Hot Mess (Life Sucks Book 2)

by Elise Faber

  Frozen in place.

  Emerald green shirt that made his eyes look almost otherworldly.

  Then he’d smiled at her.

  And she’d gone, a fish to bait, a mouse to a trap, recognizing the danger but still drawn forward, unbidden, unable to stop herself.

  One step. Another. Another.

  When she’d gotten close enough, he’d reached out, snaked an arm around her waist, pulled her against his chest, and he’d kissed her.

  Kissed her until her head spun.

  Kissed her until she forgot about the danger.

  Kissed her until she believed the danger hadn’t existed in the first place.

  And she’d spent the last month in a bubble, a safely-padded cocoon where it had just been this wonderful, lovely man with her and Rylie. Walking to school, sharing meals, stealing kisses.

  New and exciting, comfortable and . . . normal.

  But in all of that newness and comfort and normal, she’d forgotten that he was the biggest actor in the world. That while the people of Stoneybrook might not be impressed by fame, while they were used to seeing celebrities, to seeing people like Pepper and Finn as, well, just people, Finn wasn’t normal.

  This was the real world.

  This was Hollywood.

  And, she couldn’t stop the small, insidious voice in her head telling her this is what men who were interested in her did. They turned to other women.

  “We want to see Mr. Finn!” Ry said.

  Well, shouted because Ry never just talked.

  But that burst of words was enough to get Shannon moving. It didn’t matter that Finn had a woman in his house. It didn’t matter that she’d thought they were building . . . whatever it was she’d thought they’d been building.

  Because clearly, she was wrong.

  Yet, it didn’t matter.

  It wouldn’t break her, she wouldn’t fall to pieces. She had a job and a place to live and a daughter who was awesome.

  So, fuck him.

  Fuck men.

  Fuck letting herself be broken again and again and again.

  “Come on, Ry,” she said. “We’ll see Mr. Finn later.” Where she’d tell him to go fuck himself because she was done with the opposite sex and all of their bullshit.

  “Wait!” the woman said. “I—”

  “I want to see Mr. Finn!”

  Shan gaped for a second. Rylie never used that tone. Never. For one, she didn’t tolerate being talked to in that way. For another, her daughter might be loud, but she was perpetually happy.

  Of course, her gaping had a negative effect.

  One that meant Ry was able to use those few seconds to ramp up higher, to spiral further. By the time Shan closed her mouth and pulled back into herself, her daughter’s typically adorable face had clouded with fury.

  “I. Want. To. See. Finn!” she yelled.

  “Rylie Marie Torres,” Shannon snapped, using her combined powers of Mom Voice and Teacher Voice. “You will not speak like that.”

  Rylie’s mouth closed with an audible click.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Shannon said, forcing herself to look back at the beautiful woman in the doorway. “We’ll be going now.”

  “Wait—”

  Shannon didn’t wait.

  She’d seen enough, and now it was time to return to her regularly scheduled life. She’d gotten to kiss a movie star, that should be enough for her to hold on to at this time, right?

  It was more than she’d ever imagined, that was for sure.

  She took Rylie’s hand, started to leave Finn’s deck.

  “No!” Ry yanked herself free. “No!” She darted for the house. “Finn. Finn!”

  The woman in the doorway was shocked, her mouth dropping open, no doubt because a young child was hurtling toward her. But then she was pushed aside, and Finn emerged from inside the house, shirtless and looking rumpled, his eyes sleepy, his hair mussed.

  Rylie hurtled toward him, throwing her arms around his waist and knocking him back a step.

  His arms went around her, but his eyes stayed up, coming first to Shannon’s then to the woman next to him.

  Regret on his face.

  Fuck, that hurt.

  But she kept her spine stiff, her chin lifted. This would be fine. She wouldn’t break. She—

  “Shannon,” he said carefully. “This is my sister, Lexy.”

  Hot then cold washed over her. Embarrassment crippled her, froze her in place, made bile burn the back of her throat.

  His sister.

  That was good, right? A logical, reasonable explanation for a strange woman in his house in the morning. But also . . . it undercut exactly how not ready for this she was. Her first thought had been Finn was cheating, and they weren’t even in an exclusive relationship—or they hadn’t talked about it, anyway.

  Because it all came down to this.

  Her believing deep down that she wasn’t worthy or good enough, and dammit she wanted to believe she was good enough, wanted it so fucking badly.

  Why couldn’t she believe it?

  What was wrong with her that she couldn’t?

  Her eyes burned and she turned away, gaze on the ocean but not taking in the waves. She held the tears but didn’t want anyone to see how close to the edge she was. “Come on, Ry, we need to go.”

  “No.”

  More unexpected attitude. More teenage-esque tone. More . . . things to deal with later.

  She heard the soft rumble of Finn’s voice then slow footsteps trailing across the deck toward her. Thank God, Rylie wasn’t going to require her to yank her away from Finn. She couldn’t handle that.

  “Trauma.”

  A male voice.

  “It ripples outward and engulfs everything in its path.”

