by Nicole Lynne
I thrust the pink cloud in his face and he swats it away before he folds his arms over his chest. The wheel starts moving and Finn groans, trying to adjust himself in the small space. He looks like a sardine.
"You know, if you ate more of this shit and less of..." I wave my hand in his direction. "Whatever the fuck you're eating to look like that...you wouldn't be bitching."
"I wouldn't be bitching if you hadn't drug me here. I'm not the fair kind of guy." He huffs again, staring straight ahead. He's such a grouch.
I shrug. "What kind of guy are you, Finnley? I mean, you fight in a spit and sawdust pub, and stay in your apartment..." I swear, I think he just rolled his eyes. "Well?"
Finn arches one of his brows. "What?"
I groan. "God, you're impossible."
"You're the one making me impossible." A short-lived chuckle slips through his lips.
"Honestly, Finn. I swear, conversation with you is like trying to draw blood from a stone." He responds with his preferred silence. "Oh, I'll just talk to myself, riding on the Ferris wheel with the strong, silent one—k eating my candy floss." I ramble on and he pulls his vape pen from his pocket, placing it between his lips. Nothing, he says nothing. Glaring at him, I snatch the vape pen and inhale on it, dragging the sweet smoke deep into my lungs. "You know, you're stressful," I say as I slowly release the smoke. He takes the vape pen back from me. "You're pushing me to smoke." Again, nothing. Jesus-fucking-Christ.
We’re near the top now and I swing my legs, smiling as I cram more of the candy floss inside my mouth. Finn's staring out over the horizon, he looks well annoyed so I pinch off a piece of the pink fluff and, when he's not looking, shove it in his mouth. His tongue whips out, licking the dissolving sugar from his lips and he glares at me.
"It's good, see? Can't come to a fair and not have candy floss, Finn, it's a cardinal sin."
He wipes the back of his hand over his face, sweeping any remnants of the floss away. "You are a cardinal sin."
"Aw," I laugh, "Finnley made a joke." I pat him on his huge bicep. "I'm proud of you."
Another huff and he tosses his head back and closes his eyes. "How many times does this thing go around?"
I shrug. "I'm not the fair expert, Finn."
"Well, you're a pikey..."
I gasp, pressing my palm to my chest. "You did not..."
A small grin works over his lips and damn, he's hot when he smiles. I mean, he's hot anyway, but undeniably so when he smiles. "You're Irish,” he laughs. “You're pikey. It's okay, embrace your roots."
I sniff and face forward. Brandon fucking O'Kieffe was a pikey. Trailer and everything. I don't say that though because, you know, way to put a fucking damper on the night and thrust us into an awkward silence whilst stuck on a Ferris wheel. "I am about as far from a pikey as it gets."
"Yeah, sure thing, queenie."
When we hit the top of the Ferris wheel it jerks to a stop, The bucket rocks back and forth and I let out a little squeak. My hand lands on Finn's thigh, my fingers digging into his leg as I slam my eyes shut. He laughs and I flip him off without looking at him. "Scared of heights?" he asks.
"No, I'm scared of the fucking thing swinging like an old man's ball bag," I snap.
"How many old men have you fucked?" He smirks and I want to punch him.
"You try growing up with a pikey for a friend, and you'll see plenty of drunk old fucker's nut sacks. I'm telling you, I was scarred from the age of twelve."
There's a small flicker in his eyes and a slow smile creeps over his lips. He shifts his weight back and forth and the bucket starts to rock. "I can't get comfortable..." He laughs as he continues to shift his weight.
"Finn. Stop."
"My arse is going to sleep."
"Finn!"
He chuckles. The hinges on the bucket creak and groan and I'm certain we are about to fall to our deaths. I grab onto his arm, digging my nails in as I close my eyes. "Fuck you. You're such a cunt." I keep my eyes closed, trying to block out the cold wind blowing across my face. "You know that fair pikeys built this, right? It can't take your fat arse rocking it like that." The bucket continues to swing. "Oh god, I feel sick." I shouldn't have eaten my body weight in candy floss.
