Twist (Beekman Hills)

by K. C. Enders

  “What doesn’t make sense, Adelaide?”

  “He tends bar, and I thought he was nothing but bad pickup lines and one-night stands. Thinks his shit doesn’t stink, and he’s God’s gift to women. I can’t stand that shit.” I scoop Eric up since he’s done with his business and his short, little legs aren’t conducive to two flights of stairs.

  “Keep going. There’s more you’re not telling me.”

  “He’s in my class—one that I’m teaching at the community center. And he’s so sweet with my ladies. And he kissed me tonight. And, Bri, I thought I was going to die—like, my skin was all tight and tingly.”

  “Adelaide, sweetie, did your toes curl?”

  “They did. They so did. And he stole my breath. Brielle, I don’t know what to do,” I whine, pushing through my door.

  Eric scampers off to find his squeaky toy.

  “Go out with him, Addie,” she says softly. “Give him a chance. And, if nothing else, get laid. You’ll feel better.”

  Letting the Addie thing slide because it’s Bri, I snort-laugh at her advice. “That’s exactly what Louise said.”

  “Well, listen to your elders. We’ve got experience on you. Let me know how things go, okay? And, if all else fails, rub the nub.”

  “Okay, thanks. Maybe I’ll come home soon. Catch up with you and the Brad sitch?”

  “You know it. Night, babe.” She hangs up before I can respond.

  I throw myself back in my chair, hugging my knees to my chest. Not once since leaving Kansas City have I had a problem with a guy. Finding a release. Getting off and walking away.

  It’s not like I’m warm and fuzzy. I don’t really like feeling—feelings. It’s just sex, endorphins. And it’s been a long fucking time. Since Eric came on the scene, the dachshund has been the only wiener in my apartment. Not even the guy who delivers my General Tso’s chicken has stepped foot inside, and we see each other on the regular.

  Pushing up out of the chair, I pad through my apartment to the fridge and grab a carton of leftover Chinese and a pair of chopsticks. The flavors bursting in my mouth elicit a small moan that makes me think back to class earlier.

  To Finn.

  To that kiss.

  When he let go of his goofy, cheesy persona at McBride’s and kissed me, more than my toes were affected. I felt that kiss race down my spine, expand through my skin, and set every part of me on fire.

  It might have even sparked something in my soul. Thus, me off-balance. Feeling prickly and uncomfortable.

  I can practically feel his warm hands grasping and tilting my face, moving me where he wanted me. With our height difference, he could so easily overpower me, but it was nothing like that. He didn’t try to take over in that moment; he just took control.

  My God, if he’s anything like that in bed…

  Maybe I should listen to Brielle and Louise. Maybe they have a point. If nothing else, it could be some pretty amazing sex. And, really, I won’t have to see him anymore after this class is done in a couple of weeks. This could work.

  I finish eating and drop my bowl into the dishwasher. With all the thoughts of Finn’s lips and the hint of getting laid, I’m definitely feeling twitchy. There’s really only one thing to do, one thing that will afford me some relief.

  Eric nips at my heels as I traipse down the hall to my bathroom. I fill the tub, testing the water temperature, adding cherry-and-vanilla-scented bath oil. Fragrance hangs in the heavy, humid air as I light a candle and slip out of my clothes. I hit the light switch and push Eric out, closing the door behind him. The last thing I need is a wiener ruining my moment.

  With Eric safely out of my way, I sink low into the tub, steaming water caressing my curves. I slide my hand down my stomach and slip it between my thighs. Brielle’s suggestion bounces around in my brain as my fingers tease and hint at the release my body needs.

  As my climax builds, all I can think is, What’s Finn doing right now?

  12

  Finn

  “Looks like you dropped something…my jaw.”

  “Looks like you dropped something, too…your dignity.”

  The door slams behind me, interrupting the halfhearted moans coming from Jimmy’s side of our flat. I stalk straight to the kitchen and grab a bottle of whiskey. Marlee’s offer and my refusal sobered me far beyond where I want to end the night. I drain a fair bit of the bottle before resting it on the counter next to me.

