by Anne Black
"Must have gotten too close to the edge," I reply, rubbing my hip.
"I didn't think people over the age of seven fell out of bed."
"You learn something new every day."
Finn offers me his hand and I take it, allowing him to pull me up. I climb back into bed, defeated. Now what?
"I like waking up next to you," he says. "Or, more accurately, waking up with you on the floor next to me."
"Such a comedian at this time of the morning," I respond dryly. "You should take that act on tour."
"You should see me in the clubhouse. I could charge admission for my awesomeness."
"You kind of already do, my friend. Except people pay to see you keep your mouth shut and throw a ball."
"You know what? I'm offended by what you're insinuating." Finn sits up in mock indignation. "I'm not just another jock. People like me, they really like me."
"They love you, adore you. You're right. Whatever you say." I giggle and pull the covers over my legs.
"You know what, this is why I like hanging out with you." Finn turns on his side and props himself up on one elbow. "To you, I'm not Ryan Finnegan, Stars pitcher. It's like I'm just a normal guy. It's hard to meet people who you trust, you know? People who don't want anything from you."
I swallow and feel guilty. I'm probably the last person Finn should trust right now.
"I'm going to jump in the shower," Finn says, rolling away from me.
"Oh, okay, sounds good," I say, forcing the guilt down, a glimmer of plan forming in my mind. "I just need to charge my phone for a few minutes, it's dead. Can I use yours?"
"Go ahead, it's right there." Finn gestures towards his phone. "Just unplug mine."
He heads for the bathroom and I hear the shower running before I snap to attention. I quickly unplug his phone and set mine charging, then swipe his phone open. If he didn't want me looking at it, he should lock it with a passcode, I think, justifying my sneakiness. I scroll through the first few messages from his dad, a few other people and find "Richie" toward the bottom of the screen. I open the message thread and scan it quickly. Looks like Richard the Lionheart is meeting Finn at one o'clock this afternoon at the Starbucks across from the ballpark. Steroid drug drops at the coffee shop? Dear God, what is this world coming to? I can just hear some 'roided-out muscleman ordering. "I'll have a double skinny Americano with a side of human growth hormone, please. Organic soy milk if you have it."
I close Finn's phone and quickly dress in yesterday's clothes. When he emerges with a towel around his waist, I steel myself against the charms of his shirtless body and take a deep breath. "So, umm, yeah, thanks for everything, but I really have to get home and get some stuff done before I head to the park today."
Finn crosses the room and grabs my arms, stopping me from leaving. "Hey, don't go yet."
My resolve diminishes slightly when he bends and kisses me. I focus on keeping my legs upright, but I can't think straight when this man has his mouth on mine. I kiss him back, despite my reservations. I pull back, however, with a smile. "I really do have to go."
"Let me walk you out, hang on just one minute." Finn disappears into his closet and emerges in a pair of athletic shorts and a Radiohead T-shirt, a well-worn orange Beavers hat on backwards. God give me strength. I grab my bag and we walk to the front door. Finn looks down at me, bracing his his right arm above my head on the doorframe. I really need to get out of here.
"Thanks for last night, I'm really sorry about getting sick," I say.
"You know what, it ended up fine," Finn says. "I'm really glad we got to hang out. Can we try this one more time? I think the third time really will be the charm." He smiles shyly and bends to kiss me again.
"I would love it. Let's figure something out for next week."
"I don't want to wait that long, Katey. What are you doing tonight?"
"Nothing, but, you know, this is kind of weird. Aren't guys supposed to have some iron-clad three-day rule or something?"
"Katey, I like you. I like spending time with you. I'm not going to play games. Let's hang out tonight."
Under any normal circumstances, those words would be music to any girl's ears. But everything about this situation is so complicated.
"Fine, you can meet me at my place after the game. I'll text you when I'm back."
Finn's face brightens. "I can't wait. And I'll be watching to see if you're shaking this ass at the park tonight." He smacks me playfully on the butt.
"See you later," I say, laughing. "And trust me, the only ass-shaking will be by the wonder twins. They're practically gold medalists in the sport."
