“Vanessa,” I croak. Esme pulls away from me a tiny bit more, and I die inside.
My ex-girlfriend—was she ever my girlfriend?—arches an eyebrow and lets her fingers drift over her ample cleavage. “You didn’t call. I thought you might want to kiss and make up.” Her bottom lip juts out in an exaggerated pout.
Silence has settled over the table, and all eyes are on me. Esme’s eyes are glued on the table. Her thigh isn’t touching mine at all anymore. Max is staring at me, a grin poorly concealed on his lips.
“You keyed my car, Vanessa.”
“You kissed my friend.”
“She kissed me…and you were making out with another guy at the time! How is this my fault?”
Vanessa waves a hand. “Whatever. Water under the bridge.” Her eyes get that spark that, up until this morning, usually resulted in us fucking each other’s brains out.
Now, though?
The thought of going anywhere near her revolts me. I want to retch at the thought of putting my hands on her body.
Esme clears her throat, sliding out of the booth. She mumbles something about the ladies’ room and disappears down the bar’s back hallway, and anger flares in my chest.
Vanessa’s eyes spark, and her eyes follow Esme. She turns back to me. “Who’s the teenage boy?”
“That’s my sister,” Sweeney interjects. His eyes are hard. Lips pinched. Fists clenched.
Vanessa raises her palms, letting out a little giggle. “My mistake. I’m not into the whole punk-rock look.” She adjusts her bra, causing her breasts to jiggle and bounce. My eyes are drawn to the movement. I flick my gaze away almost immediately.
Has she always been this brazen? And did I fall for it?
I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so fucking annoyed with myself. I wave a hand. “I’m not interested, Vanessa. Your particular brand of crazy isn’t what I’m after tonight.”
“Let me guess, you’re into little, boyish, punk girls now?” She scoffs, staring at me for a second before turning around and walking away, her teeny tiny skirt giving me a peek of the neon pink thong underneath.
I don’t have the guts to meet Sweeney’s eye. I snort, shaking my head, and mumble something unintelligible before gulping down half my beer.
The worst part is how easily Vanessa saw through me. How quickly she could see that I have a thing for Esme. Do I have a thing for Esme? What’s going on in my mind? My body?
I finally manage to lift my gaze up to Sweeney’s, who’s staring at me with hard, cold eyes.
Discomfort churns in my stomach.
Can he see my desire for his little sister as easily as Vanessa did?
Sweeney lets out a dry chuckle and shakes his head. His eyes remain dark. “You have terrible taste in women, Finn.”
“I think Finn is the one who actually drives them crazy,” Willow interjects. “I wouldn’t blame Vanessa. I’d probably have keyed his car if he kissed my friend, too.”
“She kissed me,” I repeat lamely. “And she was making out with another dude at the time. Does no one realize that?”
“Not bad for free entertainment, though,” Max chuckles. Isabelle makes a noise and throws him a disapproving glance, and he just laughs harder. Max has always been carefree. Easy to like. Generous with his affection and fiercely, unflinchingly loyal.
He was the first of us to get married, which was a surprise to no one.
I’ll probably be the last. Sweeney lets out a dry laugh with all the others, but his eyes flick back to mine. Suspicion floats in his gaze, and my gut churns.
Glancing down the hallway where Esme disappeared, I wonder if maybe it’s better that she stays away from me. No matter how much I think I want her, it’s not worth hurting my friendship with Sweeney.
It’s not worth hurting her. Because as much as I try to deny it, Max is right. I’m a train wreck. I destroy every relationship, leaving broken pieces in my wake. I do my best to destroy myself, too. That’s why I love adrenaline, after all. I get to destroy myself bit by bit every time I chase my next high.
But I can’t destroy Esme.
9
Esme
I sit on the toilet and lean my elbows against my thighs. Dropping my head in my hands, I let out a breath.
The door to the bathroom bangs close as someone walks out. I jump, startled. My heart beats unsteadily as I struggle to regain my composure.
