I swallow, my heart thudding hard at my ribs.
“I heard you tell him you didn’t want to have sex here,” he continues.
Oh my god, why is he telling me this? He heard that? The idea of him standing there, watching me and Fin...it sends a surge of prickles over my skin. I don't know what to say.
“Why?” he asks, sounding perplexed. “Why not here?” He looks at me then, his expression pained.
How could he ask me that? I can’t say the answer out loud. If I do I'm putting myself out there, placing my heart in his hands, just to be crushed. I don't think I can take being rejected like that. Not by him. So, I shake my head, not willing to speak, but not willing to lie either.
His jaw tightens and then after a second he says, “Right. None of my business.” Then he turns away, heading into his office and closing himself in.
I’m left with my unfinished mural and the realization that I really have lost one of my best friends. And I don’t even know exactly how it happened.
SIXTEEN
I wake to the sounds of Fin and Lance in the kitchen laughing like twelve-year-olds. When I roll out of bed and make it out of my bedroom (this time fully clothed) both of them are sitting at the bar drinking coffee with Jade a few feet away, smiling like she’s a part of their conversation.
“Morning,” Jade says with a small wave.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Lance says.
Fin raises his cup to me and winks, and my skin turns warm. It helps a little to quench the weight lingering inside me from last night.
“Any coffee left?” I ask.
“Nope,” Lance says. “All gone.”
“You can have mine.” Fin slides his cup across the counter.
I take it because I’m desperate and need something to clear my head.
“How late did you work?” Jade asks me.
“Not late.” I glance at Fin.
He gives me a crooked grin. “The boss sent you home, did he?”
I frown at him. “No. He was a perfect gentleman.”
Fin’s grin widens. “Was he, now?”
“Fin!” Jade pipes in, sounding offended at Fin’s obvious implication. “He’s her boss!”
“As if that matters,” Lance says, “Verity’s wanted to have sex with the smarmy Latino since he came and spoke at her high school.” He snorts out a laugh. “She used to write his name on her notebook with all these hearts.”
Righteous indignation and embarrassment fills me as I swing, slapping his arm. “Jerk!” How does Lance always know how to dig the blade in deeper?
He raises his hands in defense, saying in a high-pitched girly voice, “Oh, Diego, you’re so strong! Hold me, Diego!”
I smack him harder. “Fuck you.”
“Oooo, language, Sis,” Lance laughs. “What would Diego’s Mother Mary think?”
“Hey,” Fin jumps in. “Don’t denigrate the Virgin Mother.”
“Sorry, dude. Forgot you were Catholic.”
“I’m Irish.”
“Right.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re pricks. And I’m done with both of you.”
Lance laughs but Fin looks concerned. He jumps up as I walk from the kitchen, heading for my room. Before I get through the door he’s got me by the waist, squeezing me to him. “Don’t run off. I wanna finish that conversation we started last night.”
I push him back, gently. “You’re going to take me to the library and help me study for my history exam today. Then I’ll let you buy me coffee and maybe after that you’ll be in my good graces again. We’ll see.” I need some distance from the lust-bug right now so I can figure out what I want. If the last few days haven’t shown me I need to slow down, nothing will.
He doesn’t seem bothered by it, his smile retains its wickedness. “I’m a patient man.”
FIN IS TRUE TO HIS word. And he’s actually a pretty good study partner. Sure, he tries to squeeze my leg a few times under the table at the library, and he grazes my lips with his thumb when we’re in line at the coffee shop, because he’s pretending I have something on my chin that he’s wiping off. But it’s sweet that he keeps trying to come up with ways to touch me. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it. For now, I’ve decided to just enjoy his attention.
He doesn’t seem to want to open up much when I press him about home and family stuff. He makes a comment about his dad being a bastard and not one mention of his mom, which tells me quite a bit about the state of his family life. And it's tough for me not to hear the warning bells in that. Diego never talks about his past either. Or anything else personal.
Apparently, I have a type.
“Do you have siblings?” I ask, getting a little frustrated at how he’s avoiding answering my questions. Am I ever going to find a guy who'll open up?
“A brother, Doyle.”
“Oh!” I say, relieved at the actual detail. “Are you two close?”
He grunts out what I think is a laugh.
“No?”
“He’s married to my girlfriend from secondary school.”
“Is that, like, Jr. High?”
“No. You colonials call it High School.”
“Oh.” His brother stole his girlfriend. Nice guy. “Really not close, then.”
“I haven’t spoken to the gobshite in four years.”
“When did you come to The States?”
“Is this a quiz?”
I decide to be honest. “Yes. Now answer the question.” I wink at him to lighten the mood a little. He’s gone sullen talking about his family.
“Ah, I see. You’re one’a those girls. All ‘in charge’ and stuff. Nice.”
I give him an eye roll and take a sip of my coffee.
He sighs and leans back in his chair. “I came from the rollin’ green hills of home to this busy metropolis four years ago.”
The same time as his brother ran off with his girl. He’s running away.
“So, you’re twenty-three?”
“The nymph can do math.”
