by Cassie Cross
“Did you want me that badly, or was running into me here just a happy coincidence?”
“I want you that badly,” he replies, his voice full of heat and promise. “And it was a happy coincidence. I’ve already been to all the buildings on the other side of the street. I was just getting ready to check the callbox in yours, see if I could find your name.”
“Instead you found me.”
Finn takes a step closer. “Even better.”
“It must be fate.”
“Fate’s been pretty kind to me lately, I have to say,” he admits. “Apart from the whole getting separated thing, which I apologize for. I can bench two-fifty, but cannot fight the will of three large security guys intent on keeping me safe. I should’ve planned ahead, and listened to my publicist when she insisted I have a detail. I’m stubborn sometimes, that’s something you should know about me.”
“Can we make sure something like that doesn’t happen again? Provided you want to see me after tonight, that is.”
“We can, I have, and I do.”
Okay, he’s planning on us spending more time together. Awesome. Amazing.
“I’ve gotten in touch with my security company from LA, and I have an interview with a firm tomorrow to make sure that there’s no more swarming. I’d really like to mitigate the effects you’ll feel if you spend a lot of time with me. If we decide to…if we start…if this becomes something.”
I can tell he’s trying not to pressure me, or speak in absolutes, and I appreciate that. So, I do my best to alleviate whatever awkwardness he’s feeling. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”
“Next up, I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Bad,” I say, with absolutely no hesitation.
Finn reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks a whole lot like my cell phone. He presses the home key, and the screen lights up, illuminating the cracked glass. “Bad news is that this happened.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Typical.”
“The good news is that I bought you a new one.” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a shiny new phone with a pristine screen. “I put my number in there, and I put your number in mine. I’m not losing you again.”
His gaze is intense as the real meaning of his words sinks in.
“Thank you,” I say, pushing up on my tiptoes and giving him a kiss.
“I have more good news,” he whispers against my lips.
“Mmmmmm…” I kiss him again, and again, and again. Soft pecks that linger, with the promise of more. “It’s all good news.”
Finn lifts up the grocery bag he’s holding in his right hand. “Champagne and candy, as promised.”
I tilt my head back and look him in the eyes. “I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” I admit.
“I would’ve done whatever it took.”
I let out a soft laugh. “I know.”
“You look gorgeous,” he says, looking down at my dress.
“Thank you. This tux is literally a dream come true.” My hand slides beneath the silk lining of his jacket, and my fingers wrap around one of his suspenders.
Somewhere off in the distance, a group of revelers starts a countdown.
“Five…four…three…two…one…”
With a smile and a mischievous sparkle in his eye, Finn leans down and kisses me.
“Happy New Year,” he whispers, brushing his nose against mine.
“Happy New Year.”
It’s gonna be a great one, and I know just the way to start it off right.
“Hey,” I say, tugging on his suspender. “Wanna come up?”
Finn stands in the middle of my apartment, an imposing figure in what usually feels like a pretty big place. It’s wonderful that he’s here, even though it’s a little weird that he’s surrounded by my things, my whole life on display for him.
I haven’t been home since this morning, and I take advantage of the fact that Finn’s attention is directed elsewhere. A cursory glance around the place—a giant room with a loft, vaulted ceilings, and a long, heavy drape that separates my living and studio spaces—indicates that I haven’t been a total slob lately. There aren’t any dirty clothes laying around, nothing embarrassing to be seen.
I’m thankful I had the foresight to make my bed this morning.
“You took all of these?” Finn asks, finally saying something that breaks through the heavy silence.
He’s pointing at the array of snapshots pinned to my studio wall. Some small, some large, all little pieces of me. Landscapes, architecture…the things I take pictures of when there isn’t a paycheck involved.
That he’s examining my personal work makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. Which is odd, I know, coming from someone who regularly puts her work on display for consumption and criticism from the masses.
“I did. Some are recent. Some are pictures I took with my very first camera.”
Finn turns and looks at me, his eyes shining with something that looks like a mixture of pride and awe.
“Do you like them?” I ask, feeling a twinge of nervousness pulling at my gut. I’ll keep on working the way that I do if he says no, but I desperately want him to say yes.
He nods, focusing on one photo in particular: a photo of a canola field I drove past during a road trip that took me through Idaho. It’s all bright blue skies and happy yellows.
“I do. Very much. Do you sell these?”
“Sometimes. I have a store on my website. I post prints for sale up there. I have a friend who runs a gallery in Chelsea. She usually calls me if she thinks I’ll have something that fits with one of her exhibits.”
“I grew up in a house full of oil paintings, and my place in LA was all modern greyscale. These feel…alive. I think I could use a little bit of that in my life.”
There’s a weight to his words that extends way beyond the pictures on my walls. Finn takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between us. He cups my face in his hands, then lowers his lips to mine.
“Is this too fast?” he asks quietly, after he pulls away.
