Sin & Tonic

by Tessa Layne

  He’s intoxicating. And he’s right, I don’t like to go out.

  I don’t enjoy peopling, but after that experience with my parents, I need to do something. And while the horizontal tango has fantastic cardio benefits and is a stellar relaxation technique, I haven’t left this room since we got here. Well, other than for the dinner from hell. I place a palm on his chest and give a little shove. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf, expanding my horizons. Becoming a better me.”

  “Not possible. You can’t improve on perfection.” He winks as he steps aside, letting me pass.

  I sigh and roll my eyes at his never-ending cheesiness. “Shut up and I’ll order an Uber on the way down.”

  Finn follows me, pressing into me in the empty elevator car and murmurs, “So, you’re going down? Here in the lift? I like this new you.”

  I look up at him—craning my neck, hands stilling—and I sigh. “I’m not giving you a blow job in the elevator,” I deadpan. “It’s not sanitary.” The germs. Can you imagine the number of people who use this tiny confined space on a daily basis? The sneeze sprays, general road grossness tracked in on their shoes and the wheels of suitcases? I will never give Finn shit for carrying my roller bag again. I’m pretty sure he does it only to show off his muscles and pull the manly card—anything to draw attention to himself—but those wheels are downright clean. No street muck.

  As we get into the car, I have to shove away thoughts of germs and snot and disease. If I let my anxieties take control, I might fall apart. I’m stuck here for a couple more days, my nice clean apartment is a plane ride away and I barely made it here in that flying tin can of bacteria. Jesus fuck, the germs. I sit up straight, tightening my core to minimize leg contact with the stranger’s car seats. My hands twist in my lap. I don’t even realize what I’m doing until a muscled arm snakes around my back, and a large, warm palm takes my hands, soothing me back from the cliff of anxiety.

  “Want to move onto my lap, or are you okay?” Finn’s words are breathed softly into the shell of my ear. He knows where my brain is headed and brings me back from the brink and by the time we pull up at the brewery, I’m mostly fine. Mostly. A healthy dollop of hand sanitizer and the sight of my best friend in a quiet back corner of the brewery, and I’m good.

  “Addie, oh my gosh, I missed you,” Bri says, hugging me quickly. “How are you? You look fantastic.” She steps back scanning me from head to toe. I don’t miss the strange look she throws over my shoulder. “Finn, good to see you again.”

  “Brielle,” is all the verbal response Finn gives. But I don’t get a chance to ask about the smirk, or the shake of his head. “Going to grab a pint, anyone else?” Finn asks Bri’s group of friends and then scurries to the bar.

  “Let me introduce you to everyone, “Bri says, tucking me into a chair at the round, dark wooden table. She hands me a large to-go cup of coffee that smells divine and gives my hands a reason to be busy. Names stack up and as Finn slides into the seat next to me, the introductions start all over again.

  “Wait,” one of the girls at the table says. She looks from my shirt to Finn and back at me again. “You’re the friend in New York, the ones with the Irish bar,” she exclaims.

  “Pub,” Finn corrects. “It’s a pub, the bar is what the drinks are served on.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Dude, your Insta and the bar …pub’s Facebook page are hysterical. Holy shit, is that really you posting that stuff?” She’s eagerly waiting for Finn’s reply.

  “Erm, yeah it’s just me.”

  “OhmyGod, those pickup lines, the—what do you call them? Finnisms? Those are gold! Have you guys seen this?” She taps on her phone and snorts out a laugh. One of the guys, Giles, maybe, takes the phone from her and scrolls through her screen snickering. All the worst one-liners.

  “It’s all in fun. Though I do have a bit of a fan club there, yeah?” He bumps me gently, winking.

  “And they made t-shirts,” I add.

  “Dude, Addie. You have got to be the coolest, most secure chick ever. I’m in total awe. I don’t think I could handle my boyfriend flirting all over the place like that.” Her smile takes over her face.

  Shrugging, I tell her, “I don’t see any of that, so—”

  “Probably best, that,” a clipped British accent adds. Giles looks up from the phone he’s been scrolling through and addresses Finn, “Bloody brilliant, mate. You have the birds dropping their knickers all over the place with that. Absolutely brilliant.”

