by Hayes, Lane
We’d met at a party at a gorgeous house in Russian Hill. It was a quasi-setup. Nick introduced us and walked away. He didn’t tell me to get in bed with Finn, but he had to know anyone with a pulse would have a hard time walking away from a guy who looked at you like he wanted to lick you from head to toe. We’d covered a wide array of topics in the crowded kitchen—from travel to music and movies. But when he’d offhandedly mentioned he loved art, I was a goner. Looking back now, I’d bet I was the one who inched into his personal space, laughed a little too long at his jokes and stared into his eyes, marveling at the lovely hazel color.
In retrospect, I was a freaking slut that night. I hadn’t had much to drink, so I could hardly blame my lapse in propriety on alcohol. I was just a sucker for the handsome Irishman passionately debating Post-Impressionistic versus Modern artists. I’d held my glass in front of my crotch to hide my erection for a full fifteen minutes before moving in on him. One seemingly innocent act, like biting my lip, spurred a response that was taken as an overture. And before I knew what hit me, I was half-naked in a stranger’s bathroom grinding my rigid cock against a man I’d just met. Two hours later, my legs were over his shoulders, and my arms were braced above me in a weak attempt to keep my head from slamming into my headboard as Finn slammed into me. And that was the essence of our six-month affair. Art and sex. We’d meet for a drink, talk about poetry, theater, and art and well before the bill arrived, we were practically vibrating with desire.
“Tell me what you’re thinking right now,” he whispered in a low, sexy voice as he leaned forward.
My mouth felt like I’d swallowed a bag of cotton balls. I shook my head and lifted my glass to take another sip before I answered. “No way.”
He sighed with what might have been disappointment then looked away for a moment. “It’s just as well. Your timing is right terrible.”
I frowned. “Which one? Right or terrible?”
“Terrible. Or at least, inconvenient. My life is a bit complicated at the moment.”
“Join the club,” I groused.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned.
I cocked my head and considered Finn thoughtfully. We were over a year ago, but truthfully, we’d never really begun. We were never going to be more than acquaintances. I didn’t see a problem having a heart-to-heart over a drink in a bar where no one knew me with a guy I’d probably never see again. In fact, it could be a sort of fateful catharsis. An alcohol-infused “letting go and moving on” moment.
“You go first. I bet your ‘complication’ has something to do with the blonde and the guy who just left.”
Finn gave a half laugh and raised his brow. “Yes and no. The guy who just left works for me.”
“And the blonde?”
“Scarlet is my friend. And that’s all we are…friends.”
“I don’t think so,” I said haughtily. “Something must have happened between this morning and now to end your engagement and that’s why you’re in a gay bar. What was it? Did you find out some creepy nefarious secret and change your mind about tying the knot?”
He scoffed and shook his head. “Nefarious? Where are you coming up with this nonsense? You must be drunk.”
“I am drunk. And I know it’s none of my business, but tequila is coursing through my veins and I’m literally a walking time bomb. If there was decent music pumping loudly in here, you could bet I’d be seconds from hopping on this bar to shake my ass. My mouth is taking over where my feet can’t go. I’m a runaway bus picking up momentum on a one-way road. I can’t be stopped!”
Finn gave me a lopsided smile and snatched my margarita out of reach. He picked up the glass of water and angled the straw toward my mouth. “Drink up. I don’t remember ever seeing you quite like this. You’ll have a mouth like a fur boot in the mornin’.”
I smacked the wood bar with my palm and guffawed. “A fur boot! That’s a good one. And it’s probably true. But don’t worry about me. Tell me about you. I’ll probably never see you again after this, so please pardon me if I’m too forward, but I gotta know stuff.”
“What kind of ‘stuff’?”
“When are you getting married? When did you meet her? Why are you in a gay bar if you’re going the straight route? Or did you really just break up with her? Those questions.”
“Ah. Nosy ones.”
“Yep.”