  “What’s up your arse, Finn?” Jimmy walks out of his room in nothing but his boxers, slung low on his hips. He reeks of cheap perfume and sex.

  “Nothin’.” I rub at my eyes, not quite used to the contact lenses. I take another long pull from the bottle and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Did I interrupt your big moment then?”

  The whiskey is just taking the edge off whatever shite is running through my head.

  “I got what I needed.” He shrugs, reaching for the bottle.

  I pull away, guarding it for myself. “You’re a fucking selfish bastard, man.”

  “And you couldn’t find a warm body to bring home, so you can fuck right off.”

  “Had the offer. Just wasn’t the one I wanted,” I boast, pushing off the counter and heading down the short hall toward my room. Green tresses swirl through my mind.

  “You giving up the game?” Jimmy shouts after me.

  “Just getting choosy,” I toss back.

  I strip down and warm the shower. The whiskey bottle gripped tightly in one hand, I step beneath the stream and tilt my head under the water. Surely, I can get some relief. My free hand slicks up and down the length of my cock, jerking, as thoughts of Addie fill my head. The way she tasted. The way she gripped my arms—not quite pulling me in, but not really pushing me away.

  Christ, I’ve gotten my release any number of ways, but when I think of Addie, the feeling is entirely different. With my eyes squeezed shut, cock aching in my fist, my thoughts go straight to her. I wonder what she’s doing at this God-given moment. The inkling that maybe, just maybe, she could be thinking of me has me stroking faster, harder.

  I steady myself on the wall of the shower, whiskey bottle clinking against the tiles. And the face I see when I come is Addie’s, the look of pure lust when I took her lips earlier.

  Christ, can I not wake up just once in the morning with my cock not aching for a change?

  I close my eyes, hoping to fall back to sleep, but the ear-splitting wails of, “Jimmy, oh, Jimmy,” are far too loud and not at all genuine, but they do the trick for me, killing any fantasy I might have fallen back into.

  The man needs to pay attention to his girls’ tells. Or have some fucking pride and find a girl who’s a step further away from desperate.

  I grab my earbuds and crank some music at a high enough volume to mask what I’d rather not experience. At least I take my time. Pay attention and leave whoever the lucky lady is satisfied but wishing for more.

  When I push through the door of McBride’s, only five minutes late for my shift, the last person I expect to see sitting at the bar is Francie. He’s not been around much for the past few weeks, but with St. Patrick’s Day quickly approaching, it makes sense that I’d be seeing a lot more of him.

  “You’re late again, Finn.” Francie peers at me over the top of his coffee mug. “What’s your excuse’s name this time?”

  “Erm, Jimmy? That bastard is loud as fuck when he—”

  “I don’t need to know that.” Francie holds his hand up, palm out, stopping my words. Hell, no one should be subjected to it. “What’s goin’ on wit’ ye? I’ve heard that you’ve been keeping company with some older ladies again, not acting quite yourself.”

  “Been talking to Aidan then?”

  I can take their shite and them riding my arse about things. I grew up with two older brothers who showed no mercy for taunting me until the day I left Dublin, but there are times I just wish the McBride’s men would leave well enough alone.

  “I have. Don’t want you re
peating history,” he puts out there without any pretense. “He also mentioned a lovely little thing who is doing some work for him. I like her.”

  At that, I snap my head up to meet his inquisitive stare. “What did he say about her?”

  “Finn, maybe it’s time you settle yourself and take a break from the quick and easy.”

  My eyebrows disappear into my hairline at that.

  He stands from the stool and pauses a moment, swaying a bit on his feet. “You’re off this year for St. Paddy’s. Why don’t you ask her out? Take her someplace nice, treat her like a lady. And keep things respectful for a first date for a change.” Francie nods at this sage advice and turns for his office.

  13

  Adelaide

  “Do you have a map? Because I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

  “No, but you’re right on track with getting lost.”