“Yes.” Then a quick, “No….I don’t know.” I’m confused and torn between giving my body what it wants, and trying to guard my heart. It would be so easy to open myself up and just let him take.
Finn slides his calloused thumbs across my cheekbones. “Talk to me.”
“You said earlier that you don’t know how long you’re in town for. I’m not trying to pressure you, and I’m not asking for commitment or even any answers right now, but if you’re just gonna leave…”
“I’m burnt out on action movies, Zoey,” he says, letting out a heavy exhale. “I don’t want to be involved in car chases and explosions for the rest of my life. I think I can do more, but I need to get better first. I need to try my hand at other things.”
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the need for change or the drive to make himself better, but, “What does that even mean?”
“I’m here to audition for a play. It’s a six-month commitment at least.”
“And what if you don’t get it?”
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Then I don’t get it.”
I look down, unable to meet his eyes. Doesn’t he know this is a lot to ask? One of the main requirements for being in a relationship with someone—for me—is, you know, being in the same city. Somewhere down the road I might be willing to do long-distance, but now? Right at the beginning?
No way.
“Okay,” I say, still hesitant. “That’s-”
“Hey.” Finn’s voice is gentle as he tilts my chin up so I’ll meet his gaze, which is open and honest. “I’m here now, but I don’t know what’s coming next. Maybe you can help me figure it out?”
It’s not a promise, but it’s hopeful honesty. And it’s exactly what I needed to hear.
I answer him with a kiss that starts off slow, but quickly gets heated. His tongue tastes sugary sweet, like he snuck some candy out of t
he bag he brought over. We wrap ourselves around each other, and I run my hands through his hair, my nails gently scratching along the nape of his neck.
He likes it, I can tell by the way he hums against my lips.
Finn slides my dress straps off my shoulders—tickling the skin there—then lowers them until the bodice is pooled around my waist, and pushes down, down, down until the dress is on the floor.
He lets out this tortured groan when he realizes I’m not wearing a bra, bringing his fingers up to glide along the undersides of my breasts, to tease my nipples.
Each touch pushes me further to the edge, drives the need to touch every inch of skin I can reach. I undo Finn’s tie, dropping it to the floor as he shrugs out of his jacket. My fingers—shaking from pent-up desire—fumble to get his shirt unbuttoned.
His chest is ridiculous. Rippled and tanned, soft, warm skin over firm muscle.
Finn leans in and sucks a spot right under my ear, making my breath hitch as I run my fingers along the waistband of his pants. He licks and kisses his way down my neck, across my collarbone, between my breasts as he hooks his fingers on the waistband of my panties and slides them off.
“You taste good,” he whispers.
That is the end of what little bit of control I was clinging to.
I peel his pants and underwear off, leaving them in a puddle on the floor. He’s fully on display, completely gorgeous and perfect, and I take the opportunity to let my gaze wander. And Finn—smug jerk that he is—smirks at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Which is that I want him inside me. Immediately.
I hand him a condom from my nightstand. With a gentle push, he lands on the edge of my bed, looking up at me through hooded lids.
“Zoey, c’mere,” he says, his voice raspy low. “I wanna make you fall apart.”
Finn steadies me as I straddle his hips, kissing me long and deep as I sink down onto him. He slides his hands down the backs of my thighs, wraps my legs around his waist. We cling to each other, Finn’s head buried in the crook of my neck as our bodies rock together.
He’s in tune with everything I need. His hand low on my back, the other twisted in my hair, his stubble tickling my skin as he kisses and licks all the spots that make my nerves sing. He knows when I need more, and laughs when I let out a surprised squeak as he flips me onto my back so that he can take control.
I get lost in the salty sweet taste of his skin, the slick slide of his body against mine, and his hand between my legs—fingers moving just the way I need them to push me over the edge.
I hold him tight as I fall, wanting to keep Finn as close as I can as pleasure skitters throughout my body, all the way down to my toes. He follows soon after, his hips stuttering and limbs shaking as he comes with a shout.
Finn cradles my face in his hands, and gives me a soft, exhausted smile. “That was amazing,” he says.
I couldn’t agree more.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, I’m woken from a pretty great dream by the thumping of a headboard against the wall behind my bed, and sharp, persistent cries for someone named Julio.
“Yeah, I can see how that’d keep you awake,” Finn says with a laugh, his voice raspy from what little bit of sleep we’ve managed so far. He looks a little rumpled, and I can’t help but reach out and run my fingers along the crease on his cheek from where his face was smooshed into his pillow.
He turns his head into my hand, and kisses my palm.
Then kisses me.
It’s languid and soft, but when Finn pulls away, there’s a mischievous look in his eyes.
He rolls over, settling himself between my legs, and running his hand up my side before cupping my breast.
“Let’s give ‘em a run for their money.”
It’s been four months since I graduated from the University of Virginia, crammed everything I owned into the trunk of my Honda, and headed north for a new life and new job here in Washington, DC.
Working as a junior associate at a mid-level accounting firm isn’t exactly my dream job, but it pays the rent.