“I’m not getting married, Josh. To Scarlet or anyone. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend. By rights, I’m free to be in any bar I choose. Same as you. But with far less dire consequences in the morning,” he snarked, spearing an olive from his glass.
“I don’t buy it. She was all over you like a cheap suit on a used car salesman in the low rent district. And what about that ring? I admit I didn’t notice it, but my friend assured me it was a showstopper.”
“She’s engaged—”
“Ah-ha!”
“No. Not ah-ha.” Finn rolled his eyes and pointed at the water in a silent suggestion. “She’s engaged to someone else.”
“But she wants you?”
“No! You’re relentless. And you’re dead wrong. She’s perfectly happy with her partner. Who is not me, by the way.”
“Then how is she your complication?”
He stared at me for a long moment as though trying to decide if I was trustworthy. “I’m doing her a favor, and it’s a bit more convoluted than I imagined it would be. I just have to get through the weekend and hope life goes back to normal afterward. At least for a little while.”
“Sounds mysterious. Tell me more,” I said before doing a double-take toward the action on the television screen. My diversionary tactic was a success. When Finn looked away, I reached for my margarita and sucked down as much as possible before he yanked the glass from my hand.
“What’s with you tonight? You—oh, the museum is closed on Wednesdays. Is that why you’re on a bender? No work tomorrow?”
God, I loved his singsong accent. He had a way of making statements sound like questions. The deferential quality in his speech made you feel like he needed your expertise when in reality, he was a lone wolf who did things his way—fuck what anyone else wanted.
“Or the next day or the one after that. I’m a free agent now.”
“Did they let you go?” he asked, his forehead puckered with concern.
“No. I finished my project, and there aren’t any long-term ones available that don’t require more education than I currently have.”
“How can that be? You went to Stanford University.”
I appreciated his indignant scowl on my behalf. Finn had always struck me as a warrior or a gentrified-looking badass ready to fight injustice at a moment’s notice, I mused as I sucked on a piece of ice.
“Yeah, but I changed my major halfway through my junior year from engineering to art history. Art history is my passion, but I need a master’s degree to be considered for the jobs I really want, which require language skizzles I’m sadly lacking.”
“Skizzles?”
I snickered as I reached for a handful of pretzels from the bowl in front of Finn. “Skills. I know English. That’s it. I need to learn at least one more language fast. I’m going to enroll in one of those speedy courses that guarantees I’ll start dreaming in French and wake up ordering deux croissants, s’il vous plait from my local coffee shop.”
Finn barked a quick laugh. “Those are a scam. The only way to learn is to immerse yourself in the language. Go back to school or take an online course by all means, but you have to practice daily. You need to watch French television and talk to French-speaking people. But be mindful of their accents. English is my first language, but most people would argue my accent can be distracting.”
“Yeah, in a sexy-as-fuck way,” I blurted then slapped my hand over my mouth and widened my eyes comically. “I didn’t mean—um. I did, but…”
“Thank you.” Finn chuckled merrily beside me. “If you need someone to speak Fren
ch with, give me a call. I’m fluent.”
“Really?”
“Oui.”
“But you just said learning English from you would be wonky. How would French be better?”
“It wouldn’t be,” he assured me with a humorous snort. “But my Spanish is spot on.”
“You speak Spanish too?”
“Si.”
We shared a laugh like two old friends instead of former fuck buddies who’d gracelessly parted ways. “You’re funny.”
“But I’m quite serious. Hablo español muy bien.”
I nodded as I stirred the straw in my water glass. “I’ll keep that in mind. So…what’s the deal with you and the pretty blonde?”
Finn winced and let out a rush of air before answering. “She’s my fake fiancée for the weekend.”
“What the fuck?”
A few people immediately glanced in our direction.
“You heard me. Her father doesn’t approve of her intended, and she needs a date for a family business event on Saturday.”
“Where?”