  I feel a little lost. I spend so much of my day building websites and programming, the last thing to grab any interest from me is social media. I’ve always considered it a time suck, but maybe? Maybe I should just peek at it and see?

  “Addie, you okay?” Bri asks.

  “Do you know what they’re talking about? Should I be concerned?” I toy with my coffee cup and take a big swig of caffeine.

  “No? When”—she leans in close so only I can hear—“when are you going to ask him tonight? Tomorrow?”

  “To marry me? I was thinking tomorrow at the festival, but—”

  “Perfect. Everything’ll work out fine.”

  Chapter 7

  F inn

  Jesus, what else can go wrong? I need to get shite back on track and under control.

  I didn’t expect a big warm “Welcome to the family, me boy” from Addie’s father, but I sure as fuck did not expect him to discard her the way he did. And after getting busted by Bri on the rail car earlier today, I thought my run of shite luck might be over and done with.

  Bri had been chatting with Addie, of all fucking things, when the jeweler was shoving her hands in my pocket outside her store. Well, outside the posh hotel, next to the jewelry store. I know what it looked like, and when I extricated myself from the overly grabby married woman and jumped onto the trolley to escape, I ended up right back in a steaming pile of shite.

  My girlfriend’s best friend pointed her finger and told me in no uncertain terms that we needed a chat. And that was when I realized it was Addie she was talking to on the phone.

  “You want to tell me what I just saw?” Bri sets her phone in her purse and pins me with a glare. She scoots over making space for me on the bench next to her.

  “Erm…” I can’t help but look a bit guilty.

  “I just saw you outside a hotel with some old woman’s hands down your pants, Finn. Tell me that’s not what it looked like.” I open my mouth to respond but Bri puts her hand up to stop me before I can even get started. Which is fine. I need to think of just how much I want to share with her. “Actually, just tell me the truth, because if you break Addie’s heart…” She doesn’t finish her threat, but I’m sure I won’t like whatever is going through her head.

  I take a deep breath and launch into my explanation, “She’s not that old.”

  “Oh my God,” spills from Bri’s mouth as she tries to shove me out of the seat. “You bastard. I have to call Addie, oh my God.”

  “No no no no no, that’s not what I mean. That’s—” Jesus, that’s what I led with? Not that old? I push her hands down, preventing her from reaching for her phone. “I forgot my receipt; she was just bringing it to me.”

  “You pig. Let go of my hands”—Bri narrows her eyes—“or I’ll scream.”

  Yeah, there’s the threat.

  “Christ, would you listen to me?” I plead.

  “I have and I’m not real impressed with what you’re saying.”

  I wanted this proposal to be a surprise to everyone. The only people that know are Gavin and his band, but I’ve got to give Addie’s best friend something or it’s all going to shite. “I was picking up her ring. I custom ordered it from the jeweler there, the one you and Addie were going mental over last summer.” I reach in my pocket and pull the ring box out to show her and when Bri sees the ring, her hands go to her mouth as tears spring to her eyes and she lets out a gasp.

  “Finn…” she takes the ring and smiles huge because it’s perfectly Addie i
n every way, and she knows it. Bri laughs and throws her arms around my neck, practically choking me with her excitement.

  A round of applause accompanies shouts of, “Answer him!” “Did she say yes?” and “Show us the ring, honey.”

  It took a bit to set that tomfoolery to rights, but at least I’m not in trouble with Bri anymore.

  At least, I don’t think I am. She’s been staring at me and not-so-subtly eying Addie’s hand since we arrived at the brewery.

  As Bri’s friends go on, laughing at my #Finnisms on Instagram, I plant a kiss on Addie’s check and head back up to the bar for another pint.

  “Same thing, or you want to try something a little different?” the dark-haired bartender asks. She takes my empty glass and runs it through the sink before stacking it in the bin for washing. “The stout is fresh, just tapped.”

  I huff a laugh. “Guinness?”