I feign annoyance but decide to give him a break from Twenty Questions. I turn the conversation to music, asking how he realized it’s what he wanted to do, and how he got hooked up with Lance. With that subject he’s vocal as ever, telling me in great detail about his first gigs and how he used to bartend to get an in for his band on the playlists. He tells me this hilarious story about how he even stripped for a few months at a place in Hollywood, but the owners ended up firing him because he was too pale and couldn’t tan to save his life. Which is how he found Lance, from one of the owners of the club. The guy mentioned Fin to Lance at a meeting about some movie Lance was involved in about guys who work at a male strip club to make ends meet—who wouldn’t want to see that movie? Apparently, several people did because there was a studio already working on a similar script at the same time and they got the actor Lance had put tabs on, undermining the project.
But then Lance found Fin, so it looks like it may have all worked out.
“How’s the new project going with my brother?” I ask. “Is he impossible to work with? It must be like hanging out in Bikini Bottom with Sponge Bob. You know, if Bikini Bottom had Playboy magazines lying around all over the place.”
“Lance is great. A real fellow,” Fin says, looking like he means it. And it seems like being a fellow is a good thing. “The score is coming out amazing and I have a place to sleep. Your parents are grand.”
I choke on my coffee. “Excuse me? Grand is good, right?”
He laughs. “Yeah, it’s a good thing.”
“Wow, nice words about the Landons. Stop the presses.”
“You don’t get along?”
“Not so much. I’m the disappointment, see. I didn’t go into The Biz or become a trophy wife or decide to be a lesbian. I’m an epic failure.”
“Ah, now, that’s not true. Your da was talking about how you have a piece in this art show with your boss. He seemed real proud.”
I blink at him. “Excuse
me? Are you talking about Mr. Landon of 45 Birch Lane?”
“He showed me a picture of you with your first blue ribbon from some contest you won for a portrait of Lincoln.”
My chest constricts. Oh my gosh. “How did my dad know about Diego’s art show?”
“Lance told him. Your brother came home chattin’-up your parents that they had to celebrate ‘cause their youngest daughter would soon surpass them in society. He bought champagne.”
I half laugh, half cry. Likely Lance bought the champagne for himself, but I’m amazed that he even said anything to our parents. I didn’t think he noticed what was going on in my life at all. I thought he saw me as his annoying little sister.
And Dad showing Fin the picture of me and my first ribbon. For the Lincoln drawing. That’s so . . . I have no words. I’ve never seen that picture, wherever he keeps it.
“You seem surprised,” Fin says, a sad note in his voice.
“I just . . .” Something rises in me. “I thought I was invisible.”
He reaches across the table and shapes his hand over mine. “Hardly.”
“I feel like I’ve spent my whole life pretending not to care how much everyone looks me over. Pretending the barbs don’t hurt. But, I guess I’ve been feeling sorry for myself more than I thought. I barely notice when anyone’s nice anymore.”
“Let’s get out’a here,” he says, tugging on my hand. “That’s enough somber for one day, I think.”
I nod, following him from the coffee shop. We brought my car but I let him drive. You can tell a lot about a person by how they drive in LA; if they’ve got gumption or let people push them around; if they’re rage-fed or pricks. Fin seems like he’s cocky but in a fun way. He’s not really full of himself. Not as much as he could be with his good looks and musical talent. Come to think of it . . .
“I’d love to hear you play. When can I?” I ask.
He seems to consider. “I guess you could come to the studio on Friday. We’ve rented it for the full day.”
This is my last weekend to get ready for the Arbor Show but I could squeeze in a few hours to go see Fin, I think. I’m really curious. “Okay, just let me know what time I can come by.”
He looks sideways at me. “As long as I can be your date for the art show.”
My gut jumps. “A date?”
“Yeah, it’s this tradition where two people go out into the world together and do something enjoyable, then they go back to one or the other house so he can shift her right good.”
I bark out a laugh. “That sounds dirty.”
“Oh, it is, Molly. It’s right nasty. I may kiss you ‘til ya pass out from lack’a air.”
“You get very Irish when you’re silly.”
“Who says I’m being silly?”
“Come to think of it, you get very Irish when you’re surprised, too. Like when I found you with Lindsay at the party, and last night at the studio—you said something about a crack.”
“What’s the craic? It’s ‘what’s up’. Sort’a.”
“Oh my God, that’s embarrassing.”
“What?”
“You asked Diego ‘what’s up’ with your hand up my shirt.”
“You’re embarrassed that you have lovely tits?”
“Oh my.”
He grinds wickedly. “I can’t wait to see ‘em full on.”
“Don’t count them chickens yet, buck-o.”
“What’s a buck-o?”
“A fella.”
“A fella with chickens,” he says, like he’s figuring it all out. “Is he a farmer?”
I giggle and he laughs and we head for home, my heart lighter than it’s been in a while.
SEVENTEEN
I see Fin again that night when he comes over with Lance to watch The Lego Movie with us. It’s a Thursday favorite in the house, kind of becoming a tradition. It’s replaced The Sixth Sense, which is odd, maybe. But both are funny. Just in different ways.
After the movie, Fin asks if I want to go for a walk and I agree. Lance has fallen asleep on the couch, curled up beside Jade. I consider waking him up but she looks so happy, poor thing.
