by Hayes, Lane
Finn’s brogue thickened noticeably as he spoke. Every r was pronounced and every word built upon the next, cuing me to listen carefully. He was telling a story instead of engaging in a conversation. I was more than willing to play along. I loved a good story, and I knew this was the kind that might hint at his previous life in Ireland.
“What was it?” I prodded.
“I wanted more than my father. More of everything. More money, more success, more property, more friends. More.”
“O-kay…” I didn’t understand the feverish quality in his eyes, but I sensed something important was beneath the surface. “Why?”
“Because my idea of success was and is to be nothing like him. He dropped out of university after my mum got pregnant and took a factory job. He didn’t finish his education, and he’d be damned if my mother finished hers. Ignorance is a virtue to his mind. He’s tight-fisted, spiteful, and proud to a fault. I learned early on to use my brain and work my arse off. In other words, to do the opposite of whatever he did. And that’s why I went into the tech field.”
“Uh…because you hate your dad?”
Finn shook his head irritably. “No. I don’t hate him. I just don’t want to be like him. I finished my degree and chose a profession that was booming everywhere…even in Ireland. I worked my way up every ladder I could. And when that ladder was cut from under me, I started over in America and did it again. But better.”
“Congratulations,” I replied cautiously as I ran my fingers through the hair on his chest. “Have you exceeded your expectations?”
“In some ways, yes. In others…no.”
“How so? Where did you think you’d be now?”
He furrowed his brow and glanced toward the window. The shades were drawn so I knew he was seeing something I couldn’t. Maybe a piece of his past. I waited for him to continue, but when the silence lingered, I decided to let it go. I didn’t know the right questions and I was wary of asking for more than he was willing to share. But then he spoke.
“My biggest aspiration was to own a house and provide for a family. I thought I’d be married with children, and the rest would work itself out. I have money and means beyond anything I’d hoped for now, but not the rest.”
“You could if you wanted. And if you agree to be your friend’s baby daddy, you could do it sooner rather than later.”
Finn huffed. “Being a father in a true sense involves a bit more than a sperm donation. I don’t know if I can be an occasional parent. Or maybe I’d be too good at not being around and that might be a whole other issue. I’m afraid it would ruin my friendship with Scarlet and Keisha and I don’t think I want to chance it.”
“You’ve decided not to do it?”
“I haven’t decided anything. I’ve been busy and they haven’t said much, so…”
“So, you figured you’re off the hook for now.” I winced at the judgmental edge in my voice. What did I care if he wanted to be a dad or not? I leaned forward and grabbed my textbook from the table. “Look, it’s none of my business but for what it’s worth, I think you’d be a great father.”
“Thanks. And you base that from…what?”
“Helping me out with my homework! I couldn’t do it without you, Dad.” I flashed an overly bright smile at him then opened my book to a random page. “Let’s par-lay voo some Fran-say. I’m all fired up now!”
Finn plucked the book from my hands, dropped it on the floor and pulled me onto his lap face down in one fluid motion. Then he yanked down my underwear and spanked my ass.
“Mind your manners, young man,” he cautioned with a wicked grin as I scrambled off his knee.
I scowled then reached over to tweak his nipple. Hard. Finn captured my hand and kissed it then secured me to his side and sealed his mouth over mine. My head reeled when he released me. We stared at each other for a long moment, lost in our own thoughts. I bit my lip, loving the way his gaze darted from my eyes to my mouth. There was no greater aphrodisiac than seeing the blatant desire in his expression. I leaned forward and threw my arms around his neck.
“I meant it, Finn. I honestly think you’d be amazing.”
He caressed my face and smiled. “Thank you.”
We made love later that night the way some people might have a conversation. Familiar touches and sighs gave way to a primal give and take. Finn pushed my legs to my chest and drove into me fiercely like he was chasing demons. And when the frenetic thrusting slowed and faltered, I sensed his surrender. Literally and figuratively. He let the ghosts go and clung to me instead, rocking his hips steadily with his mouth fused over mine. We came at the same time, bathed in sweat and cum and shaking in the aftermath.
