“What do you mean?” For not truly knowing Erin, she seemed awfully insightful.
“I saw her talking to some guy before you got there tonight.”
He stiffened. “Who?”
“The guy who came out of the bathrooms after me. Should I be telling you this?”
“Yes. What was she saying to him?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t close enough to hear, but they were real cozy and she kept checking the door. The minute your family showed up they acted like perfect strangers and she sat alone for a while. Then when I went to use the bathroom…”
He forced himself to breathe slowly. “What happened at the bathrooms?”
“I found them in the hall. He was leaning over her like he was about to kiss her or just had.”
His teeth clenched. “Did she look angry?”
Mallory’s lips tightened into a sympathetic smile. “No.”
He looked away. He was pissed, but not that some guy was hitting on Erin. Strangely, he was pissed she’d made a fool out of him. He really didn’t feel any sort of jealousy for her when he pictured her with Tim. The two of them actually made sense as a couple on some level. It was weird that he could admit that to himself.
“Are you mad I told you?”
“What? No, of course not. You’re just being honest and telling me what I asked.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“But now you’re sad.”
“Mallory, I’m not sad. I’m angry and curious how long whatever they have going has been going on, but I’m not really sad about it.”
“Are you going to go back to her if she asks you?”
He sighed and pressed his head into the wall, staring up at her ceiling. “I don’t know.”
“Finn, she’s cheating on you!”
“You don’t know that. You didn’t actually see them kissing, right?”
She scoffed and sat up. “No, but it was obvious they’d kissed before.”
He was silent for a while. Over the years it had always been Erin. She’d become a fixture in his life he sort of depended on to always be there. In the beginning he’d wanted to do things one on one with her, but over time that urge sort of fell away. They barely even had sex anymore and when they did it was nothing to write home about.
“Did you ever do something habitually even though you knew it was bad for you each time you did it? You get so used to doing it you don’t even really enjoy it anymore, but you can’t stop for some reason.”
She snorted and sat up. “Hello? I eat.”
“That’s not the same—”
“Of course it is. I don’t even really like donuts, but if you put one in front of me it has about a thirty second life expectancy.”
He frowned. “Then why eat it?”
She shrugged. “Because I know I shouldn’t and knowing that tells me I may never have one again so I better take it before the offer’s off the table.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know. Neither does dating someone you don’t enjoy when you can do a hell of a lot better.”
He shifted. His ass was going numb. “Do you think you’re going to puke anymore?”
“No. But hey, I gave back my pizza so that means we can eat the rest of it.”
He frowned. “That’s not funny, Philly. I better not find you messing around with that shit. Bulimia can kill a person. You’re smarter than that. ”
She drew back and scowled at him. “I don’t make myself vomit, Finnegan. I’m not thirteen anymore.”
Her answer should have reassured him, but it didn’t. It only told him that once she’d been desperate enough to try something as dumb as purging.
He stood and held out a hand. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“I’ll be there in a minute. I gotta brush my teeth and pee.”
He stepped out and shut the door. As he waited he looked at the pictures scattered throughout her apartment. There was one with three other people he assumed were her family. Her sister looked nothing like her. She was tall and all sharp edges, while Mallory was small and soft. She had a smile that was contagious.
The toilet flushed and the sink turned on. He replaced the picture and turned as the door opened.
“You are so lucky we’re just friends. I look like death.”
He smiled. She didn’t look like death. She looked cute. Her hair was twisted up in one of those sexy, sloppy knot styles girls did and her face was scrubbed clean of all traces of makeup. She smelled like floral soap and mint.
“I’m going to change into pajamas. I’m not really tired anymore. You want to finish our movie?”
“Sure.”
She was still intoxicated, he noted, when she tripped over the lip of the rug and cursed and giggled. He had nothing better to do, so he settled onto the couch and set up the movie where they’d left off.
She returned from the bedroom wearing cotton pants with candy canes on them and a sweatshirt that was way too big for her. In her arms she held a fluffy blanket and two pillows.
“Here,” she said tossing him a pillow.
He wedged the pillow under his shoulder and waited as she fluffed the blanket and maneuvered around. She seemed to be having a hard time of it. “You all right over there?”
“I…I can’t…I can’t get the damn blanket to open.”
He laughed and gave the corner a tug.
She plopped down and let out a breath. “Thank you. The stupid thing was fighting me.”
He eyed the blanket. “It was being quite ferocious.”
She gave him the finger and he started the movie. He knew this was where they’d left off, but he had no idea what was going on. The woman on the screen screamed as some guy ran through the house with a rifle. Was he the killer? No, wait, that was the husband.
This movie sucks.
Mallory’s feet brushed his knee. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Stretch out. I don’t mind. Here.” He rested a throw pillow over his lap and pulled her feet on top.
She sighed and shut her eyes. The people on the screen carried on. It seemed like the climactic moment of the movie when all hell breaks loose, but he found her little pudgy toes more interesting. They were painted bright pink and had daisies drawn on them. Who could paint a flower that small?