Fin and I wander down the street side-by-side. We don’t really talk much, we just saunter in silence. It’s nice. The evening is chilly but not too much, and the movement helps. Fin gives me his jacket three blocks into the walk. I let him rest it on my shoulders and thank him, even though I’m perfectly comfortable. His body heat soaks through my t-shirt, into my skin, and I want to sigh with the feel of it. So lovely.
When we make it around the block and back to the apartment complex again, he takes my hand, stopping me from going back inside. We stand there for a moment, his thumb sliding over my knuckles.
“I really like you, you know,” he says.
“Do you?” I ask, quietly.
“I kind’a wish I didn’t like you as much as I do.”
I frown at him, not sure I’m a fan of where this is going all of a sudden. He has this pained look on his face.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Because I can’t just touch you now and have it not mean something. I can’t pretend my heart isn’t getting wrapped up in it all.”
Shock rolls over me. I have no idea how to respond. I’m not sure any guy’s ever said anything like that to me before. It’s wonderful. And painful at the same time. Because, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything real for me. He’s not that guy.
I like Fin, I do. But . . . I’m not sure how far it goes on my end. And the reality is, my heart still needs to let go of Diego—or the idea of him. Being around Fin has been a nice distraction, but I’m still not sure my feelings go much deeper than basic attraction.
“There’s this thing in me that wants to pretend I don’t care,” he says, quietly. “That I can treat you like any other girl that I play for a night.” He reaches out and cradles my cheek in his palm. “I know it isn’t true, though. You’re different. So much more than that, little nymph.”
My pulse races. The heat from his hand is calming, even as his words send my mind into a panic.
I’ve been kidding myself. Totally kidding myself. How did I think that no one would be hurt—or that I wouldn’t feel the exact same way if we slept together? Casual just got thrown out the window. I’m getting to know this guy. And I’m enjoying myself. Time will only make our growing friendship stronger.
“Do you want me to come upstairs and finish what we started last night?” he asks. “Or should I go home?”
I have no answer.
I’m stuck, wanting both things somehow. Feeling curious about where things might go with Fin. But still wanting Diego.
God, this sucks.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Fin gives me that crooked grin. “Let’s do that date thing before we decide. We’ll go for our first official run before the art show. Maybe tomorrow night, after you come to the recording session. I could pick you up at the studio if you have to go to work before I’m done.”
I nod. But something in me is waving out a warning.
ALL MORNING FRIDAY I’m wigging out. I can’t work on my painting to save my life, and the fact that I only have a week to finish it—and that it totally sucks—isn’t helping matters much. I should be thrilled. I’m finally getting what I’ve been looking for all this time. Fin wants me. For more than just sex; for a possible girlfriend. It’s freaking me out more than I can admit to anyone. Actually, I haven’t mentioned it to a soul. Not because I don’t like him, but because I do. A lot. And my track record is not the best when it comes to the male species.
But that’s not the only reason I’m not as thrilled as I should be about Fin’s confession. There’s this twisted thing in my gut, a yearning to call Diego and tell him all about it, my confusion, my fears. A deep ache fills me, realizing I can’t. Because he pushed me away. He doesn’t want me, not as a woman. Not even as a friend—and he made that clear by letting me believe a lie for three years.
It does
n’t matter what I currently feel. He’s decided. I’m not even sure I know who the man is anymore.
I’ll be seeing him tonight. It’s completely nerve-wracking, waiting for the hours to snail by. I haven’t been in the same space with him since the whole couch fiasco. I’m worried I’ll say or do something dumb because I’m so pissed off and hurt.
I need to just start the set-up for the show and leave. I’ll be sure we barely talk . . .
And, there’s that ache again.
I head to the recording studio early, texting Fin that I’m on my way over. Traffic takes a while, anyway. And I need a second to gather my thoughts before going in. I’m supposed to hang with Fin for an hour, watch him do his music thing, then go back to Santa Monica to the art studio to finish up a few things for next Friday night. Diego’s space is closing early so we can finish set-up in the back and I’ll be double checking the guest list to make sure we’ve got all our clients and buyers covered. It’s not much, but I don’t want to just assume there won’t be other things on the to-do list. Then at ten Fin will pick me up. For our date.
Not what I was expecting from the slick Irishman, but it’s kind of nice. Nice and terrifying.
I am so bad at this. What was I thinking saying yes? It’s only going to end in dissatisfaction and tears. What does Einstein say the definition of insanity is? I could have been the man’s case study.
I need to get past this mess inside me from Diego, though, and Fin could be the person to pull me out of this obsession once and for all. He helps me relax. And underneath all the man-whoring, he’s actually a good guy. Of course, that’s the mistake I always make, choosing guys I think might fix my problem somehow.
As much as I hate to admit it, Phoenix was actually right.
I really need to grow up.
The studio is downtown near Capital Records and I have to drive around for almost twenty minutes to find a parking lot with a spot. After I promise my firstborn to the lot-keeper in payment for the space I begin the long walk to the studio wondering why I wore wedges instead of my Converse.
Twisted In You (a Twisted Romance Book 1) Page 12