Finn trailed his finger through the puddle of jizz on my stomach before rolling sideways to pluck a few tissues from the box on his nightstand and laying them on my chest. I’d eventually muster the energy to go to the bathroom and clean up properly, but not yet. I was wrecked. And he was curiously pensive.
“You okay?”
He smiled and pulled me against his side. I snuggled close in the dark and laid my head on his chest. “I’m fantastic. Don’t worry about the quiet, Josh. Sometimes it just means I’m happy.”
I closed my eyes. “Me too.”
And I was. In spite of the uncertainty and doubt in my life, I felt safe with Finn. Sometimes I even felt hopeful.
* * *
“Hey, are you going to be home tonight?”
I glanced over at Grant, who was perched on the corner of my desk, chomping an apple. He looked like he was posing for a photo advertising men’s haute couture or the benefits of eating an apple a day. He’d sell loads of both looking like that, I mused as I turned away from my computer to face him.
“Got a hot date?”
Grant bent his head to hide his blush. “Well…yeah.”
I let out a low wolf-whistle. “Steroid Steve?”
“Shh!” He cast a wary gaze at Talia on the opposite end of the room, who was engaged in a loud telephone conversation with a realtor.
“She can’t hear a thing over her own voice. Tell me all about Steve,” I singsonged, batting my eyelashes to make him laugh. “Have you discovered if his penis has been affected by his heavy use of supplements yet?”
He shot another glance at Talia before answering. “Eight inches. And everything is in perfect working order.”
I chuckled and held out my hand for a high-five. “Good to know. And yeah, it looks like I’m out tonight. My sister asked me to check on Mom, so I’m heading to San Leandro after work.”
“What about the Irishman?”
“Finn is also hung,” I said, purposely misunderstanding him.
Grant snorted then kicked my leg. “Also good to know. I think. Hey, what’s his last name again?”
“Gallagher. Why?”
“I just sold a condo to Courtney Gibson who writes for one of those local celeb magazines. You know…the ones that tell you what people who eat caviar and fly on their own private jets do for fun when their polo matches get rained out.”
“The obscenely rich but not necessarily famous?”
“Exactly. Anyway, Courtney wanted to be sure I knew she’d just finished writing a tasteful piece on Scarlet Brennan and her fiancé, Finn,” Grant paused to give me a meaningful stare before clarifying, “Finn Gallagher.”
I huffed irritably. “That’s ridiculous. They’re friends.”
Grant chuckled. “This isn’t People or Us. Courtney says they cover things like home decor, travel, and design for local society’s upper echelon. No gossip, just titillating “read between the lines” features. She told me she covered an engagement dinner for Scarlet and Finn recently. Did you know anything about a wedding?”
“There aren’t engaged. Not really. Finn and Scarlet are just friends,” I repeated.
“Hmm. I only mentioned it because I recognized his name and thought…hey, I know that guy. He’s my best friend’s French tutor.” Grant checked over his shoulder before th
rusting his pelvis lewdly as he stood.
I burst out laughing a second later when Talia reprimanded him from across the room and called him to her desk.
“Busted!” I snickered. “Have fun tonight. Oh! And if those measurements have changed at all, I’m gonna want a full report in the morning.”
Grant flipped me off before letting out a beleaguered sigh and moving toward his cousin. I swiveled back to my computer and picked up my cell, intending to call my mom to let her know I was coming by within the hour. A text lit up my screen before I had a chance to find her number.
Want to go to dinner tonight?
I was a firm believer of texting over talking on the phone any day of the week, but I didn’t have time to go back and forth if I wanted to get to my mom’s and be home before midnight. I scrolled for Finn’s contact info and pressed Call.
“Hi, I—”
“When can you leave the office? I can pick you up in fifteen minutes and we can head up the coast and stop to watch the sunset over a glass of wine or two. How does that sound?”
