by Dee Palmer
“Hey, darling, you coming out anytime soon?” His voice is softly coaxing, and it makes me smile, even if my tummy is in knots.
“Come in, Marlon.” I prefer his real name, and he lets me have it. “I can’t decide what to wear.”
“I can see that.” He grins. “Do you have the ball gown from the other night?” he asks flatly, and my brows shoot up in horror.
“Yes. Why? Do you think I should…? For fuck’s sake, Toxic, not helping.” Happy to use his nickname when he’s being an arse.
“Darling, it’s a cookout not the Oscars. We don’t care what you wear as long as you get that cute little be-hind downstairs, stat.” He points at the open door with a tilt of his head.
“Don’t care what I wear? So I could go like this?” I wave my hand with frustration and exasperation up and down my skimpy-bikini-clad body.
“Ah, no. That would not be a good idea. We really don’t want World War Three breaking out or the MPs to turn up and haul the four of us off to jail.”
“You’re funny.” I sniff out a light laugh
“I’m not joking.” His deadpan retort makes me stop mid-chuckle.
“Oh.” I look down and back at his warm hazel eyes. “Well, I don’t want to give people any more of the wrong idea.”
“Wrong idea?”
“Me being a slut.” I shrug off my flip insult, but it’s a niggling nub of real concern in the pit of my vaguely conservative stomach.
“What the hell, Finn? Why would you say something like that? You don’t think that, do you? Christ!” He sounds utterly mortified, and I wish I could swallow back the words along with the thick feeling of guilt now pressing on my chest.
“No, sorry. I’m nervous, and that was a bad attempt at a joke. Don’t worry, I won’t give up my day job for stand-up comedy anytime soon.” Wow, word vomit, Finn. “Marlon, I didn’t mean it. I don’t think that. I mean, our situation is unconventional, but I didn’t mean to disparage it.”
“You didn’t disparage, Finn. You insulted yourself, which is worse. A slut fucks around. You fuck us, your boyfriends. Consenting adults doing consenting things. Yes?” He steps closer, so I have to tip my head back to hold his intense, serious gaze. He’s not fucking around, and neither am I.
“Very consenting. I’m sorry.” I place my palm on his chest and offer my most heartfelt and apologetic smile.
“I know, darling. I fucking hate it when you put yourself down like that, even with a lame-ass joke. We all hate it.” He steps back but still towers, his sincere, soul-searching gaze warming my heart and more. His lips press softly against mine, the long seconds of connection make my toes twitch and my tummy flutter. His innocent kiss is a little more heated, and his lips twist into a wide and wicked smile. “Now, my dilemma is: Do I let the others kill me for not bringing you down to the party or for not letting you leave the bedroom?”
“Hmm… No murdering, thank you. Not today. I’m nervous enough as it is.” I step away from his heat and instantly shiver and shake myself to regain focus. It’s a wonder I can function at all. “Right, how does a short denim skirt and a tied cropped check shirt sound?”
“You had me at short.” His voice dips, and I lightly push him out of my way. Time to face the music.
I grab a beer from the fridge but don’t get a chance to blend in with the crowd, because Flick bounds over to me and hugs me like we are long lost friends. She’s lucky she’s not wearing the contents of the bottle, she’s so damn rough and jiggly. She might have a slight frame, but she’s all muscle.
“You look so damn cute, Finn. Why the hell haven’t you called me?” she admonishes, pulling a mock reprimanding frown. I glance over to Toxic and Pink, my eyes meeting theirs then flitting to check for Tug and Charge. My cheeks heat and the smile dominating my face is both involuntary and from my heart. “Yeah. Okay, girl. Little bit of vomit right there,” she teases, tugging me away from my men, intent on introducing me to some female company.