"Hurl over the edge if you're going to."
"No, I will throw up on you because you fucking made me sick," I say, gripping the bar in front of me so hard my knuckles turn white.
"Nah, the candy floss did that. Told you that shit's not good for you."
I rest my arms along the bar and brace my forehead on them. "Not helping!"
He snorts before he grabs me and yanks me against his side. His arm wraps around my shoulder and he holds me tight, the clean scent of his cologne alleviating a little of my panic. "We're not going to fall, don't worry, queenie." He laughs. "Jesus, you're like a child." I turn my face into his chest.
"I am not," I mumble against him.
"Really?" The wheel starts to move again. "The fair. Candy floss. Scared of heights...sounds like a kid to me." He leans away from me just enough that I can see a small smirk touch his lips.
I poke him in the ribs and he grunts. I bet they’re still bruised from the fight a few weeks ago. "Everyone loves the fair, arsehole. And I'm not scared of heights. I just don't like it when you rock the thing. As for candy floss...Maybe I'll give you that. I feel sick."
He keeps his arm wrapped around me and digs in his pocket, taking out his vape pen again. The sweet scent of cherry drifts on the air and mixes with his cologne. "Want some?" He holds the pen just in front of my face and I take it, inhaling a lungful.
Eventually the Ferris wheel comes to a stop at the bottom and the pikey holds the bucket still while Finn helps me out. That was not one of my better ideas. I can practically feel how smug Finn is.
"You ready to go yet?" Finn asks.
I glare at him over my shoulder. Say no. Say no. Suck it up. I glance around at all the spinning rides, the flashing lights and blaring music. I really think I might throw up.
"Fine," I huff, folding my arms over my chest. A triumphant smile touches his lips and he turns, walking off in the direction of the car park. Is it too much to ask the guy to try and have a good time?
The second I get in my car my phone beeps. I glance down at the screen and see another text from Silas. I shouldn't read it, but of course I do.
Silas: No one will ever love you like I do. X
I drop the phone into my bag like it's burned me. My stomach rolls, and that horrible feeling settles in my chest. He knows me so well, and he uses that to his advantage. My biggest fear is that the love I had with Silas can never be replicated, that he's as good as it gets for me. I grip the steering wheel with both hands, squeezing my fingers tightly as my mind drifts.
I jolt when something touches my arm and glance at Finn who’s sitting silently in the passenger seat. His eyebrows have risen and he's looking at me like I've lost it.
"I'm fine," I whisper, starting the engine and pulling away. I never take my eyes off the road as I drive to his apartment, and when I pull up outside, I sit patiently, waiting for him to get out.
"Hope," he says quietly. I glance at him. "Are you okay?"
I nod and look away from him. I'm never okay where Silas is concerned. He's the worst kind of guy; one who can make you fall so hopelessly in love with him that you lose yourself. I lost myself somewhere in the depths of Silas, and once he'd chewed me up and spat me out, I found myself wandering, lost. Each time I'm in danger of finding myself, he reminds me that I will always be his, because doesn't he own pieces of me that no one else possibly can?
The car door opens and Finn quietly gets out. I lean forward and rest my forehead on the steering wheel, wiling this sick feeling to go away. It doesn't.
10
Finn
Two days with no call from Hope. No kissey face emoji texts. No food...I hate to admit it, but I kind of miss her annoying me. The way she was the other night...whoever texted her upset her. It was l
ike a switch was flipped. One minute she was laughing and the next it's like she wasn't there. I stare down at the phone in my hand. My index finger hoovers over the keys. It shouldn’t be this hard to type out a text. To ask her if she wants to do something, but then that makes me seem fucking vulnerable. And I refuse to be vulnerable again. I was with Kiera and look where the fuck that got me—nowhere. Anyway, what's the point in hanging out with her? She's a woman, and there is only one reason guys become “Dear friends” with a girl and that’s because he wants to fuck her—even if he swears he doesn't, that little idea is floating around in the back of his head from time to time. I toss the phone down onto the table and grab my guitar from beside the couch, strumming over the strings. I pluck out a few chords and then someone knocks on my door. I hope it's lasagne again...I wipe the smile from my face before I open the door.