Why is it surprising to me that Finn would have girls lining up to talk to him? Not just girls. Big-breasted, hair down to her waist, and a teeny tiny top that left nothing to the imagination. I was eye-level with the outline of her areolas.
She’s the polar opposite of me.
What, I feel a little twinge of lust for the guy and I think he’s saving himself for me? What is wrong with me? Of course he’s got other girls to talk to. There are probably gaggles of women lining up to sleep with him. I mean, look at the guy! He’s sex on legs. He’s everything that makes a man attractive, wrapped up in one beautiful, pouty, dangerous package.
I get up off the toilet and go to wash my hands, even though I haven’t done anything. I’m just buying time before I have to go out there again.
When Finn’s finger touched the skin on my thigh, I felt like my whole body was burning up. Whispers of heat still course through my veins as I wash my hands with cool water. I stare at myself in the mirror, sighing.
Fear comes in many forms, I’ve learned. Right now, as insecurity tries to tear me down, I know it’s just plain old fear wearing another name.
I’m afraid of being rejected. Afraid of not being good enough. Afraid of putting myself out there and being embarrassed.
For what?
Why do I feel this way? Because of some friend of my brother’s? Some guy who has kissable lips and sinful eyes?
I straighten my shoulders as I dry my hands, and then pull out my lip gloss from my purse. Staring at myself in the mirror, I force myself to put it on. I need to feel good about the way I look. To be proud of who I am and what I’ve been through.
I touch the edges of my beanie and adjust my choker up a fraction of an inch. Smoothing my hands down my front, I feel the tiny swell of my non-existent breasts.
I don’t need a crop top and a set of double-j’s—or whatever those knockers were. I’ll keep my little bee stings and be proud of them. At least I don’t have back pain, right?
I’m not quite ready to take my beanie off, but I’m not going to let myself crumble and fall apart.
Fears launch another attack on my mind. They needle at my insecurities, but I knock them all down one by one. I’ve done this many times. For the past six years, I’ve spent my days and nights in a constant battle locked with many variations of fear.
This is one of the more insidious ones, and I’m not going to let it control me.
I throw my shoulders back and head out of the restroom. When I walk up to the table again, Double-J is gone. Finn’s eyes lift up to mine, and another wave of heat gushes through my veins.
How does he do that with just one look?
“You guys want another round?” I ask, needing to be away from the riot Finn causes when he’s near.
Kit’s staring at his phone, but he nods and grunts in acknowledgement. I don’t dare look at Finn’s face, but I can feel his eyes on my body.
Is it wrong to like it when he stares?
A few other heads nod around the table, and I head to the bar. One of the bartenders, a guy with the most beautiful, brightest eye makeup I’ve ever seen, slides over to me.
“What can I get for you, my little Punk Princess?” His eyes gleam. When he says it, it doesn’t feel like an insult.
I grin, giving him my order for the table. His eyebrow arches as he looks over. “You must be Sweeney’s little sister, huh?”
“You know him?”
“This is Woodvale, honey,” he laughs, as if that explains it. I watch him pull beers and shake cocktails for my order, and I keep my back to the table. If I look over, I
know my gaze will drift to Finn, and I don’t want to give in. I need to be strong. To prove to myself that I don’t care who he is or who he sleeps with. I won’t let my insecurities tear me down.
But then, I feel a warm hand on the small of my back. Finn’s aura engulfs me as he slides in beside me at the bar, his huge body towering over mine. Lust roars inside me, too loud to ignore. His hand stays on my lower back, burning an imprint on my skin.
When I drag my eyes up to his, sparkling emeralds stare back.
“Need help carrying the drinks back?”
Why is there a mass in my throat all of a sudden? Why are my nipples puckering at his nearness? Why do I miss the feeling of his hand when he drops it from my back?
I nod, unable to speak.
The bartender reappears with a few drinks. He tilts his head. “Finn Gallagher, you’d better not be bothering this girl. I won’t have another one of your gossip-column-worthy love affairs happening in my bar.”