  Her breath shuddered out. “Finn, I can’t—”

  “Lexy took Rylie inside. They’re starting the French toast.” He slipped his fingers around her arm, gently turned her to face him. “You and I are going to talk about whatever it is that just went through your mind.”

  “It’s nothing.” She forced a smile.

  “It’s definitely something,” he muttered, caging her in against the railing, his body flush against hers, making heat cascade over her body again, only this time it wasn’t due to embarrassment. He dropped his head, ran his jaw along hers. “Because you’re doing that sad smile again, and I fucking hate that sad smile.” He nipped, and she jumped. “Also, I’m pretty sure I know why you’ve got sad written all over you, and it fucking pisses me off.”

  “Finn.”

  “Shannon.”

  She sighed. “I can’t do this.”

  “I’m not your ex-husband.”

  “Finn.”

  “Shannon,” he repeated, taking them right down the same pattern.

  “We don’t make sense.”

  “I stopped worrying about things making sense the first time I saw you, Blue Eyes. You’re special. You’re mine,” he said, and her heart skipped a beat. “I’ve been trying to go slow because you’re not officially divorced and need time to heal, because you’ve been hurt too many times, because you’ve got Rylie and need to make sure she’s good. But let me make this crystal clear for you. You’re. Mine.”

  Her head dropped to his shoulder. “Finn.”

  He wove his fingers into her hair, held her there. “Shannon.”

  She sighed.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Come inside. Let’s make breakfast. I want you to meet my sister.”

  “She probably thinks I’m a lunatic.”

  “She took one look at me and knew you’re more important to me than any other woman has ever been.”

  Shannon’s breath caught, and she leaned back to meet his gaze, the intensity in those honey-colored eyes making her heart skip a beat. “Finn,” she murmured, blurting his name like an idiot. Again.

  “Shannon.” He grinned.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Good. Stop thinking. Jus
t come alongside me on the feeling thing, okay?”

  She nibbled at the corner of her mouth, wanting to go alongside with him more than anything, but also . . . fucking terrified what would happen if she did.

  He didn’t press, just waited as she ran through all the possibilities and ways things could end in disaster through her mind. There were a lot of freaking ways this could all go wrong—the media and the frightening multitude of ways they may infiltrate her and Ry’s life, Finn being away on films and being tempted by women much more beautiful than her, falling in love with him only to find out he’d not fallen alongside, or worse, to risk finding out one day that he might fall out of love, like Brian had.

  But . . . were any of those scenarios scarier than the possibility of never seeing where this might lead?

  Of living her whole life knowing she’d had a chance at something that made her feel all of these big things and not having found the courage to reach out and grasp on to it? To jump in and live?

  What would she miss out on?

  What kind of example would she be setting for her daughter?

  Too much. And the wrong one.

  She released a shuddering breath. “I’m putting my heart into your hands,” she said.

  “Mine is already in yours.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve shared more with you than anyone on the planet, Blue Eyes. I’ve trusted you with everything when I’m in a position where that can be a very dangerous thing.” He cupped the side of her neck. “I’ve done that because this connection between us is different, is more than anything I could have hoped for. I’m falling in love with you, Shannon Torres, and I’m going to do everything in my power to not fuck it up.”

  Was it hot in here?

  Out here?

  Either way, his words made her knees weak, equal parts incredible and terrifying, and Finn knew that because he tugged her close, held her tight. “See? This is why I’ve been moving slow.”

  She chuckled, leaning heavily against him. “I think it’s so scary because if I look at all the pieces, they don’t seem to fit. I’m not even divorced yet! But then I spend time with you, I see you with Rylie . . . and it’s just everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I’ve been terrified to hope for.” She swallowed hard. “Because once upon a time, I thought my future was figured out.”

  “And he hurt you.”

  She nodded. “You know what’s scarier, though?”

  A shake of his head.

  “Imagining how sad and pathetic the rest of my life would be, knowing I had a chance to see where things went with us but was too terrified to actually take the leap.” She touched his cheek. “I’m falling for you, too.”

  He released a breath, relief spreading over his features, softening them. “Come out to dinner with me tonight. Let’s go on a real date.”

  “Ry—”

  “I’ll bribe my sister into watching her.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Or Pepper.”

  “I—”

  “A real date, Blue Eyes. You and me and some wine. Maybe a nice dress and heels. I’ll wear a suit and tie.”

  Mmm. Finn in a suit and tie. She’d love to hold on to that scrap of silk, use it to tug him closer until his lips settled onto hers.

  “What just went through your mind?” he asked, voice husky.

  She told him.

  He grinned. “Does that mean you’ll go on a date with me?”

  “Yes.” Shannon nodded, lifting up on tiptoe to brush her mouth over hers.

  As these things tended to happen, a simple brush turned into much more. Her lips parted, his tongue slid inside her mouth, and desire rippled down her spine. She moaned, pressed closer, loving that his chest rumbled against hers in response, loving that this man could kiss her well enough to make her head spin.

  Eventually, though, he pulled back, cupping her cheek lightly with one hand. “I’ll wear a tie if you bring the heels.”