"What did you make this time, Ho—" I stop midsentence when Kyan's ugly face pops through the open doorway.
"Expecting someone else?" he asks as he shoulders his way inside and heads straight to the couch.
"No..."
"Not what it sounded like to me." He picks up the guitar and drags his finger over the strings. "Finny..."
He cracks a smile. "You're banging the redhead, you dog."
"I'm not sticking my dick in something you've torn up like a meat grinder."
"Fuck off, I haven't fucked her."
"Bullshit."
"Look," he strums over the strings again. "I tried. I fucking tried and I thought she'd be an easy lay with the way she talks and walks and all that shit, but that one..." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "She's not what she seems. Not even a fucking blowie."
I glare at him. Kyan is a gifted sweet talker, the player of all players and the proud holder of at least 15 V-cards, so how in the ever-loving-fuck he hasn't been able to get Hope's knickers off is beyond me.
"That's shocking." I snort.
"Isn't it?" He places the guitar beside the couch and leans back. "We went out last night." He frowns. “I think I might have tried to kiss her…and smacked into the wall. My head hurts like a bitch today.”
She was with Kyan? I shift on my feet and rub my hand over the back of my neck. It bothers me that she was over there and it shouldn't. What the fuck? Kyan could fuck her for all I care..."Want a beer?" I ask, heading into the kitchen.
"Yeah. Who you fighting tomorrow?"
"Will Dawson."
"Ah, he's a cunt. Bust his bloody nose open. He fucked my sister, you know?"
I cock a brow and peek around the corner. "Everyone's had a go at your sister."
Kyan shrugs. "Still don't like the twat." I open the door to the fridge. " Larry's got me fighting that pikey shit from up north. O' Malley, that little shit Brandon hated," he says with a laugh. I hold the door to the fridge open, staring inside at the neatly lined row of beer. Brandon...
"We got to celebrate afterwards, you know?" Kyan says. I grab the beers from the shelf and close the door, making my way back to the couch. I hand Kyan a bottle and pop the top to the other.
"Celebrate what?"
"My 100th fight. I'm going to knock ole' Donald clean out and we're all going to go to The Showboat to see some titties."
I take a sip of beer and drag my hand over my face. "A strip club? God..."
"What better place to celebrate my manly achievements than a place with naked women?"
I stare at him as I tip my bottle back again. "I'll pass."
"The fuck you will." He punches my arm. "Loosen up, would you. You're too uptight, Finn. It's going to give you a bloody coronary if you don't knock it down a peg or two, besides, you've only got a few more years before you'll just be some old pervy man sat at the titty bar. Live it up while you can." He smiles and lifts the beer to his mouth, taking a swig. "And Hope's coming." He lifts his eyebrows.
"Great."
I can only imagine what kind of fun Hope is at a strip club. Kyan stays for about an hour and it's him talking and me listening. He goes on about some blonde girl he's screwing around with, and every once and a while he tosses Hope's name into conversation, grinning like a fucking idiot. If he's trying to play matchmaker, he best just move on with that shit. By the time he leaves, I've polished off 6 beers and am damn near shitty. I flip through channels on TV, stopping when I see a commercial of a little girl holding a man's hand a walking through a field. Her hair's the same golden blonde that Lydia's is, and it sends my thoughts spiralling down a deep, dark tunnel. I've lost my purpose and the two most important people in my life over something stupid. Something I had to learn to control.
I flop back on the couch and bunch the pillow underneath my head. I wonder what Lydia's doing. I wonder that a lot and it hurts, I'm not going to lie, but then I remind myself I thought I was doing what was best for her. Back then, when I first got back from Afghanistan, I was like a ticking bomb. Kiera never knew what would set me off. Some days I'd come in and the house would be a wreck, and it didn't bother me, and then some days...all that disorder and chaos just tipped me over the edge and sent me into a rage. I learned to control it, but not until after it got so bad I couldn't come back from it in Kiera's eyes. I don't blame her, I don't...
