Fuck my life.
Chapter 12
Finn
Easton drives us to The Grind in his truck, luckily not asking too many questions about my sullen mood on the way, preferring just to sing along to the new Post Malone song playing on the radio. However, when we enter the coffee house, my luck takes one hell of a nosedive. Lincoln and Kennedy are talking animatedly with each other in one of the booths, but stop the minute they see us walk into the place, and instantly call us to join them.
Any other day, I’d be more than happy to have Kennedy Ryland for company. Today, though, not so much.
The thing about Kennedy is that she has an uncontrollable need to try and fix everything. She can’t see something broken without attempting to put it back together. She’s like the Mother Teresa of fuck-ups, which means my moody behavior will definitely pique her interest.
I sit next to Linc, hoping the small distance will be enough to keep me off her radar. But my ass hasn’t even hit the seat when, from under my lashes, I see Kennedy shaking her head left to right as she makes a small tsking sound of concern.
“Oh, no. What’s got you down, honey? You look like a wreck.”
“Nothing, I’m good,” I mumble with a fake smile plastered on my lips.
“No, you’re not. Come on, big guy. You can tell me. What’s the matter?” she coos, patting my hand over the table soothingly like a mother hen.
“I’m good, Ken. Swear on a stack of bibles. So, what’s up with you two?” I ask, hoping to steer the conversation away from me.
I look at Lincoln, silently imploring him to help me out with his girl, who is comfortably sitting across from us. But the fucker just shrugs at me with a stupid-ass grin on his face.
“Sorry, Finn. You’re on your own. You know Kennedy isn’t going to drop it. You do look like shit.”
“I told you I’d get it out of you one way or another.” Easton chuckles while ordering two coffees and a couple of blueberry muffins from the barista.
“You knew she’d be here, didn’t you, you fucker?” I grunt over at East, unimpressed with the ambush.
“You’re only getting that now?” He winks unapologetically.
“Dick.”
“Come on, Finn. Don’t be bitter. Tell me all about it,” she insists with a genuine smile.
I let out a long exhale, cracking my knuckles and wondering who I’d like to punch first for their traitorous ways—Linc for not distracting Kennedy when I need him to, or Easton for bringing me here in the first place.
I swear that I have assholes for friends. Whatever happened to bro code? Or does that mean something else? Yeah, I think I might be mixing up analogies, but who gives a shit. There must be some form of unwritten rule not to let your friends become one of Kennedy’s pet projects. And if there isn’t, I vote in favor of one.
“Hey, big guy!” She snaps her fingers in my face, startling me. “No retreating to Neverland like you always do. Tell me what’s got you down, Finn. Maybe we can help,” she says cheerfully, looking at Linc and East for support in her cause.
I’d roll my eyes at her if I didn’t think she’d kick my ass for it. See, Kennedy Ryland can be the sweetest southern girl there is. Sweeter than warm apple pie. But since she was raised with the likes of us, she has a mean streak to her, too—one you really don’t want to mess with.
You wouldn’t think so, just by looking at her, though. With her long, golden hair, perfectly clear, blue eyes, and a face of a goddamn angel, most would consider her the epitome of southern belle propriety. She’s every mother’s wet dream and a shotgun-carrying father’s worst nightmare. The thing that makes her one of a kind is that she can play dress-up with all those frivolous debutants just as easily as she can play touch football in the mud with us guys.
Not that she has many girlfriends that I can recall. It must be tough on her. All her best friends are guys, making her a certified tomboy to us while, at the same time, bringing out every green-eyed monster lurking within most of Asheville’s female population. However, I never heard her complain about it. Not once. She loves the fuck out of us too much to be bothered with petty jealousy from the other girls, and in turn, we adore the hell out of her, too, except for Linc, who has a total boner for her.
Kennedy is like our kid sister. She’s family. The only problem in that scenario is that she pries like family, too. And right now, her prying is the last thing I want to deal with. Fucking East led me right into her trap with promises of richly brewed Colombian coffee and moist muffins as bait.
“Sucker.” His eyes beam at me while I flip him off for the betrayal.
“Finn, I’m waiting, buddy,” she cajoles again, her fingers tapping away on the table between us.
“Fine,” I grunt, but I don’t say anything further as the barista arrives and places our order on the table. The minute her back is turned and we have our privacy back, I point a menacing finger at both my best friends and say, “I want it on the record that you two are fucking dicks for not backing me up. When Kennedy comes for one of you, I’ll hand-deliver your asses on a silver platter myself.”
“I’m good with that. Are you good with that too, Linc?” Easton asks while shoving a piece of muffin in his mouth, not one bit bothered about my little threat.
“Hmm, let me think about it. Are you okay with Finn hand-delivering my ass to you, darling?” Lincoln questions with a deep drawl and a flirtatious smile.
Her cheeks flush crimson, but her sharp tongue sure as hell isn’t embarrassed.
“Continue flirting with me like that, and all your ass is going to get is a spanking.”
“Is that a promise, Ryland?”
“Test me and find out, Hamilton.”
Okay, now I do roll my eyes because come on! These two should just fuck already and get it over with. He likes her, and she likes him. It isn’t rocket science that they should bang. The only drawback I can see to it is that her fiancée might not be too happy about her two-timing him. But where is it written that life is fair? Not in any book I’ve ever read. Kennedy shouldn’t even be engaged to Thomas Maxwell anyway. She and Lincoln are destined for each other. Anyone can see that.
Well, except maybe them.
And Tommyboy.
And her brother, Jefferson.
Okay, so her dad would also lose his shit if he ever found out.
On second thought, maybe a lot of people are none the wiser that the two are crazy for each other. Huh. Guess I’m more clued in than most. Who would have guessed?
“Focus, Ken,” Easton coughs into his fist, and I kick the fucker under the table for bringing Kennedy’s attention back onto me, when she was perfectly fine making googly eyes at Lincoln.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath, earning his cocky smirk and an added wink for my troubles.
“Right.” Kennedy claps cheerfully, making me her main point of focus once again. “Come on, big guy, spill the beans. Why do you look like someone just ran over your dog?”