I hail a cab after leaving the lobby and check my watch. I have two-and-a-half hours until Finn's meeting with Richie. Won't it be a coincidence that I'm picking up a Frappachino for myself at the exact same time?
CHAPTER NINE
My foot is tapping out a rapid-fire Morse-code signal on the floor and I feel like I have the strength of five men after the amount of caffeine I've consumed in the last hour. I didn't want to leave the meeting to chance, so I arrived at Starbucks around noon to make sure I could get a good seat. Tucked in the back of the narrow shop with my laptop open in front of me, I look up at the door for the nine hundredth time and find another young woman walking through it.
I can't say I've ever noticed how girls frequent this Starbucks during regular business hours, but I now know if this writing thing goes by the wayside, I can open a matchmaking service based out of this coffee shop. Every single man in Chicago should know about the promise of this place.
After ingesting enough caffeine to fuel a small South American country, I wisely switched to a cup of tea, which I am now nursing. Idly flipping through Facebook, most of the posts don't even register with me. I'm too focused on what's about to happen and worried I'll blink and miss it. At about five minutes before one o'clock, the door opens and a clean-shaven man with dark black hair, sunglasses and a sleeve of tattoos on each arm steps into the shop. I write him off and go back to my newsfeed.
The door opens again and I see Finn's familiar frame fill the doorway. He's backlit by the outside light, but I'd know him anywhere. He steps to the counter and orders, casually chatting with the cute, young barista. I try to stay out of sight, but peer over the top of my computer. I see him look around as he walks to the pick-up location when a look of recognition crosses his face. He and the hipster exchange a bro-hug and greetings.
This is Richie? Certainly not what I was expecting. A shifty looking muscleman in a man-tank? For sure. A tatted¸ chiseled dude with biceps bigger than my head? Not so much.
Richie and Finn grab the last table in the back of the shop and I slink a little lower in my seat. I can't make out what they're saying, but they're certainly having an animated conversation, laughing and leaning back in their chairs. Any closer and Finn would realize I am here. But sitting this far away makes it impossible to hear anything. I should have learned to read lips instead of Spanish.
Laughter aside, the two men have more serious body language now. Sitting hunched over the table, their heads closer than before, they intently discuss something. Shit. Another thing that would be helpful right now? Bionic hearing. Or at least a wireless microphone hidden under one of their chairs.
Finn frowns and sits back, but then breaks out into a smile and the two of them laugh.
After a few more minutes, I see Finn empty his cup and then stand. "Thanks, man, I gotta get to work," I barely hear him say. They bro-hug it out again and laugh before heading out the back exit. What the hell? There's no way those two just met for some coffee talk. I have to see what they're up to.
Not about to miss my chance, I throw my laptop into my bag and frantically grab my drink and sunglasses and head toward the front entrance. I peek around the corner of the building and see Finn and Richie haven't moved from just outside the back exit. As I watch, Richie reaches into his black man-purse with the seatbelt buckle and hands a brown paper bag to Finn. What the hell?
Did Richie pack him a bag lunch with an apple and a ham sandwich? Finn doesn't even look in the bag, but puts it in his own backpack and then reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a wad of cash, which he hands to Richie. This is so ridiculous it's almost too hard to believe -- a drug deal in a back alley? Except the alley is a gangway next to a Starbucks and I'm pretty sure Richie isn't going to break both Finn's legs for non-payment.
Not knowing what to do next, I move on instinct. As Finn and Richie walk toward the sidewalk, I "accidentally" drop my keys on the sidewalk and bend to pick them up. When I straighten, I feign surprise.
"Oh, hey, Ryan," I say, as if running into him here is the most natural thing in the world.
Finn looks uncomfortable -- and surprised. "Hey, Katey, err, Katelyn," he says, correcting himself.
"Needed a quick pick-me-up before the game," I say, gesturing with my half-empty cup.
"Yeah, uh, me too," he says.
I reach my free hand out to Richie. "Hi, I'm Katelyn."