I freeze, stealing a glance at Finn. My eyes only make it up to his chest before I turn away, curling my fingers around a couple of drinks.
“First of all, it’s not your bar, Jackson,” Finn says, leaning toward the bartender. “Second of all, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The bartender waves a hand, shrugging. “All I’m saying is you’ve already had your car keyed once this year. This girl looks like she could do a lot worse than that.”
The bartender glances at me, and I have to laugh. I nod, nudging Finn. “Seems there are things about you I don’t know, Finn.”
“There’s a lot you don’t want to know, girl,” Jackson replies, holding out his hand. I give him my card and watch him walk toward the register, sliding my gaze up to Finn’s.
“Don’t listen to him,” he growls.
“Don’t tell me who to listen to.”
Finn’s gaze darkens. He reaches over, sliding his finger over my cheek. A jolt of electricity trips down my spine, and it takes all my effort to keep my face steady. ‘Punk Princess’ might be what I look like on the outside, but inside, a battle is always raging. Ever since I left my mother’s house, though, keeping this mask on has been more and more difficult.
“They don’t know me,” Finn says in a low voice. My breath catches. I’m stuck to the floor, wanting him to speak again. I like the way his voice rattles my bones. The way his touch gets under my skin. The way he leaves me wanting more, more, more.
Jackson reappears, and Finn drops his hand. I reach for my card from the bartender, but he hangs onto it for a second, staring me in the eyes.
“Two words, Punk Princess.”
“Huh?”
He’s still hanging onto my card, and he flicks his eyes at Finn. “Train. Wreck. My advice is to stay away.”
Finn vibrates beside me, the anger rolling off him in thick, black waves.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. “Noted. Thanks.”
When Finn and I get back to the table, Kit is still texting. A sly grin is painted on his face, and he lifts his eyes up to mine. He nods when I drop a drink in front of him. “Thanks. So, what are you thinking?”
“About what?”
“About tonight.” He tilts his head.
I frown. “I’m thinking I’ll have this drink, and then maybe another. Or maybe I’ll go home. I don’t know.”
What is he talking about?
His phone dings, and understanding floods through me.
It’s a girl.
I’ve known Kit my whole life, and I’ve never seen him glued to his phone like this. He didn’t get a smartphone until two years ago because he thought they were destroying the fabric of society. Most days, he refuses to bring it out with him.
But all day and all night, he’s been attached to the thing like his life depends on it. It has to be a girl.
“Just go meet her, Kit,” I say, sliding into the booth across from him.
“Who?”
“Whoever is blowing up your phone.”
My brother bites his lip, shrugging. He slips his phone back into his pocket as it dings again. I arch an eyebrow, and my brother laughs.
“Fine. Fine. There’s a girl.”
“You don’t have to babysit me. I’m here with all your friends. I have Google Maps. I have a key to the house. My phone has Uber and Lyft, and I saw taxis just outside.”
Kit hesitates, taking a sip of the beer that I bought him. I stare at him, eyebrow arched. My brother groans, then glances at Finn.
“Make sure she gets home okay, all right?”
“Go,” I say. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Kit hesitates for a second longer, and finally nods. “Fine. Okay. You sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’m not a kid, Kit. Go.”
My brother’s face splits into a grin, and he leans over the table to ruffle my hat. I yelp, holding it down over my ears and pulling away. My shoulder nudges against Finn’s as I laugh, and Kit’s face grows serious.
“Let Finn walk you home. Woodvale is safe, but I still would rather you weren’t on your own. And text me when you get back.”
“So, you’re not coming home tonight?”
Kit shrugs without answering.
I shake my head. “Bye.”
My brother leaves his half-empty beer on the table and says his goodbyes. As soon as he walks away, Willow lets out a low whistle.
“That’s a first.”
“And to leave his sister with us, too,” Max answers, arching an eyebrow. “Whoever she is, he must really like her.”