The city is as bustling and intimidating as it is beautiful, but I’m having some trouble connecting with new people. My best friend Alexa lives nearby, but she works long hours as a software developer, and isn’t around all that much. My other friends from school are scattered throughout the country, either at new jobs in new cities like me, or back at home with their parents.
So, in the absence of any kind of social life, I’ve formed a deep, lasting relationship with Netflix. Occasionally I spice things up with a pint of mint chip, whenever I’m compelled to eat my feelings. This is pretty much my new normal, and tonight? Alexa’s had enough. She’s staging an intervention.
“Are you gonna get ready, or are you just gonna lie there?” Alexa yells from somewhere in the recesses of my bedroom closet.
Snuggling the fluffiest pillow I own, I burrow down deep into my comfy mattress and turn up the volume on my television. “Just gonna lie here.”
“C’mon!” Alexa throws a balled-up t-shirt across the room that lands right on my ass. “I need you to pick a dress.”
Alexa holds the only two little black dresses that I own, ones I rarely wear because I hate going to the kinds of places I’d have to wear them. Like the one Alexa is intent on dragging me to tonight.
“Short or shorter?” With a hanger in each hand, Alexa displays my options. “The short one accentuates your curves, but the shorter one says, ‘I’m here to have sex tonight.’”
“Maybe you should wear that one then.”
Alexa sighs, tosses my dresses on the bed, then walks over and pries the remote from my hand. She aims it at the television, and a second later the screen flickers off.
“Why did you do that?” I’m not proud of the mild panic that laces its way through my words.
“I’m instigating a breakup between you and your boyfriend, Netflix.”
My comforter pools around my hips as I sit up, indignant. “Our relationship is totally healthy, okay? It makes binge watching so easy.”
With an exasperated sigh, Alexa sits down on the edge of the bed. “Stop deflecting.”
I consider arguing with her, but I press my lips together to stop myself from speaking. I don’t want to fight. “Okay.”
“You’ve gotta get out and meet some new people. You need to stop hiding, and let yourself have some fun. The way things are now, you’re going to wake up one morning when you’re fifty and regret the fact that the only meaningful relationship you have is with your television.”
“To be fair, televisions will probably be obsolete twenty-seven years from now.”
Alexa narrows her eyes. “Hayley.”
Having a person in your life who knows you better than anyone else is really great, except for when they call you out on your shit when you’re not ready to be called out on it.
“I’m fine with my life the way it is,” I lie.
Alexa gives me a look that screams you’ve got to be kidding me. “Weren’t you just complaining about your dry spell, like, two days ago?”
I glare at her. “Using my involuntary celibacy against me is just rude.” She’s right, though. I was just complaining about it. I’m at the point now where I feel like there should be a sign above my bed that reads:
DAYS SINCE NON-SOLO ORGASM:
256
Not that I’m keeping track or anything.
“No-strings-attached fun awaits you if you just put on one of these dresses.”
“I hate clubs,” I counter, which is the absolute well-documented truth. “Can’t I just put on my favorite jeans, go to the grocery store, and…I don’t know, meet someone in the produce section?”
Alexa lets out a sharp laugh. “I think you’re missing the point of a one-night stand, sweetie. You want to find someone dirty hot and dangerous who can make you come twenty times and doesn’t care if you call him back. Your little produce section fantasy is marriage material. If that�
��s what you’re looking for, then a club is definitely the wrong place to go.”
“You know I’m not looking for…” I narrow my eyes and lower my voice. “The M-word.”
“Never in my life have I met a commitmentphobe who turns up her nose at the idea of casual sex,” Alexa replies, rolling her eyes. “You have a problem, and I’m offering you a solution. Plus…free drinks.”
“It’s not the casual sex I’m turning up my nose at. It’s the going to a club part of this scenario.”
“You look hot in those dresses, Hayley,” Alexa says, nodding toward where they lay at the foot of my bed. “I’d be willing to bet that you won’t even have to stay at the club for very long.”
That gets a smile out of me. Apparently a little bit of flattery goes a long way for me these days.
“It’ll be fun,” Alexa continues, knowing that she’s managed to put a dent in my defenses. “At the very least you’ll get to spend some time in the land of the living.”
“Hey,” I reply, offended. “I go out in the land of the living all the time.”
“Yeah,” she snorts. “To go to work, get more ice cream, and then come home.”
That one stings a bit, and Alexa must notice because her expression immediately softens.
“Look, I know you’re having a hard time. It was the same way for me when I moved up here last year, but you’re not making it any easier on yourself.”
She has a point. I hate it when she has a point. It’s one night…what can it hurt?
With a deeply aggrieved sigh, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand. Alexa looks up at me with a hint of a smile and a little bit of hope in her eyes.
“Hand me a dress.”
“Which one? Short or shorter?”
If I’m going, might as well go all the way. “Shorter.”
“Is this as awful as you thought it’d be?” Alexa asks.