The afternoon is filled with fun and fabulous food. I was blissfully ignorant of the hard work that must have gone into preparing for such a spread. They wouldn’t let me help when I offered, and I didn’t argue. I do start to collect up the empty beer bottles and dirty plates when the crowd starts to thin, though. The sun is melting into the hazy heat of the evening horizon, and the amount of alcohol consumed is starting to surface. The laughter is getting louder, the jokes dirtier, and there’s some rough play and harmless fighting breaking out. Flick is more than happy to take on a few of the guys in an arm wrestle. Then, as I skirt the edge of the pool with both hands full of dishes, I’m knocked in the side and sent flying.
The dishes crash and in a mix of shock and pain, a blur of bodies hit me full-on, and the next second, although time feels distorted, I hit the water and sink. I get a slow, heavy kick to my shoulder as someone pushes off me, which sends me deeper. A rush of bubbles escapes as I try to kick my way to the surface, but I can’t seem to fight through the bodies. Jeez, how many were in that bundle? I feel a hand actually push my head, and I start to panic. The pool isn’t that deep, but it doesn’t matter if these arseholes won’t let me up. Darker spots appear behind my tightly shut lids, the pressure behind my nose is sharp and painful. My lungs are burning me up from the inside, and my whole body is fighting for its next breath.
I can finally gasp for air as I’m lifted free and into strong arms, against a tight, T-shirt-clad chest.
“Get them out of here!” Charge yells out, his tone dark and deadly. I continue to cough as he carries me through the kitchen and into his study.
He sits me on his old leather sofa and sweeps his hands over my hair, my face, down my arms, speedily, meticulously checking every inch of my body.
“I’m okay.” Little choking coughs still sporadically burst from my chest, even as I try to offer a relieved smile.
“They caught you here; you’re not okay.” He traces his thumb over a red bump on my shoulder; it’s big, but I doubt it will bruise. I’m more shocked than hurt.
“I’m fine, but you look—you’re soaked.” I’m not thinking. I don’t even realize what I’m doing until it’s too late—far too late. I grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it up. Only a little bit, I don’t see anything, I really don’t. Not his abdomen, not his chest or skin. I see nothing except blind rage and fury. He has my wrists in a move so fast, I don’t see it, but I feel it. His grip hurts, and by the look in his eyes, it’s supposed to. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the pain he’s holding back, not a fraction of it. Why are you holding back?
“Please show me, Charge. Please tell me.” My voice is soft, because right now he looks like a caged and cornered animal. He releases his hold like my skin is acid to his touch, and I would be hurt if it wasn’t for the turmoil racing across his tortured, handsome face.
He stands and steps back as I rise and mirror his move, preventing his retreat and closing the gap. He shakes his head, but I ignore him. I tentatively place my hand on his chest, over his heart, it’s beating so damn fast I swear my fingers bounce from the pounding. His hand covers mine, but I feel it’s to prevent any wayward wandering, and I can see any hope I held that this might be the time die with a sad shake of his head. A wave of unease swirls in my stomach, and my heart hurts for him—for us. If he can’t trust me, then this is a deal-breaker.
“I can’t,” he states, his tone resolute and tinged with utter sorrow.
“I know.” My other hand rests against the sexy stubble coating his rugged jaw, and he leans softly into my touch, closing his eyes and relishing the contact. He’s not broken, not completely. “You need time.”
“I do.”
“Thing is, Charge, I’m kinda running out of that, and if you can’t trust me—”
“I do trust you.” He’s quick to interrupt yet offers nothing new.
“Not enough.” I tilt my head, my own sad smile barely tipping my lips.
“It’s not that, Finn. Fuck!” He turns away, and I can feel t
he anger roll off him in strong, unstoppable waves, but it’s not me he’s angry with. He snaps back around, confusion replacing the look of anger. “What do you mean running out of time?”
“My return flight is next week.”
“So?”
“So?”
“You’re not leaving. You have a three-month visa, Finn. Why the hell would you think you were leaving next week?”
“Not to state the fucking obvious, Charge, but I haven’t been asked to stay any longer. One month was the deal.”
“But that’s crazy. We assumed—”
“Is it?” I snap my own interruption, my temper hovering somewhere between unbelievable frustration and wondering if he’s dumber than a bag of spanners. “Is it really crazy? From what you know about me, you have to know I’m the last person to make fucking assumptions. I’m done making an ass out of myself, so excuse me if I want a fucking invite!”