Finn cocked his head curiously. “The White Horse. Why? Would you like to join us?”
I snorted. “Oh, hell no! I have no idea why I asked. Why do they have to think you’re engaged?” I continued quickly, hoping to keep on track. I was easily distracted around him.
“It all comes down to business. I have connections her father wants and vice versa. Networking is essential to growing market visibility. I don’t care who anyone thinks I’m screwing if it makes them look twice at my firm.”
“That sounds…heartless.”
“Don’t be naïve. It’s business. My only issue with this Saturday date is that her dad wants to introduce us as a newly engaged couple. I can’t help thinking it’s overkill, but he’s one of my biggest and most influential clients. Scarlet isn’t happy about it either, but she’s willing to play along if I am. So there you have it. More information than I planned on sharing with anyone.” He chuckled softly then shook the ice in his glass.
“Hmm. That sounds complicated,” I said with a frown.
“I told you so, but parents can be difficult. I get it. My own father is a perfect example. He can’t be pleased.”
“Is he harping at you to get married ’cause you’re old and he wants grandkids or something?”
Finn rolled his eyes. “Thirty-five is hardly old, and my sister has given him three fine grandbabies. I doubt he cares if the son he rarely sees and doesn’t get along with spawns a kid or two. Like I said, I’m doing Scarlet a favor. I wish it didn’t feel like a stupid lie that’s going to come back to bite me in the arse.”
A stupid lie. I wanted to dissect the phrase and see if it fit us, but I wasn’t that far gone. There was no point in making us both uncomfortable. It was better to concentrate on the present.
“A fake date sounds like a cakewalk compared to learning a new language on the fly and oh, yeah…finding a job so I can contribute something toward the rent or at least buy food. I hate the idea of sponging off Grant.”
“Is he your mate or your boyfriend?”
“We’re just friends. I probably mentioned him back when—never mind. Grant offered me his spare room when my landlord wanted to put the place I’d been renting up for sale a few months ago. I have enough money saved so funds won’t be an issue immediately, but the job I thought I’d transition to when this one ended didn’t come through. I’m back to square one. I feel like I did after I graduated from college. A big education and no fucking clue how to use it. Except now I’m ten years older and going back home to live with my mom and sleep in my childhood room with my Spiderman posters still on the walls sounds hella depressing.”
“I hardly think it will come to that. Why not look into teaching? You’d be a fantastic art teacher,” he said enthusiastically.
“Thanks. I’ve thought about it. My mom was a teacher when I was growing up. She’s a grade school principal now.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
I let out an amused half laugh. “That’s hardly surprising. We made an effort not to know much about each other, Finn. It was like an unspoken agreement. Other than knowing you’re from a small town outside of Dublin and do something in the tech business like my friends, I don’t know you. Not really. You’re just a stranger in a bar, dude.”
I raised my margarita in a mock toast and took a healthy sip. I was proud of myself for my matter-of-fact delivery until Finn returned my smile with a somewhat devilish lopsided grin then leaned in and set his hand on my knee. “I’m not a stranger, Josh. You know the important parts.”
“And those would be what? That you fuck like a god, prefer missionary and doggy-style, or that you love the taste of cum?”
To his credit, Finn didn’t blanch or worse, laugh outright. I wasn’t good at dirty talk. Words like ‘cum’ didn’t roll off my tongue with ease. No doubt I was blushing profusely. Thank God, the bar lights were dim. Now if he’d only stop staring at me like he was watching a car wreck in progress, I mused as I lifted my glass again and gulped down the last of my drink. Finn sat back but kept his gaze locked on me as he signaled to the bartender.
“I shouldn’t have any mo—”
“Definitely not,” Finn replied before turning to address the highly amused-looking bartender. Great. “I’ll have another. Bring my friend here a ginger ale, and do you have a menu? He needs something to eat. Do you have sliders? Something with bread should help. Thank you.”
