The Finn Factor

by Rachel Bailey

  She picked up a ball of orange wool and handed it to him. “It would be better if Scarlett showed you since she’s the best at it.”

  “Okay,” he said, his gaze swinging to mine and heating. “Show me what you want me to do, Scarlett.”

  Oh, lordy. I swallowed hard. The answer to his question was long and complex, involving hours of fun for both of us. Unfortunately, since we were pretending we weren’t together, I had to keep that tidbit under wraps. This secret boyfriend plan was harder than I’d expected.

  “You need to cast on first,” Amelia said, nudging her brother a little closer to me. “It’s kinda tricky, so you should let Scarlett help you with that part. She’ll guide your hands.”

  My head snapped up as I watched Amelia. Was she plotting something? She was sorting through the bag of wool, finding other orange balls and putting them in front of Finn, looking innocent. Which didn’t mean anything with her. Was she still harboring a hope Finn and I would get together? I couldn’t really check without giving away our secret, or lying about us already dating.

  Finn watched me, expectantly. “Yes, come and guide my hands, Scarlett.” His face was deadpan but I knew him well enough to know he was teasing.

  Perhaps I was stupid to rise to the challenge while we had an audience, but something inside me didn’t want to be the one to back down.

  “Sure,” I said sweetly. I grabbed a ball of orange wool and knelt behind him, making sure to press close to his back. Then, with one arm over each of his shoulders, I wound the wool around his forearms and tied a knot to make the first stitch, explaining the process as I went. “To cast on, you need to make a row of basic stitches.”

  I leant over even farther, pressing my breasts into his shoulder blades, and picked up his wrists. His breath caught, but it was such a slight change that I might have missed it had my ears been any farther away from his mouth. I was pretty certain Amelia wouldn’t have noticed the undertones of what was happening.

  Once we had the first row of stitches, I moved one of his hands through a loop and told him to grab the wool and pull it back through. And, as I was explaining, I rubbed ever so slightly against his back. He tensed but was obviously trying to keep his reactions under wraps. I had to admit seeing Finn’s hands bound held a certain appeal that wouldn’t have entered my mind a few weeks ago.

  The doorbell rang and Finn jumped up. “I’ll get it,” he said. Although we knew there was a chance it would be Billie, since she was hoping to make it home tonight, his reaction was also quite clearly about getting away from me. I sat back on my haunches, pleased my job was done. He’d basically dared me, but he’d been the one who couldn’t take it. And now he was trailing orange wool across the living room, with his hands still pretty much tied together by the knitting.

  When the door opened his face lit up. “Hey, Billie.”

  There was something that looked almost…complete in Finn when he had both his sisters around. He lifted his bound hands as if to hug her, but couldn’t get them apart.

  Billie raised an eyebrow. “You get into some kinky stuff while I was gone, Finny boy?” She sounded husky, like she’d been screaming at a concert the night before, but that was just her natural speaking voice. I’d always envied her that tone—it was equal parts unusual and interesting.

  Amelia ran over and, all arms and legs, launched herself at her sister. “Billie, I’m so glad you’re home. Finn’s helping us do some arm knitting since the scarf Scarlett made looked so good on Harvey.”

  Finn gave up trying to hug Billie, and instead took her bag—something he could achieve with bound hands.

  “Who’s Harvey?” Billie said, slinging an arm around Amelia.

  “Harvey’s our dog. Wait till you meet him. Even the vet said he was clever.”

  Billie turned to Finn, her black, chin-length bob swinging with the motion. “What the hell? You got a dog and didn’t tell me? I speak to you guys every week and no one mentioned a dog.”

  Finn rolled his eyes. “Harvey belongs to Scarlett’s parents, who are currently camped out in the backyard.”

  “Hey, Scarlett,” she said and plopped down on the sofa behind me.

  I started rolling the orange wool back up from its crisscrossing trail across the room. “Hi, Billie. Great to see you.”