“Amazing. But I can’t. I have to do an intervention. I’m leaving in a few minutes to catch BART to San Leandro.”
“San Leandro, eh?” He paused for a moment before continuing in a definitive tone. “I’ll take you.”
“I’m going to see my mom, Finn. You don’t want—”
“Sure, I do. Be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”
* * *
The traffic on the Bay Bridge was a nightmare at rush hour. I tried to warn Finn that public transportation was the quickest method of travel at that time of day, but the look he gave me in return clearly indicated he’d rather walk. On the bright side, the bumper-to-bumper madness didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He hummed along to the radio and made pleasant conversation about anything from the perfect summer weather this season to the interesting color of the car that cut him off.
I’d learned a few things about Finn over the past couple of months that gave me greater insight than I’d had a year ago when our “relationship” was purely physical. He had a sharp wit, a wicked sense of humor, and could lull anyone into thinking he was even-tempered and easy-going when in fact he was usually mulling over three different things that had nothing whatsoever to do with the topic at hand. Like now.
“How was your day, dear?” I asked as he veered his Porsche off the bridge toward the 580.
“It was productive. Yours?”
“I typed. I filed. I came. I conquered. You know…the usual,” I said blandly.
“You came,” he repeated before glancing my way. “They don’t mind you wanking off at your desk then?”
I chuckled. “Unfortunately, I think they would mind. I don’t have an office door to close so I can jerk off in peace and quiet like you.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Mmmhmm. I bet a little tension relief mid-conference call goes a long way.”
“True, but unless a sexy man with wild hair barges in unannounced and begs me to fuck him, I’m too busy for mid-day wank sessions.”
I noticed his subtle use of pronouns. “A sexy man” instead of “my sexy man.” It was a silly thing to fixate on, but it painted a fuzzy line of separation between us. Sure, he was talking about me, but his choice of words made it sound as though any guy would do. Maybe I was too sensitive, but Grant’s casual mention of Scarlet made me realize Finn hadn’t talked about her at all recently. And that was weird, wasn’t it? I mean, she asked him to father her kid. It had to be on his mind constantly. I wished he’d share his thoughts. The quiet spaces in between our words left me with the gnawing sense of doubt reminiscent of our first time around. Or maybe I was still guilty of wanting more than I was entitled to.
I thrust my misgivings aside and listened to the pleasant cadence of his singsong speech.
“I’m opening the new office in Chicago next week and there’s a lot to do. I’ll be traveling back and forth a few times this summer until my staff is up to speed. You should come with me.”
“To Chicago?”
“Yes. Have you been? You’d love it. The Art Institute is phenomenal. You could get lost in there for a day and still not see everything,” he enthused.
“I’d love to, but I can’t anytime soon. I have school and work and now my mom to worry about,” I sighed.
“Tell me about your mum. Should I be nervous?”
I scoffed. “I don’t think so. She’s very chill. You’ll like her.”
“I’m sure, but you said you’re staging an intervention. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, but…my mom bakes when she gets upset. Actually, she over-bakes. Compulsively over-bakes.”
“So, we’re on a quest to what—confiscate her cookies?” he joked.
“I think it’s brownies this time, but…you’ll see. Take the next off-ramp and make a right.”
Finn obeyed. He stopped at the first red light and linked his fingers through mine. I cocked my head expectantly but he didn’t speak. He smiled and squeezed my hand then let go when the light turned green. The unconscious sweetness in the gesture threw me off guard. I sank into the leather upholstery and glanced out the window to hide the big, stupid grin on my face as I directed him toward my old neighborhood. Yeah, I was definitely overthinking.
It was a good thing I hadn’t had more time to dwell on the flat-out weirdness of having Finn Gallagher in the house where I’d grown up. From the second he’d tossed his designer suit coat in the back seat and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, I knew this was going to be strange. I’d never had a guy I was “seeing” meet one of my parents at this house before. It was particularly unsettling when I was unsure of exactly what I’d find in the kitchen.