“I—we want to marry you, Finn. How have we not made that clear? What else do you need from us?” He drags his hand along his jaw, his eyes piercing right through me, and I hold his gaze for a long time before I answer. He needs to see me, he needs to hear me, and if this is really going to work, he needs to trust me.
“Not us—you. I need your trust, but for now an invitation will do.” I take his hand, and he covers the hold with his other, bringing my fingertips to his soft, full lips.
“Stay. Please stay. Take the next two months to decide, but make no mistake, we want you.”
“Is that going to be enough time?”
“Only you know that, angel.”
“I don’t mean me.”
“I understand.” His jaw tenses again, and I decide to let it go. Hope’s wise words ring in my head: “Give him time.” Only it’s not her words ringing, it’s the damn doorbell. “Who the fuck turns up to a party just as it’s finished?” Charge rolls his eyes. I shrug at his rhetorical question and follow him out to the hall. I’m about to go up to my room to change when I freeze. Charge has the front door wide open.
“Is Finn here?” That voice.
“Who wants to know?” I know from Charge’s tone he knows exactly who is asking.
“Dave?” I answer for them both, my jaw gapping like a caught fish. I haven’t been caught, though. I got away, and he let me go, so why the hell is he here?
SHIT, THIS IS BAD. NOT as bad as it could’ve been if, not five fucking minutes ago, I hadn’t made it clear we wanted her to stay. This guy who’s travelled over five thousand miles and is standing on my doorstep is definitely not good.
“I’m Finn’s boyfriend.” I clench my jaw so tight I nearly crack a tooth, though I don’t have to correct him because Finn clarifies with a suitably clipped tone.
“Ex…ex-boyfriend, Dave. What are you doing here?” Her pitch is a mix of panic and shock.
“Thought that was obvious.” He tilts his head like she’s said something cute.
“Yeah, well, I don’t make assumptions anymore, so you need to spell it out for me. You know, maybe treat me like the dumb blonde you took me for four months ago.” She fires at him unleashing pent-up venom. Good for her.
“Finn, please.” His shoulders drop, and his voice is pleading. I hate that I can see her resolve slipping. I know how much he hurt her, but she’s struggling to hold on to the residual anger when he’s crumbling before her. “Is this your new boyfriend, Finn? Am I too late?”
Yes, you fucker, you’re too damn late.
“It’s complicated.” Finn looks with pleading eyes at me, and I fight the urge to stake my claim—for now.
“Right, I see.” His eyes flit between me and her, trying to read the signals, maybe, but failing.
“I doubt that.” Finn’s tone makes me smile, because there’s not a hint of regret, just a large slice of awe.
“Can we talk?” His eyes move from me to her, and he fixes her with a determined look she can’t seem to shake. She doesn’t answer.
“Come in,” I offer, even if my instinct is to drop kick the asshole back across the Atlantic.
“I’ll wait here.” His snide tone does provoke a response though.
“Don’t be a dick, Dave. You’ve been travelling all day. Come in, have a beer while I get changed, and then we’ll talk.” She pushes out a puff of air, and her arms are now crossed tightly around her waist, under her soaking, cropped shirt. She’s starting to protect herself from him, and it twists my gut that she feels she needs to. I know he’s never hurt her physically, but brute strength is not the only way to break someone.
“Fine.” Dave steps inside, and I point the way to the kitchen. I don’t get the chance to speak to Finn, all I see is her cute ass and sexy long legs scurry up the stairs.
“Beer?” I ask, nodding to the kitchen stools for him to take a seat. He’s taking in the room and it’s a moment before he answers.
“Do you have a light beer?” he asks, and I almost laugh, thinking he’s joking.
“No, and I don’t have a vagina either,” I reply flatly, suppressing a grin.
“Beer will be great, thank you,” he mutters, his jaw twitching, and he now looks like he has a poker wedged up his tight, British ass. Lucky it’s not my job to make him comfortable.