  “So,” Billie said, her jet black bangs falling in her eyes. “Let me get this straight, now that I have more information to go along with the little you shared on the phone. In the short time since I was last home, Amelia got kicked out of school, you guys got a dog, there are hippies camping out in the backyard, Finn took up knitting and got involved in bondage, and…” She looked at me. “What have you done that’s new and ridiculous, Scarlett?”

  I’m having crazy-good sex with your brother every chance I get. “Um, I went to a silversmithing class with Finn. Does that count?”

  “Why not?” Billie said with a laugh. “So what else did I miss?”

  Amelia crawled into the seat next to her sister, watching her with hero worship. “Harvey has a sore paw but Finn doesn’t believe it, I got chosen for a role in the dance concert at my new school even though I’d missed some of the practices, Finn’s been interfering in Scarlett’s love life, and Scarlett and her mum gave me the sex talk about finding your own pleasure and porn.”

  Billie blinked huge brown eyes. “Yeah, I’m going to need a drink to cope with all of that information.” She turned to me. “Don’t suppose you have the ingredients for your famous mojitos?”

  “Sure,” I said and stood, taking in Finn’s pained expression from across the room. Maybe I should have mentioned the content of the sex talk before now.

  Amelia jumped up and stood beside me. “Can I have one this time?”

  “You’ll have to ask Finn,” I said, despite knowing his answer.

  Before she could even ask he said, “Nope,” and continued trying to disentangle his hands.

  “Come on,” I said, dragging Amelia into the kitchen with me. “I’ll make you a virgin mojito. You’ll love it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Finn

  My birthday party was in full swing. My sisters, Scarlett, her parents, and I were all under the trees in the backyard, drinking Amelia’s homemade lemonade and passing around platefuls of something John and Jane had made that was completely inedible. Harvey—wearing a party hat—was doing a great business in gobbling food passed to him under the chairs.

  I’d done well on the present front—Billie had tracked down a handmade miniature lyre, Amelia had bought me some aftershave and arm-knitted a dark red scarf, and John and Jane had given me a velvet pouch filled with rocks and gemstones from the area that was once Mesopotamia. All in all, besides the hunger from having to pass my lunch to Harvey, I was having a good day.

  “Give him your present now,” Amelia said to Scarlett.

  “Okay, hang on,” she said, and disappeared into the house.

  Billie grinned. “I wonder what it will be?”

  The whole group spent the next three minutes discussing more and more outrageous options, when they all knew full well Scarlett would be giving me a teddy bear painting because Scarlett always gave me a teddy bear painting for birthdays and Christmases. Strangely, I was looking forward to it this year, even though I still thought it was cheesy. The whole concept had finally grown on me.

  When she reemerged, she was carrying a canvas, draped with a sheet, that she handed to me. I took it, and she kissed my cheek.

  “Happy birthday, Finn.”

  She didn’t linger, which was a shame, but I’d claim a proper birthday kiss later, once we were alone. Even so, the barely-there kiss woke my entire body up so, for self-preservation, I focused on the painting. “Thanks.”

  Holding the canvas high so everyone could see, I pulled the sheet away to reveal my teddy bear. Except it wasn’t a teddy. It was Harvey, his black and white body depicted in strong brushstrokes, though his face was rendered softly, in exquisite detail.

 
; “Harvey!” Amelia said and the dog himself rushed to her side. “You’re in a painting. You’re famous!”

  Billie and Scarlett’s parents were making other comments that included his name, so Harvey was running from one to the other, thrilled to be the center of attention.

  In the commotion, I turned to Scarlett. “Thank you. It’s incredibly beautiful. But…no teddy bear?”

  “You said you didn’t even like teddy bears,” she said, smiling too sweetly.

  “I say that every time, and you still give them to me. You say I need them.”

  She shrugged. “I found something you needed more.”

