Chasing the Wild Sparks

by Alexander, Ren

  I pack the rest of my things and make the sandwiches. Rod said that most people bring a picnic lunch to these things. Laughing out loud when I remember Rod telling me no pickles, I find something in a kitchen drawer that will make his sandwich just perfect.

  I load up my car, not forgetting my brand-spanking-new kite, and head over to Finn’s apartment. His place is very unlike mine. I live inside a four-story brick building. Finn lives in a gated apartment complex where all the units are attached, but each one has their own front porch and a small backyard. It’s very condo-like. I asked him why he didn’t just buy a condo or a house. He said he was happy where he was at and didn’t want to commit to owning a house. That somehow sounds vaguely similar to his philosophy pertaining to the rest of his life. Morgan calling me a cow rings true in that statement.

  I find the gates and security to be ostentatious, yet necessary at the same time. My boyfriend risks his life performing ridiculous stunts and dares all in the name of fun and to quench his thirst for an adrenaline fix. The more dangerous the feat, the more zealous Finn is about executing it. I can manage roller coasters, but that’s my limit. Therefore, his living in a gated community actually makes me feel like he’s being taken care of and watched after when I’m not with him. Therefore, the extra security measures give me peace of mind, even if it’s only a small piece.

  I pull my black Toyota into one of Finn’s two parking spots in front of his apartment. His car isn’t here, so he must’ve already gone to work. I grab my bag, the food for the picnic, my purse and walk over to his porch that is enclosed with thick, white, wood railings. Nothing decorates the space. No chairs, wind chimes or flower pots. Typical guy. I shove my key into the lock, the metal door pops open and I’m instantly flooded with his spicy scent. It’s still heavy in the air, so he must have left not too long ago. My heart sinks. I’d rather be in his arms than standing alone in his living room.

  Finn’s living room screams bachelor. On the walls hang numerous autographs, a few framed articles and sports memorabilia, being an occupational perk in his line of work. He’s either met these people, had some sort of connection to getting an autograph, or bought the keepsake for an expensive price. No wonder he wanted to live in a gated community.

  I set my purse and overnight bag down on his coffee brown sofa and walk into his bright kitchen, which is surrounded by a bar and is diagonally open to the living room. After I put the food in his refrigerator, I notice the piled dishes in his sink and I load them into the dishwasher. I wipe down the counters and then take my overnight bag into his bedroom, where his essence is even stronger.

  The private soul of Finn’s personality is his bedroom, which is also my favorite room in his apartment. His bed is covered with a ribbed, midnight blue comforter and his walls are a smoky gray. Even though he loves all sports, soccer and baseball are closest to his heart. There are various autographed pictures of his heroes hanging on the walls. His soccer favorites: Landon Donovan, Kasey Keller and Brad Friedel. His favorite team is the Los Angeles Galaxy. His prized Mickey Mantle and Roberto Clemente signed baseballs in protective cases are proudly displayed on his tall mahogany dresser.

  His closet is full of suits, but he left room for me to keep some of my clothes in there, as well, but I don’t since I have no reason to keep dressier clothes here. All of the things I keep here are jeans, T-shirts, night shirts and underwear.

  Finn also has pictures next to his alarm clock on his nightstand. One is the same that I have of us at Busch Gardens. Next to it is an additional Morgan Yates original. We were at another of his dirt bike races. After the race and people had left the bleachers, he walked over to where I was with Morgan on the bottom bench and he picked me up. In the picture, I’m looking down at him as he gazes up at me. Morgan said that Finn had a lovesick look on his face. I didn’t see it, but apparently she did and took the picture. She took a couple of those. In a frame, I have the one she took right after that picture. In that one, I kissed him.

  The third picture he has on his nightstand is of the New River Gorge Bridge in West Virginia. The love of my life has jumped off of that fucking thing more than once doing a BASE jump, which ominously stands for: buildings, antennas, spans, and earth. On Bridge Day, they hold a festival and it is legally permissible that one day a year to BASE jump from it. The October after we had started dating, he jumped from it without telling me beforehand. Surprised, I had a fit watching him live on TV. When he called me afterward, I threatened to leave him if he ever jumped again. I read that three people had died jumping from it. We had a small argument, but he actually gave in and he no longer does it. At least he still has his bridge picture to remember it by.

  On the other nightstand, right next to where I sleep, there is an 8x10 framed autographed picture of David Beckham.

  “Now over to Sports with our very own resident wild man and amateur motocross champion today, Finn Wilder. Finn, congratulations on your victory today.”

  “Thanks, Sheena. It was for a good cause. I love riding, but it’s always more meaningful and worthwhile when I’m helping sick kids.”

  “Well, you sure put on a good show out there. And your fans were going crazy, as always. I bet you had a long line of women wanting to give you a congratulatory kiss after your win.”

  “No. Nothing like that.

  “None? Really? I’m sure you had some offers.

  “Maybe.”

  “During the segment with Todd, we could hear your most fervent supporters yelling for you. You even received two marriage proposals.”

  “Did I?”

  “You sure did. What do you have to say about that?”

  “Wow. Well, although I am flattered by the attention, I’m going to have to respectfully decline the offers.”