  I put off starting class, waiting to see if Finn will show. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, and he’s not here. While I would’ve totally expected that the first week of class, I’m concerned now. He’s been so punctual, early. And so involved with the ladies.

  “Has anyone heard from Finn? Should we wait for him?” I flit my gaze from face to face and back to the door, searching for his now-familiar wide smile.

  “He texted me that he’s not feeling well, so he won’t be here today,” Virginia volunteers.

  “You text?” The question falls out of my mouth, unbidden and completely without thought.

  “Of course I do, Adelaide. I also tweet and snap.” The look she gives me over the top of her glasses is nothing short of condescending.

  “Is he okay? Does he need anything?” As soon as the questions tumble from my lips, I see the gears turning, and Virginia types furiously on her iPhone.

  “He says not to worry; he’ll manage. He’ll maybe try to go to the market after a while if his fever’s down.” She reads from her screen. “I think it would be a nice gesture if one of us stopped by to check and see if he had everything he needed.” She looks around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes, before she blinks up at me. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to bounce after this, so…”

  Virginia’s declaration is followed up by a chorus of, “Oh, I wish I could,” and, “I’m just not able to today.”

  “I would go, but I don’t know where”—ping—“he lives.” I glance down at my phone and see a text from Virginia with an address. When I look at her, her face is a mask of innocence.

  “Might be nice if you brought him some soup or something from the market, dear.”

  I should have paid closer attention.

  After finishing up at the community center, I swing through the market and pick up some homemade chicken noodle soup, crackers, and some ginger ale. And Twizzlers because, even when I’m feeling icky, it’s nice to have a treat.

  The street that Virginia sent me to is full of cars with no parking spots in sight. As I turn the corner, I see a small lot behind the building and a spot open next to Finn’s little silver Kia. Once I’m parked next to him, I grab the bags from the grocery store and climb the stairs.

  I knock gingerly at the door. If he’s feeling badly and sleeping, I don’t want to be the ass who wakes him up. I shift my weight, popping one hip out and then the other as I wait. Should I knock harder? Ring the bell?

  As I lift my hand to rap on the door one more time, it swings open, revealing some guy I’ve never seen before in my life.

  “Oh. Sorry, I must have the wrong address.” I back away, looking at the number on the mailbox and comparing it to the one Virginia sent.

  “Not at all.” The distinctly Irish accent washes over me. “You’re looking for Finn then?” the dark-haired man says as he steps out of the apartment. “His is the room to the right, through the kitchen and down the hall a bit.” He lopes down the stairs and disappears around the corner.

  Tentatively, I step through the doorway and look around. It’s every bit the bachelor pad. Worn dark-blue sofa, ridiculously large screen TV mounted on the wall with a gaming system sprawled on a makeshift shelf under it.

  “Hello? Finn?”

  It feels weird, walking through the space. Surely, the guy who let me in would have texted Finn to let him know I was here. Well, that someone was here.

  I pop into the kitchen and set the bags on the table in the corner. Busying myself, I empty the bags and consider digging through the cabinets for a bowl.

  “Are you stalking me, sweet Addie?”

  I almost drop the container of soup at the sound of Finn’s raspy voice. When I turn, I’m faced with a lean, flushed chest and low-slung gray sweatpants, a roll of toilet paper trailing from his hand.

  Damn it. What is it with stupid gray sweatpants?

  “No. Virginia said you were sick, and I got volun-told to bring you soup and sick supplies.” I narrow my eyes and point at him as he takes a step closer to me. “Keep your germs to yourself. I do not have time for sick shenanigans.”

  Finn’s eyes are glassy, and his nose is red, like he’s been wiping it with sandpaper. “Right. So, no kissing today.” The words barely make it out before he sneezes three times back to back to back. “Fuck.” He rips off a length of toilet paper and grimaces as he blows his nose.

  I roll my eyes and replace the roll of TP with a box of super-soft, antiviral tissues. Then, I reach for the Lysol wipes I bought. Lord have mercy, germs are the devil. Snapping on the gloves I made sure to bring, I go on a mini-cleaning frenzy, wiping surfaces around the kitchen, throwing away trash, and straightening little bits of everything. I’ve gone completely into mom mode.