I waited until the bartender left to round on Finn. “I don’t like ginger ale and I don’t need food. I’m going home.”
He yanked my elbow when I started to stand and shook his head. “Sit. You need something in your stomach to counteract the liquor. And you’re not going anywhere without an escort. As much as I’d love to reminisce about our time between the sheets—”
“We were almost always on top of the sheets,” I said, resting my chin on my hand lazily.
Finn smirked. “I stand corrected. We were, and it was incredible. But I’m not the sort to take advantage of a rat-arsed mate, so let’s have that talk while we sober you up a bit. Tell me about yourself, Josh.”
“Uh…” I narrowed my gaze. “What do you mean?”
“You said we don’t know each other, so let’s fix that. Talk to me.”
I couldn’t tell if he was playing with me or if he really was interested in hanging out with a drunk ex-booty call, talking about boring shit like…“What do you want to know?”
“When’s your birthday?”
“August tenth. I’m thirty-two.”
“Right. Where are you from originally?”
“San Leandro. It’s about twenty minutes by car with no traff—”
“I know where it is. Do your parents still live there?”
“Yeah, but they’re divorced and—how is any of this interesting to you? I’m boring,” I announced, slapping my hand onto the counter and jostling the soda the bartender set in front of me.
“I don’t know about this guy, but I’m entertained,” the bartender said with a laugh. “Your sliders will be right out, hon.”
“Thanks.” I took a sip of the ginger ale to give my hands something to do so I wasn’t tempted to return Finn’s touch when he bumped my arm companionably.
“See? Everyone finds you interesting,” he replied, pressing his thigh against mine. “How old were you when your parents divorced?”
“Twenty. It sucked. I probably took it the hardest. My sisters were long gone. Jen was already married and living in Michigan, and Janie was in grad school in Illinois. I was the only one around. My mom stayed in the house we grew up in, and my dad moved to a condo one town over. It’s convenient for visiting purposes but it’s also…sad.”
“Are they on bad terms?”
I shrugged. “Nope. They’re good friends, actually. I used to hope they’d have a Parent Trap-style reunion and we could all go back to normal, but that hasn’t happened yet. I think they fell into th
e gray area some couples find themselves in after they raise a family together. They got so caught up in our lives that they forgot about themselves. Maybe it’s just typical middle class, mid-life crises blues. The sad thing is, I think they still love each other. But I can’t tell if it’s as ‘friends only’ or something more.”
“That’s tragic.”
“It is. Trust me, I was joking about going home earlier. There’s no way in hell I’d ever go back. I love my folks, but they’d drive me nuts if I lived closer. I need distance. A twenty-minute drive is better than nothing.”
“I understand. An ocean in between works best for my father and me. Ah look, here we go. Very tiny hamburger bites to soak up some of the alcohol. Eat up, Joshy.”
“Don’t call me that,” I grumbled as he set a slider on an appetizer plate and pushed it in front of me.
“I used to call you that all the time,” he said softly.
“That was different. We aren’t…friends anymore. We’re acquaintances.”
“You’ve hurt me feelings,” he said in a thick accent. Then he winked and tapped the side of the plate meaningfully before adding. “We’re friends. No arguing. Eat up.”
I made a face at him then bit into the miniature burger and sighed with pleasure. Bar food never tasted better. I dabbed the side of my mouth with a napkin and nudged his knee. “What about your family?”
“That’s boring,” he deadpanned, throwing my words back at me with a sly grin. He waited for my eye roll before he continued. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“I have a younger sister, Aisling. We’re eighteen months apart. She’s married and has three little ones. Two girls and a boy…eight, five, and three.” His voice took on a wistful quality that made me do a double-take.
“It must be hard being so far,” I commented.
“Sometimes it is. But I like it here. This is where my mum’s family is from, so maybe it makes sense in a way.”
“Your mom is American?”
“Aye. I have dual citizenship. I was born here in San Francisco.”