He shakes it. "Rich."
We're going with the formal usage, then, are we?
"Richie and I went to college together," Finn says. "We were roommates freshman year. Then he followed me to Chicago because he didn't have anything better to do."
"If you call a job at the hottest tech start-up in Chicago 'nothing better to do' then yes, his version is correct," Richie says with a smile. "And as I recall, you were playing in some backwater town in Kentucky when I moved here. So technically, you followed me. And how do you two know each other, Katelyn?"
"I work at the Chronicle," I say. "So I guess you could say we work together. You know, in that way that reporters work with players, which is to say we hang breathlessly on every word coming from their mouths in rapt attention."
Richie laughs. "And my boy sure does like people hanging on his every word."
Finn rolls his eyes. "Are we done here?"
"It was nice to meet you, Rich," I say.
"And you," he replies with a smile. "See ya, Finnegan."
Richie walks away toward the train while Finn and I stand on the sidewalk. My hair blows across my face and I tuck it behind my ear. "I like it when you do that," Finn says, looking down at me behind his sunglasses.
"When I do what?" I ask. The man has illegal drugs in his backpack and is acting as if he hasn't a care in the world, flirting with me like nothing is amiss.
"Tuck your hair like that. It's sexy."
In that moment, all thoughts of drugs go right out of my head. This is why I can't trust myself around Ryan Finnegan.
I blush. "It is not."
He smiles. "Oh, but it is. I'd offer to escort you across the street, but I have to run to my car. I'll see you tonight, right?"
I want to grab his backpack and rip it open, but I manage to keep my hands to myself. "Yep, I'll text you."
Walking across the street, I run through the various scenarios in my head. And none of them ends happily. If Nick is right, and Finn is involved in this scandal, I make a name for myself by exposing him. But I'll lose him forever. If Nick is wrong, and Finn is a good guy caught up in rumors and lies, I ruin my career with the mistake of this story. And I'll still lose him forever.
I flash my media credential at the gate and walk up to the pressbox, still lost in thought. What am I going to do?
CHAPTER TEN
Home after the game, I quickly pick up a few items of clothing from the floor of my bedroom and smooth the comforter on my bed. I walk out to the living room and nervously straighten a stack of magazines on the coffee table before I hear Finn's knock at my door.
I answer the door and he shuts it quickly behind him, kissing me hard on the mouth. I can't help but respond, pressing my body against his. He pulls back and says, "God, I've wanted to do that all night. I couldn't stop staring at you."
Flattered, I smile and kiss him again. "You were there?" I ask innocently. "I didn't even notice. I thought you left early."
I walk toward the kitchen and return carrying two Amstel Light bottles. I hand one to Finn and sit down on the couch next to him, legs folded under me, facing him.
"Are you hungry?" I ask.
"No, thanks, I ate in the clubhouse. Steak fajitas. My favorite."
Finn relaxes back, his legs on the coffee table. "Make yourself at home," I say, gesturing to his feet.
"Already have," he says, smiling. "Besides, I'm not the one with my feet on the couch. I have some decorum."
I move my feet from underneath me and stretch my legs out on top of his. "Now my feet aren't on the couch."
He grabs one of my feet and starts massaging. Oh, that is nice. Very nice. He rubs the ball of my foot and I feel my body turn to jelly. How does he know exactly what to do to make me forget everything else? But I need to keep my wits about me tonight. I have to stay focused.
"How do you feel after yesterday's game?" I ask.
"Me? Oh, I'm fine. I'm a little sore, but I stretched out and iced today. It's not too bad."
I sit up and massage his biceps in an exaggerated motion. He winces.
"I thought you said you were fine?"
"That would have been a half-truth."
"Which half?"
"The half where I said I stretched and iced today was true."
"So you're not fine." I turn him away from me and gently rub his shoulder. He jumps like I electrocuted him. "I don't know how you do it. Game after game, repetitive movements like that wear you down over time. How can you even lift your arm most days?" I take a drink of my beer and sit back. He obviously doesn't want me anywhere near his arm.
