The Hot Shot(27)

"That's the messed up part. I know I am not defined by what I lack but  by who I am as a whole. And I'd probably kick someone's ass if they  tried to tell me differently."

"But?" James prompts, because he knows me well. "Something's not clicking in that head of yours. What is it?"

"Sometimes … " I lick my dry lips. "Sometimes I wonder if my heart hasn't  gotten that message. That maybe I sabotage myself with men. You know,  what if, when they learn everything there is to know about me, they  decide I'm not worth it."

I don't even know what trying to explain. Only that, despite my best  efforts, there are days when I feel flawed. When it feels like my fault  that I'm single and have never had a boyfriend.

"I used to think that too," James says quietly. Which is a shock,  because his sense of self-confidence has always been enormous. "And at  the same time I have thought that there was no one perfect enough for  me."

I give a little half-hearted laugh at that, because, despite my  insecurities, I fully admit to being picky as fuck over men. "Yeah."

I hear the smile in his voice. "Now I know that there is someone perfectly imperfect for all of us."

"Yeah, I guess."

"And if that person for you happens to be a six-four, hot as fuck-sweat quarterback, then I'll love you forever."                       
       
           


///
       

I snort. "You'd love me forever anyway."

"True. But I'll forgive you when you turn into a PMS rage demon from now on."

"So magnanimous. But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"Then tell me I'm wrong. Go ahead, I'm waiting."

I look down at the coffee table I'm standing in front of. Cheese  platter, baguette rounds, a plate of cured meats, a bowl of wasabi peas  and roasted almonds are arranged just so. And a couple of Abita beers  are chilling in an ice bucket. My cheeks heat.

At home, I often make myself a little happy hour for one. Or two, when  James sticks around. Life is short, and I like to enjoy the small things  as well as the big events. But this spread isn't for me. It's for Finn.

He's been gone for over a week and is due to arrive home at any time.  What will he think of this? Is it too much? Girlfriend territory? I  don't know. All I know is that I want him to be happy coming home. I  want to do things that shows my appreciation.

It's fairly stunning how easy it is to care about the man.

But maybe he won't like this. Maybe it will freak him out and make him think I'm angling for something else.

Panic has my chest growing hot and tight. Shit.

"I gotta go," I tell James. "I'll text you later."

"I knew it! He just get home?"

I ignore the teasing lilt in his voice. "No. Girl issues."

It's our long established code for me admitting I have to use the bathroom. And nothing will get rid of James faster.

As soon as I hang up with him, I reach down to clear the table. But the  lock on the front door turns, and before I can move, Finn walks in.

There's no more panic about cheese trays and beer, because he sees me  and smiles. And, damn if I it doesn't light me up like one of those  old-fashioned pinball machines. I'm grinning back so hard my cheeks  hurt, while those little zings of giddy pleasure dance through me.

He's wearing gray track pants and a black Henley, which should make him  look like a slob. He doesn't. Those clothes hug that hard, fit body of  his, showcasing every ripple, every bulge. I envy those clothes.

Finn tosses his gear bag onto the floor, never taking his eyes off me.  "Honey, I'm home." He says it like a joke, but his voice is thick and  rough.

Exhaustion? Or something more? I can't think. I should say something  witty or light, but the only thing that comes out is, "Hey."

Finn's smile only grows. He heads straight for me, as if I'm the happy  end of a very long day. And I can only stand there, shifting my weight  on my feet, my fingers curling at my sides with the repressed need to  grab him.

Before I can say a word, he's sweeping me up in a big, bear hug, my nose  pressed in the small space between his hard pecks. The scent of clean  cotton, warm skin, and potent as hell male pheromones washes over me  like a sigh.

Finn's voice rumbles in his chest and warms the crown of my head. "I've missed you."

The simple declaration slides through my defenses with such ease, I  don't have time to brace myself. I close my eyes and give him a gentle  squeeze, unable to form words, because I am not a sentimental girl. I  don't know to say sweet things.

Maybe Finn senses that. Or maybe he's just tired of hugging me. Either  way, he sets me back on my feet. "How've you been settling in? Is your  wrist still hurting?" He peers at my face as if trying to make sure I'm  okay.

When he's away from me, I forget how blue his eyes are. Azure blue. I'm a  fan of brown eyes. Yet here I am, staring up at his eyes like I've  never seen the color blue before.

And, holy hell, I don't recognize this moony person I've become.

I take a step back and get some much needed space. "I'm fine. The swelling has gone down and the pain is nearly gone."

He nods but then glances behind me, catching sight of the food. Surprise  registers first. His big body gives a little jerk. And then he blinks  as if trying to clear his sight.

I grow uncomfortably warm, my arms twitching with the desire to swipe the table clear.

But then his gaze meets mine. "You did miss me."

The heat inside me grows. "What a thing to say. Of course I did."

That soft expression of his expects too much.

"I should probably warn you … " I gesture toward my damn cheese tray. "I like to do this in the evenings."

The corner of his mouth kicks up. "You think I'm going to complain?"

I shove my hands into my back jeans pockets. "James says it's very nineteen fifties domestic."

Finn chuckles.                       
       
           


///
       

"But that's about all I do that can be considered domestic," I warn. "So don't expect me to greet you with dinners or-"

"Cocktails?" Finn supplies, pulling a beer out of the ice bucket.

Fuck.

"Yeah … "

He laughs again, and then swoops in, giving me a quick kiss on the  cheek. "Relax, Chester. I'm not expecting anything. I won't be asking  you to fetch my slippers. Although, if you want to … " He wags his brows.  "I won't try to stop you."

"Asshat." I give his arm a slap. It's like warm granite.

With an expansive sigh of contentment, Finn plops onto the couch, twists  the top off his beer and takes a long drink. He sighs again and rests  his head against the back of the couch. His lids lower like a relaxed  cat's. "Gotta admit," he says in a near purr. "Coming home has never  been this good."

"Glad I could-" I yelp as he takes hold of my good wrist and tugs me onto the couch with him. "Easy there, Superman."

Finn cuddles me up next to him, draping his arm over my shoulders.  "Sorry. But you were standing there all twitchy and shifty like you'd  been caught stealing or something."

The laughter in his voice is unmistakable. And I elbow him, trying to  ignore that his fingers have threaded through my hair, lightly stroking  the strands.

"You colored your hair again," he murmurs, playing with the tips that  now have glints of teal, gold, green, and magenta playing in the black.

A shiver of pure pleasure goes through me. His body is warm and solid,  and I'd like nothing better than to rest against it without care.

"It's called an oil slick effect." Why am I telling him this? He doesn't care about color techniques.

But he lifts a whole section and slowly lets it sift through his fingers. "It brings out the green in your eyes."

It feels good. Too good. And wrong. I don't cuddle with James. I've never wanted to. I don't cuddle with anyone. Ever.

What we're doing here is dangerous. Because it would be so easy to turn  my head and nuzzle the heated hollow of his throat, to lick a path up to  the curve of his jaw and the soft turn of his lower lip. It would be as  easy as taking a breath.

I'm living with him now. Hitting on my host is a definite faux pas. And stupid.

I edge away, causing Finn to frown slightly.

"Hey, Chess?"

I don't like the quiet, serious tone of his voice. "Yes?"

"When are we-"

The doorbell rings. We both flinch as if snapping out of a daze, and then Finn glares at the door. "Who the hell?"

"You don't get random visitors?" I tease, rising.

Finn sits forward on the couch. "They have to get past the doorman. My  assistant Charlie has clearance, but I happen to know he's hanging out  with Rolondo and Woodson right now."

The bell rings again.