“No.” He shook his head. “Nothing like that. She messaged me after a game. A brutal loss against New Zealand. She told me—” He paused and looked at me with a smile that had me hanging on his every word. “That I’d played too wide and then proceeded to give me tips on playing right midfield. God, she was ballsy.”
His smile fell slowly and then as if he’d caught himself reliving a happy memory, he straightened. “Anyway, I guess it should have been a sign to run away instead of to her, but I was just so damn fascinated. Usually after a loss, girls wanted to make me feel better by telling me how great I was or offering to make me forget about the game, and she was just… well she was nothing I expected.”
“What do you mean it should have been a sign?”
“I wasn’t good enough for her from the very start.”
“Finn, I—”
He winced. “Please don’t give me one of those bullshit lines about how I’m better off or that everything happens for a reason.”
“What I was going to say is that I get it – why you fell for her. She challenged you and you, Finn McCash, are not used to being challenged off the field. But also, those cheesy lines are right – you’re better off.”
“And everything happens for a reason?”
“I’m not sure I believe that one myself.”
“You’re different than I expected.” Finn stood and went to the stove to check on the food.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder. “You wouldn’t do a guy a solid and watch his cat for a night or two, I assumed you were judgmental and uptight.”
“Kitty needed you.”
“Yes, yes, I know. You’re a fan of my cat. Tell me, are you a fan of mine yet?”
“You’re growing on me.”
The dimple in his cheek popped out.
After we ate dinner, I forced Finn to let me clean up to thank him for the delicious meal.
“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I asked as I loaded the dishwasher.
“Oh, actually, I can’t.”
“Hot date?” I joked.
He smiled awkwardly. “Just drinks.”
I hadn’t realized how much fun I was having with him until I pictured myself sitting in front of the TV alone all night. Having someone at home to talk to in the evenings was nice.
“I should probably work a little anyway. I’m taking off Friday to go to New York for an interview and I need to make sure the office runs as smoothly as when I’m there. Or at least seventy-five percent as smooth. Don’t want them to have it too easy or they’ll forget how much they need me.”
“I doubt very much that they don’t already know that.”
“Thank you.” I appreciated the compliment even if there was no way he could know if it were true.
“Wait, did you say a job interview?”
“Yeah, I’m uh moving to New York.” I held my arms out to my side in a display of excitement.
“With the boyfriend?”
I nodded.
“Wow. Congratulations. That’s really…” He struggled for the words. “Really great.” He grabbed his wallet and keys absently and without looking at me added, “I should get going. See ya later then.”
I went to bed early. No amount of telling myself it wasn’t my business and that I didn’t care how Finn’s date was going could keep my brain from trying to imagine it. Thoughts like, what was the girl like? Did she look like Cindy? Where had he met her? What were they talking about? Were they talking at all or was drinks just code for have sex at her place?
It was none of my business. None. Zilch.
But seriously, why her? Of all the girls in Hermosa Beach why had he selected… whoever he had? I was genuinely curious where one went after Cindy.
I even hoped he might call and need a sober driver. I’d be willing to get out of bed in the middle of the night if it meant getting a good look at his date.
I was frustrated and feeling restless, more so than I had in years. I needed to release some of the emotions that had me keyed up or I’d never sleep. My hands trailed down my body, a light caress over my cotton shirt and stopping at my navel. Closing my eyes, I slipped a hand inside my sleep shorts. My fingers hadn’t even touched my sex before I was swimming in ecstasy.
I flipped over onto my stomach and muffled my cries with the pillow. Moving my hips and grinding down, I rode my hand. Richard’s face flitted by, his sweet smile and kind eyes. I could almost pretend my touch was his, slow and tender.
Then the face changed, shifted into another – this one younger, cockier, harder. My breaths came faster. The phantom touch on my skin was different too – frantic and rough. I fought my body and brain, wanting both slow and tender and frantic and rough. A war waged inside my body and my emotions, and I let the two have equal parts of me. My heart raced, body slick and wanting. I focused only on the pleasure as the delicious pressure splintered me in two and sent me over the edge.
After work the next day, I stopped by the store for a few groceries. Cooking, or rather eating a home cooked meal (since all I’d done was dice vegetables), had been fun and the thought of eating my leftover salad from lunch was more unappealing than usual.
Finn was sitting on the couch watching TV, kitty on his lap when I walked in. He stood and moved toward me, taking the bags from me while I stood still in the entryway.
“That’s really not necessary,” I told him feeling a bit awkward about how domestic the whole thing felt. Coming home, a man sitting on the couch, him helping me with the groceries.
I guessed that’s what it would be like when I moved in with Richard. I tried to picture the whole scenario that’d just happened but with Richard instead of Finn.
“Everything okay?” Finn asked.
Apparently, I’d stood still too long. “Sorry, yeah.”
He emptied my bags, placing everything on the counter and then holding up the steak – though he couldn’t tell what they were from the brown butcher paper.
“Please tell me this is steak?”
I smiled. “It’s steak.”
He fist pumped, a big smile on his face, and then started pulling things out of my cabinets. I watched, amused that he knew where things were. The cutting board, the knife, the seasoning.
“What kind of pan do you need?” he asked as he opened the cabinet where I stored all my pots and pans.
“Actually, I was going to walk over to Chance’s. He lets me use his grill as long as I share.”
“You two are close?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement. “I mean I know you live close, but you seem to really get along well too.”
“We are. We do.”
“He’s protective of you, but he never said much about what you were like.”
That didn’t surprise me. Chance held my secrets closely. Some part of him was probably embarrassed about the whole thing – that he had a sister who was an addict and that he’d been dragged into my mess. He’d never admit that, of course. I knew he loved me and that he felt guilty for not being there when I first started using, but he couldn’t have stopped me. He liked to think he could have – that big brotherly ‘I would have knocked some sense into you’ mentality – but I was good at hiding it from the people I loved. Until I wasn’t.