  “Nah. Emerson Stout, it’s one of ours. My dad thought it would be funny to name it for me.” She rolls her eyes and spreads her arms out to the sides. And it is a bit humorous, because this Emerson is a tiny little thing and not at all stout.

  “I’ll give it a go, thank you.” It’s good, not Guinness, but good.

  When I turn around to head back to the table, Addie’s peering at me over the top of her glasses, eyes narrowed. I throw her a wink and slide back into my spot next to her. “How’re you doing, love?” I lean in for a kiss, but it’s nothing like what she laid on me earlier in the restaurant. My sweet prickly girl is not fully turning over that new leaf.

  “What was that?”

  I take a pull from my glass before setting it on the table. “What was what?” I ask.

  “That. Up at the bar.” Addie peers at me over the top of her glasses, gives a little flick to the silver hoop in her nose. She sounds all kinds of suspicious.

  “Just talking about the beer. This is her brewery. She was introducing herself,” I tell Addie and kiss her temple. Sweet, sweet prickly girl. I soothe her as best as I can, while chatting with the people around us, mentally running through what I need to get done for tomorrow.

  Talk at our table is all over the place, but more often than not it comes back to the pub, and my admirers. Someone searching through old comments on the McBride’s page finds the thread where I’m referred to as the Irish Casanova. And then the shenanigans really begin.

  “So that one lady on Facebook? Do you really have a restraining order on her?” The girl at the table’s eyes are bright and dancing with amusement.

  “No. Not really.” I shift in my seat, draping an arm across the back of Addie’s seat and laugh. “Kathleen’s a cheeky thing, but she’s harmless. Mostly.”

  “But she flipped up your kilt, right?” She scrolls through her phone, searching. “I swear there was something in here about it. That she needed to know if you were authentic under there.”

  There was a whole thread about that incident. About what I wore—or didn’t—underneath. It was all grossly exaggerated. There was no actual groping, no flipping, and the reason this girl can’t find it is because of the one bristling next to me. I deleted the post. The speculation might have gone a bit overboard, and though Addie’s not on Facebook, I didn’t want her to stumble on it, or hear about it. Not like this.

  I can feel her retreating, pulling away from me. Leaning toward Bri and talking so softly, I can’t make out what she’s saying. But I don’t miss the warning look Bri shoots me behind Addie’s back. It’ll all be fine tomorrow. Addie will know, the whole world will. And Kathleen at the pub won’t be an issue ever again.

  I get pulled back into conversation with Giles, the nosy girl, and a few others at the table, and at some point Bri and Addie move over to the next table. Bri talking softly, and Addie tapping madly at her phone. Scrolling, tapping, flicking at the silver hoop through her nose, over and over again.

  After several pints, I’ve sampled most of what the brewery carries and am feeling decidedly more relaxed. I almost want to toss my plans and ask her right here, right now. But it’s not grand enough. I really just need to stick to my schedule. Make this proposal legendary.

  Nosy Girl stands and bends at the waist grabbing her wallet from the floor. I reach into my pocket and adjust the ring box so the telltale shape of it is obscured by my phone. I look over to find Addie staring at me, her lips set, brows lowered. Christ, I hope she didn’t get an eye full of the oddly shaped bulge. I throw her a wink and she goes back to tapping at her phone while her best friend tells her I’m just being me.

  Chapter 8

  A ddie

  I check my bag, recheck it and then check it one more time. This music festival is one of the best there is. It lasts from morning until night with multiple stages—music and bands and all kinds of amazingness. But we’re in the middle of the country, at the end of the summer, and it’s hot. Crazy kinds of hot with the sun blazing and not a whole lot of shelter available at the venue.

  My ginger boy could burn to a crisp, and that won’t be fun for any of us.

  Granted, we get special access to the few shaded areas, but knowing Finn, we’ll be out in the middle of the chaos for as much time as he can talk me into.

  “You’re ready?” he asks, shoving his wallet and phone into his pocket.

  My bag squared away, I twist my hair into a fishtail braid and check him out. A soft gray t-shirt spans his broad shoulders, molding around the lean muscles of his arms. Khaki shorts strain across his ass as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets, adjusting more than just his phone and wallet.

