under the swirling cape, whereas all I had were snug dark pants along with bare chest? I guess I should have been thankful that at least the groin was covered with this leather flap thing, because otherwise people would be able to tell which way I dressed.
“I’m sure Hemsworth wasn’t naked from the waist up,” I pointed out to my reflection, and readjusted the cloak over the bondage-like leather harness that was all I had to cover any of my front and sides. Thankfully, the cloak was big, and I could pull it around myself, but I was second-guessing going to this party dressed like this. Only, Cameron had said Viking chic, and this was my best interpretation, and with me being similar in size and build to the Thor actor, it should work out okay.
“People will look at you and see a poor second to Chris freaking Hemsworth,” I muttered. “Maybe I shouldn’t go as Thor.” Hell, I was second-guessing going at all.
“Fuck you!” I snapped at my indecisive self, wishing I could muster up some impulsive confidence to carry me through this. Instead, I was a bundle of nerves at meeting the entire Storm hockey team. Or at least whoever of the team was left in LA right now, and wondering if maybe—hopefully—this might be the start of something real with Cameron.
As real as it could ever be when I’m in the fucking closet.
“Suck it up, Kerrigan!” I warned, then practiced smiling and giving the hammer a few swings. Jimmy-K had smeared some kind of shimmery oil on me, and god, way to look like an idiot.
The buzzer sounded for the gate, and I headed to one of the house screens and buzzed in Cameron, who was coming to pick me up. He was driving a convertible; the camera angle was bad, but he pulled on fake Viking horns as he clambered out and walked up the steps to the door. I should have gone downstairs and let him in, but instead I wavered. He was dressed in simple black, no cloak, no bare chest, whereas I’d called in makeup and wardrobe.
Fuck my life. Why am I so extra?
Maybe if I didn’t go down, he’d leave after a while, and I wouldn’t have my Thor-persona seen by anyone at all.
He knocked, and I knew he expected me to be there, but as usual, my brain decided to ramble and mess things up, and instead of being down there like a sensible buddy, I was up here staring at a mirror. I grabbed my phone and sent him a quick message.
Have to cancel. Sorry.
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t knock again, and his car was still there. What was he doing? Sitting on the porch waiting for me? I rolled my eyes at half naked me and placed the hammer with great care on my vanity.
I heard footsteps, a door opening and closing, and knew he’d let himself in.
I really should go downstairs.
“Holy fucking Gretzky, and hell, no!” Cameron exclaimed from my bathroom door, causing me to lose at least three lives as I spun to face him, my scarlet cloak billowing around me and my hand on my chest right over my heart.
I smoothed the cloak. “Cameron!”
“No way am I letting you go to the party looking like that!” He turned to leave the bathroom, and I didn’t follow him, my heart sinking. I’d seen that look before, when I’d fucked up with something that seemed fine at the time of doing it. Awkward Finn is awkward.
“I’m sorry!” I called after him.
Fuck, I’d had so many years with people dressing me for parts I’d never even thought that—
“You need to put this on! Stat.” Cameron returned, and I got a real eyeful of the sexiest Viking I’d ever seen. Of course, I hadn’t seen many Vikings at all, apart from on the silver screen, but Cameron -- in his tight black shirt and hip-hugging pants, with his stubble and god, was that eyeliner? -- was a walking advertisement for sex. He held out a black T-shirt, but as I reached for it, he cursed under his breath, dropped it to the floor, and tugged me into his arms, then kissed me, pushing me back into the vanity and pinning me as he went to his knees. “I’ve never seen anything like you…” He unzipped my pants and eased them over my hips.
“I didn’t fuck up?” I asked him as he yanked at the leather as it stuck to my skin, and inhaled sharply when he tugged aside my thong—the only thing keeping my cock in place.