  Shannon’s heart bubbled up with joy. “Deal.”

  Then he laced their fingers together and led her into the cottage to meet his sister . . . which turned out to be less meeting and more rescuing her from Rylie’s love of powdered sugar.

  Just saying, Shannon couldn’t deny that it also made the French toast taste better than ever.

  Or maybe, that was just the company.

  Sixteen

  Feels Like the First Time

  Finn

  He was sitting across the table from a beautiful woman, and he couldn’t taste his food.

  Not because it wasn’t delicious.

  But because it just didn’t matter.

  Not when he was sitting across from Shannon.

  They’d spent most of their meal bantering like always, nibbling at their entrees, drinking two bottles of wine, and sharing a piece of chocolate cake between them. But the consumption of food and drink wasn’t in the forefront of his mind, not in the least.

  What dominated was the heat between them.

  Boiling up from beneath the surface, inundating the space between them, sparking whenever their eyes met, or their legs accidentally brushed under the table . . . or whenever Shan leaned forward or smiled or laughed or breathed.

  He wanted this woman.

  And her gaze was saying she wanted him right back.

  But Finn wasn’t going to have her—or not that night anyway. He’d pressed her that morning, had seen her fear, and while he knew she’d pushed past that, he also knew that she wasn’t impervious to the memories or completely free from what had happened to her.

  So, sticking with slow and steady.

  Rylie was with Lexy at Shannon’s house, no surprise that the two had hit it off. Finn had a pre-release copy of a new kid’s film coming out in a couple of weeks, so Ry and Lex were having a girl’s movie night complete with sundaes and mani/pedis, and once Shannon had been convinced the babysitting would not be an inconvenience to Lexy, she’d allowed Finn to make dinner reservations and had hit the grocery store for supplies.

  When they’d left the girls a few hours earlier, Lexy and Ry had been in their pajamas already, mani/pedi supplies laid out on the glass table.

  Now, he was pleasantly full, somehow still surprised to find that had happened, considering he hadn’t really tasted anything that had crossed his lips, and he was ready to have Shan to himself.

  “Let’s take a walk on the beach,” he said.

  She looked up at him from under her lashes. “I’d have to lose the heels.”

  He shrugged. “You can always put them back on later.”

  “That’d be a crime to my toes.”

  “Oh, shit. Are they uncomfortable?”

  A shrug. “I think the correct question is, are heels ever comfortable? And the answer to that question is no”—a grin, no trace of sad, and Finn knew in that moment he wasn’t falling for her, he’d been gone for Shannon a long time ago—“but we get used to it.”

  “Well,” he said, reaching for the little leather folder that held the bill. “We can do the walk, but they’re not going back on. Not if it’s going to hurt you.”

  “And how am I going to get home?”

  “I’ll carry you.” He flipped open the cover and frowned.

  Shannon flipped it closed. “I got it earlier when you went to the bathroom.”

  “What?”

  She stood, and instinctively Finn followed suit. “You got what?” he asked, helping her with her coat, though it was a shame to cover up that luscious body clad in the black silk dress that had been driving him crazy all night.

  “I got the bill.”

  “What?”

  She grinned, patted him on the cheek. “Let’s go on that walk now.”

  “Shannon—”

  She strode to the front door of the restaurant, hips swaying, making his cock twitch, fists clench with the urge to catch up to her, tug her back against him and show her exactly what those heels and her dress and that fucking incredible strut did to him.

  Instead, h
e hurried to catch up, to move beyond her, and open the front door.

  That got him a heated smile, a brush of her body against his as she moved through.

  He followed her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Blue Eyes—”

  “Is this about the bill?” She melted against him, one hand coming up to rest on his chest. “Or the fact that all night I’ve been imagining you clearing the food from our table with one arm and spreading me on the table and eating me instead?” A beat, her lips finding his ear. “And that I think you’ve been doing the same.”

  Well, he damn sure was now.

  “Shan.”

  “Let’s walk back to your place,” she said.

  He didn’t stop her when she led them down the path toward the beach one block over, helped her when she paused and lifted one foot then the other to slip off her shoes. When they were dangling from her fingertips, she turned to him and pressed her lips to his.

  Heat exploded.

  He tugged her against him, banded his arms tightly around her, and kissed her until he had forgotten about the table and instead wanted to spread her out on the sand and—

  She broke away, lips swollen, breaths coming in rapid gusts.

  His weren’t any steadier. “You shouldn’t have paid for dinner,” he said, tugging her against his side and turning them in the direction of his house.

  She glanced up at him, amusement dancing across her face. “You gave me a kiss like that, and you’re worried about the bill.”

  “I was taking you out, Blue Eyes.” He ran a finger down her nose. “It was supposed to be my treat.”

  “And when was the last time someone treated you?” she murmured.

  His retort caught in the back of his throat because . . . he couldn’t remember.

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s why.” She nudged him with her shoulder as they came to his deck, but instead of stopping there and sitting in one of the chairs, as had become their routine for most nights they’d spent together, she bypassed the furniture and went to his front door.

  He followed her, hesitated. “I said slow, remember?”