“Charge?” Pink comes in with Tug behind him. They’ve done a damn good job getting the stragglers to leave, but I can see Toxic is still chatting with the last few guys who won’t take the hint or are too drunk to care. The instant scowls on my friends’ faces are enough to signify they both recognize the lowlife sitting in our kitchen, but I make the introductions all the same.
“Dave, this is Pink and Tug.” Dave holds out his hand to shake, something he didn’t offer to me. But then I did introduce myself as his main threat, and unless Finn choses to enlighten him of our situation, that’s how it will stay.
“You having a party?” Dave nods to the yard with all the tables, debris, and general aftermath of one of our gatherings.
“We were, but it’s done,” I state the fucking obvious, since the yard is empty.
“So you guys all live here together?” He purses his lips like he doesn’t like the taste of his beer all of a sudden.
“Yes.”
“Cozy,” he mumbles loud enough to be heard.
“Meaning what?” I challenge. The smarmy asshole doesn’t meet my glare, just shrugs.
“Nothing,” he mutters into his beer.
“Oh, he means something by it. He’s as homophobic as they come.” Finn bounds back into the room. She seems to have recovered most of her composure and is dressed in one of my black T-shirts and some yoga pants. My heart fucking skips a beat, she looks so damn good.
“I’m not.” His indignant tone is accompanied with a flash of red to his cheeks.
“No, of course you’re not,” she quips, full of sass. “But don’t worry, your arse is completely safe here. Well, except from me.” She ruffles his hair, and he stiffens, a dark, mean scowl crosses his features, and he roughly straightens the mess she made.
“Still rocking the ‘yoga pants are all that fits me right now’ look, I see.” And just like that, her shine is gone. It’s like the asshole punched her full in the stomach. He doesn’t get the chance to rectify his mistake, because I have him by the throat up against the wall, and he’s gasping for air to breathe, let alone talk.
“Say that again,” I growl. “I dare you.” I feel her hand on my forearm, but I can’t hear her for the surge of rage rushing through my body. This is the passive-aggressive bullshit that’s been undermining her self-esteem probably since their first fucking date. Lucky bastard like him, should’ve been building her up every damn day, not chipping away.
“Charge, please.” I hear her plea, and I instantly release my hold, but not without giving him my most deadly warning glare. If looks could kill, this would all be over real damn quick. He coughs and splutters, rubbing his throat. I smile wide—fucking pussy—but the look in Finn’s eyes as she flits her worried gaze between me and him is not
what I want to see. She’s hurting for him, dammit. I curse myself that I haven’t done us any favors with my attack, because he’s definitely playing up the injured party role.
“Finn, please, can we talk? Alone.” He turns into her body, effectively cutting me off and breaking her hold on my arm. She steps back, her eyes glassy, shaking her head.
“I’m really tired. I’m going to bed. We can talk in the morning.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, and her shoulders are nearly up by her ears, she’s so tense.
“I’ll come with you.” He steps toward her, and my growl makes him freeze.
“Like fuck you will. I sleep with Finn, period.” I couldn’t stake my claim any more aggressively if I peed in a circle around her feet.
“She’s my girlfriend.” Dave turns to face me and snarls.
“Was…was your girlfriend. She’s mine now, and she sleeps with me.” If it’s a pissing contest he wants…
“Stop! Just stop. I’m not sleeping with anyone tonight. I’m going to bed. On. My. Own.” She punctuates each word with a fiery glare aimed at each one of us.
“Oh…Umm, Finn. I didn’t book a hotel I thought you and I—” Finn holds up her hand halting him midword.
“Wow, please do not finish that sentence because I might just finish off that stranglehold I stopped a minute ago. And as crazy as this may sound, I actually think the least you deserve is for me to hear you out—actually scrap that.” She shakes her head and gives a derisive, bitter laugh. “That is the most you deserve.” She scowls at him, but softens when her eyes meet mine. She walks around Dave to kiss my cheek and then does the same to Tug, Pink, and now Toxic, who joined the after-party from hell just a moment ago and fell silent on seeing Finn’s ex.