  I needed a picture of someone else’s dog in my bedroom? Only in the mind of Scarlett could that make sense. Besides, I’d seen my real birthday painting. Amelia reached for the canvas and I passed it to her, then crossed my arms over my chest. “I saw you painting a teddy bear in your art attic.”

  “I changed my mind a couple of nights ago and stayed up late,” she said, as if it was no big deal to create a new painting from scratch over a couple of nights and still make it amazing. “I think I’ll give the teddy to Amelia instead.”

  Harvey sat down at my feet, grinning up at me, clearly pleased with how his day was progressing. I rubbed the top of his head. “Apparently I need to see your face in my bedroom each day.”

  Harvey did his slow, satisfied pant, seeming to agree.

  Jane came to stand next to me. “Finn, we’ve been talking,” she said, exchanging a smile with her husband, “and we’d be overjoyed if you wanted to keep Harvey. He seems to have grown quite attached to you.”

  Amelia jumped out of her seat. “Yes!”

  My stomach fell as I looked around the expectant faces. I’d had an idea they might suggest this, but still, it was an awkward thing, especially in front of everyone.

  I conjured a smile. “Thank you for the offer, but I think Harvey is better off with you. He likes us, but he’s your dog.”

  “What?” Amelia cried, but I didn’t glance over. I couldn’t. Disappointing her or Billie made my chest hurt, but I knew this was the best move for us all.

  Jane met my eyes for a moment then nodded. “Okay. We’d love to have him on the road with us.”

  Amelia rounded on me, hands planted firmly on her hips, her expression disbelieving.

  “You know,” Scarlett announced before Amelia could say anything, “I think we might need more food. How about Finn and I duck out and grab a couple of pizzas?”

  Her mother shook her head in amazement. “If I’d known how popular that dish would be, I’d have made double. Actually, if you can wait half an hour, I can whip up another batch—”

  “No need,” I said, taking a step for the door. “You’ve already done so much.” I turned to Scarlett before the new plan could be derailed. “I’ll drive.”

  We were out the door before anything else could be said.

  As soon as I reversed out onto the street, Scarlett said, “You really don’t think it’s a good idea to keep Harvey?”

  “Nope,” I said, taking a corner and merging with traffic.

  “Why?” She turned in her seat to face me. “Really and truly, the proper reason why you’ve never let a dog move in.”

  I sighed. Truth? “I guess I haven’t wanted another living being to be responsible for. Billie and Amelia pretty much took up all the space in that part of my life.”

  “Makes total sense,” she said gently. “But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  How did she always see through me? Were there clues that appeared on my forehead or something?

  “Nope,” I lied.

  “Finn, you don’t have to tell me, but this isn’t just about a dog.”

  I changed lanes then kept my eyes on the road. “You tell me what you think this is about, then.”

  “Okay. Other than me, you haven’t let anyone get too close since your parents died. It’s like you’re scared to let them in.”

  I tried not to flinch. That was a bit close to home, but I really didn’t want to be talking about my feelings so I shrugged as if this was no big deal.

  “As you pointed out, there’s you. So if your theory was true, why would there be such a glaring exception? You’re not only my best friend, but you’ve been very close lately.” I shot her a grin.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, totally ignoring my attempt to derail the conversation with sex talk. “Maybe because of the way we met? You kinda lost it when you found your roommate with me.”

  My entire body tensed at the memory. That asshole standing over a girl, like he had every right to hit her if he wanted to. I had to take a couple of deep breaths before I could focus again on what Scarlett was saying.

  She kept talking, covering my lapse. “Our introduction was basically you protecting me, so you added me to the list of people you were responsible for.”

  I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “That supports my theory, not yours.”

  “I don’t think your theory is wrong,” she persisted, “it’s just not the whole picture.”

  We pulled into the pizza place’s parking lot and I cut the engine. “How about we leave it at that?” I said, my hand on the door handle.

  “I think this is important, Finn.” She made no move to get out; it seemed she was digging in for the long haul.