  “I brought some chicken noodle soup. Which cabinet do you keep your bowls in?” I pull one down from where he’s pointing and watch as a violent shiver rolls over him. “Finn, are you…”

  He looks like he’s burning up, goose bumps all over him, bright red painting his cheeks.

  “Have you taken any medicine?”

  “I haven’t. ’M f-f-fine,” he chatters, arms wrapped around his torso.

  He’s not. I shuffle him out to the couch and get him settled.

  “Hang on, let me get you some Advil.”

  He’s half-lying down when I come back with a glass of water, some pills, and the bowl of soup.

  “Here, sit up for a minute.” I hand him the water and pills, watching his grimace as he swallows. Replacing his water with the soup, I look around the room. “Do you have a blanket? Want me to get you a shirt or—”

  “In my room, there’s a quilt on my bed,” he says as he starts in on the soup.

  I don’t know what I was expecting from his room, but the tidy, well thought-out space is not it. The soft cream-colored sheets, rumpled from sleep, are not the nasty dark ones that single guys usually go for. Like, since they’re dark, they can get away with not washing them very often. His closet is open but organized. His shoes are lined up, clothes hung up neatly. It’s just not what I imagined.

  I pick up the handmade quilt pieced together in a mix of blues and grays. When I hug it to me, the fresh smell of fabric softener wafts up, and I inhale deeply.

  “Did you find it?” Finn looks at me over the back of the couch. “Christ, yes.” He reaches back toward me, making grabby hands. “Are you sniffing my woobie?”

  Eyes wide, I push it away from me and huff, “No. Did you finish your soup?”

  I round the end of the couch, shaking out the quilt. Finn takes hold of it and pulls hard, sending me toppling to the cushion next to him.

  “I did. Thank you.” He stifles a yawn and settles into the corner of the couch. Broad shoulders, pale and lightly dusted with a smattering of freckles, slide out of sight as he wraps his blanket loosely around them. “You didn’t bring me a pillow, too?”

  “Would you like me to get you a pillow?” I ask, trying to force patience into my voice.

  “I would.” He tries to do his usual douchey smile, but cuddled with a blankie, his nose bright red and hair a tousled mess, he just looks
freaking adorable.

  “Fine,” I sigh and grab a pillow from his bed. His very large, comfy-looking bed. I roll my eyes. The bed where he’s taken countless women, if the rumors are correct. “Here.” I chuck the pillow to him when he turns, and I start tidying up his tissues and bowl.

  “Will you stay for a bit?” Finn calls as I scrub my hands under scalding water to kill any germs that might have gotten to me.

  I dry my hands and bring him a fresh glass of water. He’s completely snuggled in. Completely.

  I shift from one foot to the other after setting his glass on the coffee table in front of him. “I don’t know. I don’t do germs well.” Reaching up to center my septum ring, I panic for a beat, wondering if I washed my hands thoroughly enough.

  “Please? Just till I fall asleep?” His eyes are drooping, so surely, it won’t be long.

  I slide onto the far end of the couch and suppress a shudder when he tucks his feet under my thigh. What do I do? I don’t like feet any more than I like germs. Feet are disgusting unless they belong to an itty-bitty brand-new baby.

  Oh my God. This is why I don’t like people. They have germs. And feet.

  Finn sleepily mumbles, “Thank you,” as his eyes close and his breathing evens out.

  I count to thirty, and then unclenching my fist, I tentatively reach out, touching his calf. The muscles are relaxed under my hand, so I push myself off the couch, trying not to disturb him. Finn rubs his feet together, the warmth of my ass no longer warming them. I pull at his quilt to cover him up better, but when I lift it, he shifts in his sleep, tucking one hand up under his pillow. And the other? The other is firmly in place, cupping his dick.

  Of course.

  14

  Finn

  “I know how to please a woman.”