“You know what would make this perfect?” she asked and he jerked his gaze away from her feet, a guilty flush heating the back of his neck.
He cleared his throat. “What?”
“Ice cream.”
“You are drunk.”
She laughed. “Yeah, but ice cream would be damn good right now, drunk or not.”
“Do you have any?”
She snorted. “No.”
“Want me to get you some bug-gurt?”
She made a gagging face. “That is so not the same thing and you know it.”
He laughed. “What happened to Little Miss Superior?” He mimicked her city twang, “Tastes fine to me.”
She scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue. He pinched her toe and she yelped, drawing her feet back. They turned their attention to the television. He was sure she was about as interested in the movie as him.
Each time he peeked at her, the lashes of her eyes hung a little lower until finally they remained closed. He rested his head on the back of her couch and shut his own eyes, not bothering to open them again until morning.
Chapter Five
Mallory stretched and grunted. She couldn’t move. And she was burning up. What the hell? She opened her eyes and made a sound of panic. Someone was on top of her!
Squirming and scrambling upright, the man grunted and mumbled into the couch, “Chill, Philly, before you kick me in the nuts.”
She stilled. “Finnegan?”
“What?” came his muffled reply.
“What are you still doing here?”
“I passed out after the movie. You hog the covers.”
Oh my God, he spent the whole night. You slept the whole night next to a guy and were too drunk to even enjoy it!
Her mind chased over memories from the night before. The trip from the bar to her place was all a blur. Then she remembered talking in the bathroom for a long time. Why were they in the bathroom? Oh, God…she’d puked.
She groaned. “I guess I was the asshole last night.”
He sat up. Finn was a cute guy no matter what, but in the morning he was scruffy and encroaching on a whole new level of yummy. She had to look away.
“No, you were fine.”
She groaned and covered her face. “I can’t believe how drunk I was.”
“A group of rowdy McCulloughs and unlimited whiskey has that effect. Are you hung over?”
She took inventory of her body. “No.”
“See, that’s because you threw up. So stop worrying about it.”
She stood and went to the bathroom. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she headed into the kitchen. Finn was sprawled out on the couch under her comforter.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, watching her start the coffee. It was strange having an audience.
“I was going to make an egg white omelet with spinach and tomato. Did you want one?”
“Is there cheese on it?”
“I don’t have cheese.”
“You’re killing me, Philly. How about you come with me to get the cars? We can get yours and then you can drive my truck back to the house while I drive Sheilagh’s SUV. My mom always makes a big breakfast on Sundays. You come eat there with me and I’ll run with you on the field I told you about.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You’ll run with me?”
“Sure.”
“I thought you didn’t run unless something’s chasing you.”
“So you’ll have to chase me.”
There was something very tempting about running behind Finn, his back all sweaty, shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, strong legs pumping…“Okay.”
“Really? There might be carbs there.”
“It’s fine. I’ll eat a banana on the way so I can be selective.”
They drove to the bar and retrieved her car. She left it at her apartment and then went back to the bar for Finn’s truck. It was tricky driving so far off the ground, but she did fine. Once they turned onto the road leading up the mountain, she noticed the signs declaring it private property that she’d missed before.
Mallory followed the SUV up a long, windy road and the pavement gave way to packed clay thoroughfares. The property was mostly woods, but she caught glimpses of a few lakes.
She turned down a narrow drive after Finn. The shoulders of the road were dusted with fallen pine needles. As they drove over the bumpy terrain, sheltered in a canopy of green, a large, log cabin came into view. It was so picturesque she wondered if Betty Crocker lived there.
A variety of trucks were parked in the drive and a smaller cottage like house sat in the distance. She pulled in beside the SUV and Finn opened her door.
“Are you sure this is okay? You’re family already has a full house.”
“We’re McCulloughs. Our house is always full. Come on.”
She followed him up the porch steps, wishing she’d dressed a little better than her black stretch pants and sneakers. At least her sweatshirt covered most of her upper body.
As he threw open a screen door, voices greeted them. Several people were shouting and she had the sinking sense they were walking into an argument. Before she could suggest maybe they skip breakfast, Finn announced their arrival.
Everyone in the kitchen stilled and stared at them for a split second that felt like an hour. She recognized the McCullough children, but they’d multiplied like gremlins over night. There were several children, a baby, two older women, and many other adults she didn’t recognize.
Kelly, who was shirtless and still in his pajama pants, was the first to greet her. “Hey, Philly, you made it through the night!”
The talking picked back up with a roar of chatter and she instinctively took a step back. Finn abandoned her to kiss the woman at the stove who could only be his mother.
Braydon, who looked a bit green, hugged a mug of coffee and slid over. “Here you go, Philly. Take a load off.”
Their welcome was surprising. She hadn’t expected to feel so accepted. She stepped closer to the table and Finn caught her arm, stilling her progress. “Philly, let me introduce you. This is me mum. Mum, this is Mallory Fenton, a friend of mine.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. McCullough.”