The ranch-style house looked the same today as it did when I was a kid. The wall of family photos that hung in mismatched frames in the entry hadn’t been updated in years. The furniture was the same as it was when I was in grade school and the ceilings still had that awful, outdated popcorn texture. My mom had the means to modernize her home, but she didn’t. Everything looked more or less the way it did the day my dad left. Her lackluster attention to her surroundings was a concern, but frankly, it was nothing compared to the baking.
“Mom, I’m home,” I called as I opened the door.
“In the kitchen, honey!”
“Wow, it smells fantastic,” Finn commented, stopping to study a collage of old pictures.
“Do me a favor and don’t compliment her. I mean, yes…tell her it smells good or whatever. Just don’t lay it on thick. This is a real problem.”
“Brownies are a problem?”
I sighed and motioned for him to follow. “You have to see for yourself. I hope it’s not too bad, but…come on.”
It was bad. Really bad.
Trays upon trays of brownies were stacked high on every available surface, including the countertops, the round wood table in the breakfast nook, and the peninsula that opened out to the family room, where it looked like she’d started a new pile on the bar.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetheart! This is a lovely surprise. You didn’t have to come all this way—oh, hello. I’m Kate, Josh’s mother.”
“Mom, this is Finn. Finn, this is my mom, Kate Sheehan.”
“Correction. Kate Cochrane.” Mom turned from her mixing bowl with her hand outstretched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Finn.”
I furrowed my brow as I observed their polite greeting. My mother was five eleven and lean. Her long brown hair was streaked with gray and pulled back into a ponytail. Her pretty pink dress was covered with a frilly multicolored apron and offset by an elegant pearl necklace I knew my father gave her for their tenth anniversary.
This scene was like a Picasso painting. It was strange and disconcerting and nothing made sense. The barefoot pretty woman baking a mountain of brownies for no apparent reason. The old house. The pearls my dad gave her. It was all so fucking bizarre.
“Cochrane?”
Somehow that detail had to be the reason we were drowning in brownies, I mused.
“Yes, I’m taking back my maiden name. Finn, would you like something to drink? Josh, offer our guest a cocktail. I have wine, beer, or soda if you’d prefer,” she continued as she scooped batter onto a new tray.
“Uh, well…I’ll have a beer, please,” he said politely.
Poor guy. I felt kind of sorry for him. He looked seriously bewildered, and who could blame him? He probably thought he was hallucinating an alternative scene from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed them both to him before unearthing the opener from a drawer. There was no place on the counters to set the bottles down, so I popped them open while Finn held them then took one and clinked it against his.
“Cheers.” I smiled before moving to lean against the wall between the kitchen and family room.
I listened to my mom give Finn her get-to-know-you spiel. She asked about his job and how we met, but she was more fascinated by his accent than anything. She asked countless questions about Ireland as she smoothed the last of the mixture on a fresh tray, reset her timer, and then slid them into the oven. When she poured vegetable oil into a measuring cup and reached for the sugar to start a new batch, I gulped a mouthful of beer and waved my hands over my head to get her attention.
“Whoa! Hang on, Mom. Give it a break for a while. Do you have someone coming over to pick up all these trays?” I spread my arms wide between the kitchen and family room.
“Your sister called the food bank. She said Marcy is bringing a van by in the morning. I think she’s going to be thrilled I went with brownies this time. I haven’t made them in a while.”
“Right. Um, are you hungry? We can go out to eat or bring something back home if you’d like,” I offered.
“I had a late lunch, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’d be happy to make you a sand—”
“No. That’s okay. We can grab something on the way home,” I assured her.
“Well, at least have a brownie. They’re your favorite! Finn, would you like one?” she asked. She hurried to a plate of pre-cut brownies near the stove and presented them to us with a stack of napkins and a megawatt grin.