They all stare as my brother leaves the bar, but my eyes have a mind of their own. They glance down at the strong legs next to mine in the booth. The slim waist. The broad chest. The stubble that marks Finn’s jaw.
Excitement curls in the pit of my stomach as I bring my drink up to my lips, smiling at the group of friends around me.
It’s only Day One of my summer in Woodvale, and I already feel like I’m at home. Beside me, Finn shifts his weight. His thigh brushes against mine, and warmth floods the pit of my stomach.
No matter who that girl was, or what stories Jackson was referring to, it doesn’t change the fact that my body is attracted to Finn in a way that I didn’t even realize was possible.
Maybe I could feel like a woman just once in my life. Maybe I could give in to this feeling and find out why Finn drives all these girls crazy. Maybe I could let loose and see what happens.
Maybe train wrecks can be fun.
10
Finn
When Esme yawns for the fourth time, I nudge her shoulder. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
She hesitates for a moment, and I almost smile. I like the fight inside her. Even when she’s dead tired, and the best thing to do would be to leave, she still wants to be the one who makes her own decisions.
Finally, Esme nods. “Okay.”
We say our goodbyes to the rest of the group and walk out of the Blue Cat Bar. Vanessa is nowhere to be seen, thank fuck. Esme walks beside me quietly, inhaling the fresh Woodvale air.
“You okay to walk? It’s about fifteen, twenty minutes. I can call an Uber if you prefer.”
Esme shakes her head. “I love walking at night.”
So, we walk. After a couple of beers in the loud, crowded bar, being out in the fresh air with only Esme is incredibly calming. We don’t speak for a few minutes, until she slows down outside a small art supply store, checking the opening hours.
When she sees the question in my eyes, she smiles. “Might have to check this place out tomorrow.”
“You like art?”
“Drawing was the only thing I could manage to do when I was going through my treatments. I used to be really athletic when I was younger. Basketball, soccer, track and field, snowboarding—basically every sports team at school, I was on it.” She glances at me, smiling sadly. “That all ended when the cancer showed up. I started drawing in hospital waiting rooms, and I guess I never stopped. Even when all I
could do was sit there, at least I could have a sketchbook on my lap.”
“What type…” My voice trails off. Are you supposed to ask people that?
“Lymphoma,” she answers simply, unbothered. She takes a deep breath, shaking her head. “I’ve been in and out of hospitals and treatment centers for years. This is the first time I’ve been anywhere other than Seattle. The first time I’ve actually felt like my life could begin.”
A lump forms in my throat and I don’t quite know what to say. A part of me feels vaguely ashamed at all the dirty thoughts I’ve had about her today. Another part of me wants to wrap my arms around Esme and protect her from everything that might come her way. As we walk down the street, the skydiving booking center comes into view. An idea pops into my head, and I slip my hand into Esme’s.
It fits perfectly. Her fingers curl around my palm, and she glances at me, redness spattering over her cheeks.
“I want to show you something,” I say.
Leading her to the skydiving center, I unlock the door and turn off the alarm. Keeping the lights off, I head for the door that leads to the back. To our right is the office. Straight ahead is a set of stairs.
“This way. You’ll get a proper tour of the shop tomorrow, but you can get a sneak peek tonight.”
When we get to the second floor, Esme nods to a closed door. “What’s in there?”
“My apartment,” I answer.
“You live above the shop?”
“Close to the action,” I grin. I lead her up another level and push open a heavy, steel door. Propping it open with a big rock I brought up here for that purpose, I help Esme over the threshold and sweep my arm to show her.
“Welcome to the roof. You can come up here anytime, as long as you remember to put things away and lock the door when you’re done. Might be a good place to draw, if you want to. No one comes up here except me and Kit.”
Esme’s eyes roam over the flat roof space. There are a few thick rubber mats on the floor with a couple of camping chairs. Esme walks to the chairs, leaning over to touch a yoga mat leaning against one of them.
Can't Have You: A Stand-Alone Brother's Best Friend Romance Page 6