Sighing, I grab my phone and scroll through the lists of names. I don't have many in here. Kiera. Larry. Kyan. Brandon—I can't seem to delete his yet—and then there's Hope's number. No name. Just her number. Sometimes it helps take the burn off the loneliness to be around someone...
I type out: What are you doing? And press send.
A few seconds later Hope responds. On my way to see you, you useless fuck.
I laugh and shake my head as I set my phone down and sit up on the sofa. She's a gem, that's for sure...
11
Hope
I knock on Finn's door and wait. One…two…three seconds.
"Don't make me use my key!" I shout.
I hear footsteps on the other side of the door and smile. When the door swings open, I'm met with Finn's scowling face. "It's not your key,” he says as I shoulder past him.
"You know, you're like a broken record." I whip around just as his eyes snap up from my arse—granted, I am wearing a short skirt. I cock a brow and his glare intensifies. He's like a gnarly old bear and I just love poking him with a big old stick.
I brush a piece of lint from the corner of his shirt. "Bingo."
"What?"
"We are going to Bingo, Finnley. Get dressed. Mrs Arnold likes a man who knows how to dress."
"I'm not going to Bingo."
I glower at him and stab my finger into his chest. "I have fed your scrawny arse for nearly two weeks. Without me, all this..." I wave my hand at his body. His hard, muscular, very large body. "...would have gone to shit. So—"
"I didn't ask you to do that."
"Well, I didn't see you turning it down. So, Poppy has Patrick, Doris is busy tonight, and I want to play Bingo. You are coming with me. Don't worry, you won't die if you venture outside of your flat or that bloody pub." He presses his lips together. "I swear to god, I will never feed you again, Finnley. You need to leave this flat and I need a bingo buddy."
His lips curl ever so slightly in a ghost of a smile. "A bingo buddy? What are you, eighty?"
"I'm just cultured, Finn. It's fun. You know, the ability to enjoy one's self..." I grab his arm and try to shove him towards the bedroom, but moving him is like trying to move a brick wall. "Go, get changed."
"I'm not getting changed." His brows pull together again.
"Careful, the wind will change direction..." I say on a smirk before walking out of his apartment, half expecting him to slam the door. He follows me and thrusts a helmet into my hands, a twisted smile pulling at his lips.
"I am not riding your fucking bike," I say, shoving the helmet back at him.
"No bike, no bingo."
"I'm wearing a skirt, Finn!"
His eyes drop to my thighs. "Your choice."
"You don't know where the bingo hall
is," I say, placing my hands on my hips.
"Hope, you can't miss the huge fucking sign next to the cinema that says: BINGO." He shoves the helmet towards me.
"Oh my god." I snatch the helmet from him. "When I'm going down the road with my vag out and the cops pull us over, I'll be sure to tell them why."
I turn and stomp my way downstairs, Finn chuckling behind me. When I open the door and step outside, his black crotch rocket is parked at the curb. Huffing, I shove the helmet and walk straight to the bike, not hesitating before I throw my leg over the seat. Finn’s making his way across the yard and I fold my arms over my chest, smirking underneath the helmet. He stops just short of the bike and drags his hand through his hair. Damn him with his brooding ways and his mysteriously sexy hair flick going on. His eyes glide over the length of my bare leg. Good, let him see just how much is going to be on show.
He pulls his helmet on, and I can’t help but to notice the way his shirt lifts with the movement. His tan skin and perfect abs are on full display for the briefest of moments. He may be moody, but he sure is pretty.
He doesn’t even acknowledge me when he climbs on and I slide my arms around his waist, pressing my palms to his hard stomach. If he objects, he doesn't say so. He revs the throttle. The engine snarls and crackles, the seat vibrating beneath me. Without warning, we launch forward. The tires squeal and the bike wobbles. I close my eyes and bury my face into Finn’s back as the cool wind whips around me. These things are fucking ludicrous. He goes faster and I dig my nails into his back, bunching his shirt inside my sweat-slicked palms.