"It's not easy. But the trainers know my limitations. And they really help. Massage, ice, the hot tub, hell, they even have us doing yoga on our off days. I still can't touch my toes, but I can Namaste with the best of 'em, baby."
I consider my next move. I can't push too far, but I have to get something out of him.
"What about meds? Is there anything they can give you to help with the pain?"
Finn's body language changes. He tenses up imperceptibly and avoids eye contact with me, taking a drink of his beer. "I take Advil like it's candy. If it gets really bad, they can give me a cortisone shot, but they can't do it too often or it can do permanent damage. Mostly, I just have to get through it. There's some other stuff that I can do, when it gets really bad, but I try not to let it get to that point."
Careful, Katey. Don't push it, I think to myself.
"Like what?" I ask neutrally.
"It's not important. I'm not in that place now and I hope I'm never there again. I try to take care of myself, to not overdo it, to listen to my body when it says its had enough."
He leans toward me. "You know, I listen to your body, too. And it's telling me it hasn't had nearly enough. And neither have I."
I shiver when he stares into my eyes and runs a single finger down the length of my thigh. My heart feels like it's beating in my throat and my mind has once again defaulted to Finn mode. I forget everything I'm supposed to be doing and thinking and operate almost on autopilot.
Finn takes me by the hand and leads me down the hall to my bedroom. We tumble onto the bed in the dark, a streetlight outside giving off enough of a glow through the open window that we can see each other. I hear a rumble of thunder in the distance and flash of lightning illuminates the room for a second.
Not waiting, Finn bends to kiss me and runs his hand underneath my dress. I can't stand the feel of his shirt between us and I pull it roughly up and over his head, tossing it aside on the floor before trailing kisses down his jaw to his neck. His cologne is intoxicating. I could bury my face in the space between his neck and shoulder for days without coming up for air.
He sits up and pulls me onto his lap so I'm facing him, reverently pulling my dress over my head in one motion, revealing my coral-colored bra and matching thong. He lowers his head and kisses a spot between my breasts, while he unclasps my bra. And once free, my breasts tingle with anticipation. I lean down an
d kiss him, my tongue thrusting into his mouth, and his in mine. His hands are everywhere, caressing my breasts, trailing down my stomach, cupping my butt. I'm kissing him as if my very life depended on it, no room for thought or logic.
I reach down and unbuckle his belt and awkwardly tug his jeans down, him lifting his hips and helping. He quickly reaches into his pocket and unrolls a condom. He swiftly pulls me back to his lap and I feel the length of his pleasure. I don't think either of us is willing to wait another second. Finn cups my butt and moves me slightly before he slides into me with a gasp of pleasure from both of us.
Moving on his lap, I find a rhythm and hold onto his neck for support. The only thing tethering me to this world is Finn and the pleasure radiating from my core threatens to engulf me if I don't steady myself on him.
"Katey, my God," he moans. I look into his eyes and kiss him deeply. My movements have taken on a life of their own and Finn steadies me with his hands on my hips while whispering, "Go slow. I want this to last."
Hearing that, I can't control myself. I rock up and down, my movements purposeful, as slowly as I can manage. But it's no use, I can't wait. I hear myself moaning, my mouth pressed to his, my tongue one with his. I peak with fierceness, my climax sending shudders through my body. Finn gives one final push upwards into me, his groan signaling his own pleasure.
We remain silent, me draped over him, as we listen to the storm roll in. The thunder is closer now, but still a low rumble. The lightning is more frequent, but now accompanied by drops hitting the pavement. Sheets of water cascade from the sky as Finn takes my face in his, kissing me deeply.
We slide down onto the bed, spent. I lie next to him, my leg draped over his, tracing irregular patterns with my finger on his chest and stomach. He rolls toward me and props himself on his elbow. "We're good?"
"We're good," I say.
"We're better than good," he says, brushing a strand of hair back over my shoulder. "In fact, I can't remember the last time I was this good."
"Who are you? Guys don't talk this outside of romance novels and romantic comedies."