  “Finn, you’re our eternal bachelor. Are we ever going to marry you off? You need a ring on that finger.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Are you sure? There isn’t an honored Finnatic out there that has already won your heart? There are rumors that you actually did get several kisses from a very lucky lady. Is there something that we don’t know? Do you have a girlfriend you’re not telling us about?”

  “Okay! Let’s talk sports! I want to thank everyone for coming out to support the fight against leukemia. We had a great turn-out…”

  What was that? Again, Finn outright refused to admit he has a girlfriend. One of the news anchors, Sheena Thompkins, is always lobbing flirty banter at Finn, trying to get him to talk about his female fans or to acknowledge if he’s dating anyone. He never does. I’m not asking him to announce my address and social security number on Air, but he can’t even tell his viewers, his Finnatics, that he’s taken? I don’t think any of his coworkers even know that he has a girlfriend, and he’s had one for three years! He never takes me around the station or introduces me to anyone. We only hang out with my friends. I’ve never even been to any of his Christmas parties, award dinners or company picnics. He usually tells me he’ll make a quick appearance and then leave.

  Is he ashamed of me? When we met in the emergency room, I was still only a cashier at Garner’s, in between the hospital and law firm jobs. I know it was nothing flashy like his career, but he still seemed interested in me. A month later, Val Dryden hired me as a temp at the firm. She liked me enough because after seven months, she hired me as her assistant full-time. I then obtained a paralegal certificate since the firm paid for my schooling, so that was a bonus. Finn said he was proud of me for my perseverance and continuing to strive; refusing to give up.

  I watch him as he finishes his report. He’s so achingly handsome in his charcoal gray suit and dark blue tie; however, something seems off with him. His smiles are forced and he isn’t laughing as he usually does. Even his responses to Sheena were clipped and generic. He doesn’t seem to be in his “zone,” as he calls it. Is he thinking about me at all, even if he doesn’t want to confess to the city of Richmond and the rest of the viewing area that he is in love with me?
Or, at least I thought he was. He tells me he loves me, but not as often as he used to. Is Morgan right? Is he only using me for sex? Maybe he had feelings for me at first, but now he doesn’t anymore and continues to have sex with me until someone else comes along. Honestly, I don’t know why he’d stay with me for three years if he wanted someone else, but I also don’t understand why he’s staying with me when he won’t share me with his public, as I have to share him.

  I’m beginning to feel like Finn Wilder’s dirty, little secret.

  CHAPTER 5

  After Finn signs off, I change into one of my nightshirts, knowing that he should be home soon. I take out my ponytail and brush my hair and teeth. I really should have brought something sexier to wear than wearing one of my old, faded T-shirts. If sex is all he wants from me, then he might not even care if I were wearing a damned trash bag. My heart aches thinking about him using me like that. I want to believe that he still does love me, if he really ever did at all.

  I find a lighter in his top nightstand drawer and light the four large pillar candles I had bought for his bedroom. I then turn down his bed’s comforter, blanket, and sheet. His iPod is on his dresser and I put his favorite slow Black Veil Brides’ song on repeat.

  Standing at the kitchen counter facing away from the living room, I hear the familiar roar of Finn’s car outside. Instantly, goosebumps spread across my skin, and my nipples promptly harden at his near proximity and impending closeness. Why does my body have to betray me? I still want to be pissed at him for his omission earlier before I let him take me to his room.

  I continue making my list of things to take with me tomorrow. If I forget something that I was supposed to bring, I’ll never hear the end of Rod’s whining.

  The front door opens and I can already smell his cologne, commanding my heart to pound. I have to force myself to stay where I am. I tap my pen against the notepad, frantically trying to think of something else I need to write down; anything to keep me from turning around and running into his arms like the adoring, little girlfriend that I am.

  When I hear his footsteps entering the kitchen behind me, I bite my lip while fighting the intense impulse to turn around. Walking up to me, he wraps one arm around my waist and uses his other hand to sweep my hair off of my shoulder, draping it over the other side. His hand then trails down through my hair down to my chest, his fingers smoothly kneading my breast through my shirt. My eyes unwillingly drift closed as his lips tenderly kiss up my neck. He uses his arm around my waist to pull me closer to him. That’s when I notice he’s wearing his leather riding suit. Oh, shit. We need to talk, but I doubt that’s going to happen now. His lips start gently sucking on my skin and I whimper, “Finn.”

  “Becks,” he whispers, lifting his mouth from my skin only for a second. His lips are relentless. Is he trying to give me a hickey? Everyone will see it tomorrow! I roll my head to discourage the bruising, and he moves to trail his lips across the back of my neck. I finally drop the pen I’m still holding.

  I quietly ask, “I watched you earlier. What’s wrong? You seemed anxious.”

  “I couldn’t wait to get home. I missed you.” He slides his arm lower and tightens his grip around me, pushing me into his hips and his rapidly growing erection.

  “I missed you, too.” His hand moves lower, taking the hem of my shirt and dragging it up over my hips, his skin skimming over mine, causing me to ache for him even more. His touch igniting me, I stutter slightly, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything, baby,” he answers between kisses along my neck. Finn holds my shirt with one hand as his other leaves my breast and travels to the waistband of my underwear. He alternates scraping his teeth and licking the nape of my neck. My knees wobble and I put my hands on the edge of the counter to steady myself.