Finn’s mother eyed her as if she was trying to ask where she’d come from, but then her curious expression split with a grin and she said, “Welcome to our home. Had I known we’d be havin’ company I would have fixed myself up a bit. Excuse my appearance.”
“Do you need help with anything?”
Her copper brows rose and her smile widened. “Well, well, a woman who actually offers assistance in the kitchen.” She slapped Finn’s cheek affectionately. “That’s a nice change, dearie. No, you two go sit. Breakfast will be done in a few minutes. Finnegan, get your friend some coffee. Juice is on the table.”
Finn turned to her. “You want coffee?”
“I’ll just have water if you have it.”
He twisted his lips like he had to stifle a comment on her choice, but he went to the sink and got her a glass of water. She sat down next to Braydon and soon was immersed in regaling stories from the night before.
Finn slid in beside her and Mrs. McCullough began to cover every square inch of the long, wooden farm table with food. The scent of succulent sausage, crispy, fried bacon, and shingles of home fries wafted up from the surface. Mallory’s mouth watered.
An enormous plate was settled in the middle, overflowing with hot, fluffy, yellow scrambled eggs. Next came a teetering stack of pancakes. “Dig in, loves,” Mrs. McCullough announced as she settled into the seat next to a man who had to be Finn’s dad.
Mallory hung back as elbows knocked and hands grabbed. Siblings shouted and babies cried and a parade might have passed through. Then all was quiet as everyone dug in. She held her plate protectively to her chest and—once everyone else seemed served—she reached out to scoop a small pile of eggs on her plate.
“Is that all you’re gonna eat, dearie?”
Mallory stilled at Mrs. McCullough’s question and felt everyone’s gaze. “Um…I had some fruit earlier.”
“Leave her alone, Mum.”
She wanted to tell Finn it was fine, but she was grateful for his interception. He gave her knee a conspirator’s nudge under the table and she smiled.
Once everyone’s bellies were full, the chatter continued. McCulloughs, she realized, only spoke in one volume. Loud.
“I’ll be right back,” Finn said close to her ear.
She watched as he stood and walked over to the little old woman falling asleep at the end of the table. Something inside of her chest pinched at the gentle way he woke her and squatted close to the elderly woman’s ear. “Morai, do you want to go to your room to lie down?”
The woman gave him a startled look and then smiled softly. Her gaze was innocent and trusting like a confused child. Finn stood and carefully took her elbow as she shuffled away from the table.
When he disappeared with the woman who was likely his grandmother, Mallory stared into her glass and wondered if she’d ever seen something so beautiful or chivalrous. Part of her mind replayed the soft way he’d spoken to her and she wanted to lock it away as one of those Kodak moments one caught too rarely, like seeing a couple that’s been married over half a century holding hands in the grocery store. But another part of herself warned that seeing those sides of her friend were dangerous and would only confuse their platonic status and get her hurt.
Finn returned and she was quiet. He hadn’t changed or even cleaned himself up, but for some reason he looked different. A protective urge rushed through her as she thought about Erin.
Finn was a good guy and if Erin couldn’t see that she didn’t deserve him. There was no way Mallory would sit idly by and watch him go back. No. She’d make it her personal mission to find him someone who could appreciate his humor and kindness, not find fault in those admirable qualities.
“You ready?”
She turned to the man who had monopolized her thoughts over the last twenty minutes. “Yes.”
“I just have to run upstairs and change. I’ll be back in five.”
While Finn was gone, Mallory helped clear the table, and started rinsing the dishes.
“Oh, I’ll do that, love,” Mrs. McCullough said, appearing at her side with an armful of plates.
“It’s okay. You cooked.”
She smiled and took up the rag to begin drying. “You and Finnegan going out somewhere?”
“He’s going to take me to the field. He said I could run there, if that’s all right with you?”
“What’s chasin’ you?”
She smiled. “That’s what he always says. I’m trying to be more active.”
Finn’s mother, who was rounded in an expectable way for her age and the fact that she’d birthed a gazillion big men who likely started as big babies, gave her a scrutinizing inspection. “Nothin’ wrong with being active. It’s good for your heart. But don’t lose too much of those feminine curves, love. A man likes a bit of meat to hold onto.”
A rush of blood heated Mallory’s cheeks. She focused on the dish she was washing and prayed Finn would return soon.
When the last dish was put away, Finn came down. He wore loose fitting charcoal gray sweats and a faded green baseball T-shirt. He laced up his sneakers with a few quick tugs and stood. “Ready, Philly?”
Words. Say words! She swallowed. He looked hot as hell. “Yeah,” she croaked.
The field was only a short drive from the house. She was amazed to see it was actually a baseball field, complete with bleachers and all.
“We have a league with the bar. It’s sort of a tradition, generations old, that we play every year, so my dad and my uncles made the field.”
“Wow.” What else could she say? How many people owned mountains and baseball diamonds?
Skin (McCullough Mountain 2) Page 7