  “What are you hiding in there?” I ask, nodding at his attempts to shuffle and smooth the stash in his pockets.

  “You’re well acquainted with what I ’ave in my trousers.” He straightens up and stalks closer. “Or do you need a reminder of what’s there?” Finn runs his hands over my ass and pulls me to him, grinding his hips into me. Heat and promise burn in his gaze as he kisses me stupid.

  Breathless, I blink my lusty thoughts away and try to pull myself together before we get carried away. But why? Would it be the worst thing in the world to show up after the day has already kicked off? Instead of disentangling myself from Finn’s embrace, I lean in running my hands across his pecs, nails scraping the tight buds of his nipples. Peppering kisses up the strong column of his neck, walking him backward until his knees hit the bed, jarring him out of a lust filled haze.

  Clearing his throat, Finn rasps, “We should, erm, we should go, maybe.” His hands rest on my hips, thumbs not quite committing to pushing me away.

  “We could,” I tell him, trailing my fingers down his chest, across the hard planes of his abs. “Or we could miss the first couple of bands and take our time. We have reserved parking, can show up a little late, no one will notice. Plus”—I slide my hand to the front of his shorts—“I could relieve some of this strain you seem to be experiencing.”

  Instead of pressing his cock into my palm, Finn pops his hips back and, his mind made up, pushes me away. “Probably best if we, erm, just go,” he says, more as a question than a statement.

  Adjusting my glasses, I peer at him as he grimaces, dealing with an obvious erection. I raise my eyebrows. Chew on the inside of my lower lip, not uttering a word. He knows that I know something’s up. He knows. Unable—or unwilling—to meet my eyes, Finn slips past me, palms the keys to the rental and slings my backpack over his shoulder. “Ready?”

  With nothing more than a hummed “Mhmm,” I grab my water bottle and the packet of tickets and passes from the event promoters and push out of the room. What is up with him? The only other time we were this out of sync was back when we first started dating. That was a shit show I have no interest in reliving.

  Silence fills the elevator as we ride down to the lobby. Tension and awkwardness swirl around us, and each time we stop for new passengers, the pressure increases, thickening the air to the point where every person in the metal box is shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  When the
doors open into the lobby, passengers spill out in a tidal wave of escape. I don’t blame them, not in the least. What’s worse than being stuck in a confined space with someone else’s weirdness?

  I follow the flow of bodies through the lobby toward the parking garage. So wrapped up in my own thoughts, I don’t even notice that I’m alone until I get to the car. And, of course, I don’t have the keys. They are firmly clasped in Finn’s palm, though for the life of me, I have no idea where that might actually be. I mean, he was right behind me, wasn’t he? I didn’t imagine the tension? The people running away from the hurricane of awkwardness.

  I pull my phone out and text Finn, telling him I’m at the car. Asking where he is. What has him so held up. After waiting way longer than necessary, I round the front of the car—the front, because the dork feels a ridiculous need to back into parking spots. Normally, this gives me pretty low-level annoyance, but today, it just pisses me off. I mean, why? Why does he back in? It’s just stupid.

  I kick at a random pebble, sending it skittering across the parking deck, and when I look up, Finn’s there, offering me a sweet smile and a very large cup of coffee. The cardboard sleeve and dark green lid have never looked so beautiful to me as they do in this moment. Okay, so maybe not all of my crankiness is from nerves. It’s entirely possible that some of it is caffeine related.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, searching my face.

  “For what?” I take the cup and the car keys dangling from his finger.

  “Being a shite.” He sheepishly scrunches up his face, looking far cuter than he has a right to when I’m still kind of annoyed with him. “I just look forward to this and I don’t want to miss out on anything.”

  I unlock the doors and slide into the driver’s side, pulling the seat a mile forward so I can reach the controls. “Let’s get kicking then. Don't want you to miss anything.” I’ll get over my pissy attitude by the time we get to the venue, but I’m taking back a little control and until I feel more settled. Or maybe I’m taking back all the control for a little while.