  I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face. “Scarlett, what do you want me to say here?”

  “Tell me why you don’t let people close anymore. Before us, you’d date, but you never let them close enough to see the real you. You’d barely remember their names, let alone what night you were supposed to be meeting them.”

  “You really want to talk about my past dates?” Given what was going on between us, this was dangerous territory.

  “Not your dates specifically, no. More about your interactions with people in general. You want to know something I noticed today?” It was a question, but she barreled on before I could answer. “Your sisters both told you they love you when they gave you their presents, but you didn’t say it back to either one of them. And that got me thinking. I’ve never heard you say it to anyone. Ever.”

  “I say it.”

  “Who to?”

  “My parents,” I said without thinking.

  There was quiet stillness in the cab of the car for several heartbeats. “Have you said it to anyone since they died?”

  My throat thickened. I shook my head once.

  Scarlett waited. She was good at that—giving me some space. But the silence was weighted with expectation, as if she was confident I’d tell her everything if she had a little patience. I hated that, but was resigned to the fact that it was true—I’d tell her what she wanted to know eventually.

  My gaze firmly locked on the view through the windshield, I started talking, slowly at first. “My parents were mildly superstitious. Not like your parents with their hippie ideas, more just the ‘knock on wood’ type. If you spill some salt, throw some over your left shoulder. Never open an umbrella inside the house. Don’t walk under a ladder—though, that one is common sense. They always said words have power, like, don’t say, ‘I’ve never broken a bone’ because it’s tempting fate, and if you accidentally do, then knock on wood.”

  “But you’re not superstitious,” she said.

  “Not in general, no. But the morning of the day they died, they’d given me a car. I was a typical eighteen-year-old guy and would hardly ever…” Even now I couldn’t say it. I swallowed. “…say the L word to them. But that morning I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I told them, straight out. They died about three hours later.”

  “Finn—”

  I held up a hand. “I know I didn’t cause their accident, and I know intellectually that my words had no impact, and that even if I had knocked on wood or whatever I needed to do to counteract it, they still would have died. And yet, there’s a tiny little thing in my chest that just refuses to say it again.”

  “Or feel it, if you can h
elp it,” she said softly.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I stretched my neck back. “I know it makes no sense at all, but Billie and Amelia are so important, I can’t risk even a stupid superstition where they’re concerned.”

  Not taking her eyes off me, she tucked her feet up underneath her. “You also don’t want to risk loving and losing again. Which is why you’ve never dated seriously and why you’ve never let your sisters have a dog.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, every cell in my body restless, telling me to get out of this conversation.

  “Yes, I think you do,” she persisted.

  “Okay,” I said, annoyed and exasperated in equal measures. “I don’t like getting too attached.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her tuck her hair behind her ears. “It’s like you’ve subconsciously decided love leads to pain.”

  I shrugged. Who knew what was going on in a person’s subconscious? It was possible. Hell, anything was possible. “I thought you were studying accounting, not psychology.”

  She ignored the barb. “Except your four-year friendship with me.”

  “Yeah, except with you,” I admitted. “Which is why I was reluctant for so long to make it more. You’re…” How did I put into words the panic that engulfed me when I thought too much about us together? “Let’s say you’re dangerous to me.”

  “Dangerous?” she repeated, her head cocked to the side.

  I shifted in my seat. Rolled my shoulders. She deserved to hear this, but, man, I hated having to talk about this stuff.

  I steeled myself and looked down at my hands on the wheel as I spoke. “I kept other people I date at arm’s length, but you, you’re already under my guard. If we ruin our friendship by this dating…experiment, then it’s going to be…hard to take.”

  “We won’t ruin it.” Her voice was gentle but determined.

  “Yeah,” I said, not sure how much I believed it.

  She leaned toward me, only a couple of inches, but enough to make me turn and look at her before she spoke. “You know, Finn, you can’t live your whole life this way, never forming an attachment.”