  “Why don’t you want people to know about me?” His hand freezes as his fingers glide between my legs.

  “Why do you think that?” he asks gruffly.

  “You keep me hidden. We’ve been together for three years, but I don’t think any of your coworkers even know you have a girlfriend.” His motionless fingers buried in my pubic hair slowly come back to life and begin to slip inside me. I gasp.

  “It’s none of their business.” His hot breath caresses my neck and shoulders.

  “Your fans think you’re available.”

  “I’m not available.”

  “They don’t know that.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do.”

  “Why, baby? We are together. That’s all that matters to me.” He moves his fingers around, pushing his tips inside me. My grip on the counter amplifies.

  I wearily sigh. “You’re making this hard.”

  “Well, you’ve made me hard.” He proves his point by lightly thrusting against my lower back. He uses his index finger to apply pressure and rub against my clitoris in a circular motion. “I want to feel you, Becks.” He brushes his bristly chin against the side of my forehead, moving my bangs around as he does.

  “You are,” I state matter-of-factly.

  “You know what I mean,” he whispers. He takes his hand from my waist and drags my hair to my other shoulder and again commences sucking on that side of my neck as his fingers keep moving around and around inside me. He pauses his sweeping lips to mumble, “I don’t want to use a condom.” He recommences and lightly bites at my collar bone.

  “Mmm,” is all I can articulate under the assault of his fingers and mouth.

  He asks, “Are we okay to go without?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did you already put the other one in?”

  “Yes.” He boosts the pressure and the speed of his strokes. “I’m on top of it,” I breathe.

  “I’d rather you be on top of me,” he says into my ear. He trails his teeth down my neck; his breath quick and searing my skin.

  I heatedly whisper, “Finnigan.” He groans against my throat, his tongue sending shivers through every inch of me and heightening the feel of his persistent fingers.

  “Baby,” he says, his voice sounding forlorn, “I need you.”

  “You have me, if you want me.”

  “I do want you, Becks.”

  “How much do you want me, Finn? I’m not sure anymore if you do.” His fingers immediately still and then abruptly, he removes them from inside me. His arm drops from my waist and he spins me around, ripping my aching fingers from the countertop. He pins me against the sink, trapping me with his arms and his leather-clad body. Leaning closer to me, his deep voice is filled with terse apprehension as he demands, “Where in the hell did you get that idea?” Finn’s fiery gaze ensnares mine and we stare at each other in thick silence. His lips are pursed and his jaw begins to twitch on both sides. He’s pissed again?

  I swallow and try to look away, but he reaches up and feverishly pulls my chin so that I have to look at him.

  “What are you talking about? Why would you even say that?” he contends.

  “You don’t talk about me with anyone. You don’t want to be seen in public with me.”

  “That’s not true,” he declares vehemently.

  I argue, “Except for today, it seems that way any other time. Today you were…different.”

  “Different? How?”

  “You acted like you really did want to be seen with me in front of people this time. You held my hand, you hugged me and you even kissed me first. You never do that.”

  He glowers at me. “I kiss you in front of people.”

  “Only if we’re not anywhere you’d be recognized.”

  He clenches his teeth and growls, “Becks, come on!” He hangs his head between us and sighs in frustration before sharply raising his head to look at me again. “Please. Let’s not do this now,” he implores.

  “Don’t you want to know what I’m thinking?” I look into his eyes. What is he thinking? Does he really want me or does he only want to use me to get himself off?

  “Yes, I do, but at the moment, I d
on’t want to fight with you.”

  “I’m not fighting with you. I just want some answers.” Tell me, Finn.

  “I gave them to you.”

  “No you didn’t. You keep skirting around answering my questions.” I take a deep breath before asking, “Are you ashamed of me?” That would kill me.

  His voice rises. “Ashamed of you?”

  “That’s the feeling I get. Nobody in your life, except for your family and Ricky, know that I exist.”

  “I told you. I don’t care about everyone else.”

  “If you don’t care, then why can’t you acknowledge that you’re taken and you’re mine, not belonging to any of the women who throw themselves at you?”

  “You’re jealous?” he probes incredulously. “You think I want anything to do with any of those women?”

  “Maybe I’m jealous about all the time they have with you and I don’t.”

  I feel his body pull away from me as irritation laces his voice. “You really want to go there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He vigorously shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m not getting into this right now.” His heated gaze pierces me and I shrink back somewhat, feeling stupid for bringing this up now.

  “Then when are you going to talk to me? You never communicate with me what you’re truly thinking or feeling.”

  His dark eyes flash. “You really want to know what I’m thinking?”

  “Yes. Always.”

  He stares at me for what seems like minutes, burning his russet eyes into mine. “I’m thinking that you’re my lucky charm. I want you wherever I am, by my side, even when it’s not possible. And right now, I’m thinking I’d rather be kissing you than arguing with you.” He steps into me, putting his hand around the back of my neck and softly kisses my cheek.