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T W E N T Y S E V E N
- Maeve -
Finn was still sleeping when I woke up, and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw his strong back the moment I opened my eyes. Whose life is this, I thought. Because it wasn’t mine.
I was panty-less in an oversized Bob Marley T-shirt, strangely conscious of the area between my legs, the area where so many parts of the man lying beside me had been. No wonder women lost their minds over musicians. He’d pleasured me like there was nothing to it, like he could’ve done it blindfolded while playing “Wonderwall.”
But he wasn’t the only one who was surprised by how much I’d enjoyed myself. Not that I didn’t usually enjoy sex. I was just used to asking for what I wanted, either aloud or by not so subtly repositioning my partner’s hand. But Finn was a step ahead of me the whole time, conducting my pleasure like a skilled maestro.
I scooted up to a seated position slowly, smiling when I saw Otis raise his butterscotch brows from his curled position at the end of the bed. The room was still quite dark, but there was enough light peeking around the thick curtains that I was able to find my way to the bathroom.
I tiptoed over, shut myself inside, and studied my goofy expression in the mirror. I looked drunk. I wasn’t. If anything, I was feeling surprisingly rested considering I hadn’t slept in my own bed. My hair was a disaster, though. I could tell Finn liked it down, so I’d left it that way, but now I had a brunette bird's nest fit for a flock of gulls. My smudged eyeliner only added to the look, and his T-shirt cut across the top of my thighs, hanging just low enough to cover my private parts.
I peed and washed my hands before gently wiping the smudges under my eyes, thinking I hadn’t appeared this unhinged since college.
“Hey Maeve?” Finn asked through the door.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a basket of toiletries in the linen closet. You might find a toothbrush in there, if luck’s on your side.”
“Thanks,” I said, spinning around before I could pinch myself. Sure enough, right between two shelves of light blue towels, there was a small basket filled with an array of tiny hotel soaps, individually packaged Q-Tips, and the odd shoe polishing kit. Finn hadn’t struck me as the kind of guy who would hoard hotel freebies, but I was undeniably charmed by his casual hosting style. Then again, maybe he was used to having overnight guests.
My stomach dropped at the thought, and I hated myself for being so naïve. Just because I thought last night was special didn’t mean it was anything out of the ordinary for him. He was a happy bachelor and skilled songwriter. Of course he’d said all the right things. Making women feel desirable was probably both his greatest skill and curse in this life.
“I left a pair of pajama pants on the bed, too.”
I jumped, not realizing he was still outside the door.
“I’m not saying you have to put them on, but the dress you wore last night is a bit formal for breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. I squeezed some toothpaste onto the cheap plastic toothbrush he got from Hotel Madrid, wherever that was. Madrid probably? Whatever. My brain was mush, and HE HAD A FRESH TOOTHBRUSH FOR ME?!
The blinds were partially drawn when I opened the bathroom door, and I could hear Finn making noise in the kitchen as I stared at the striped pajama pants on the bed. Was it crazy to put his pants on? The shirt was one thing, but his pants? Despite everything that happened last night, it seemed too intimate somehow. Then again, I was in no hurry to put my dress back on.
If my siblings could see me now,I thought as I pulled the pants on and tightened the drawstrings. The ends nearly covered my feet in their entirety, and I had to roll them up so they wouldn’t drag on the floor. Christ. Right when I thought my look couldn’t be improved, enter railroad conductor pants.
My urge to snoop was strong, and it was worsened by how tidy he was. It was easy to be nosy when people left their business everywhere, but all Finn’s crap was tucked away. Like he was hiding something. Surely, no one could be this relaxed and sexy and organized at the same time. But if he was a serial killer, why make me breakfast?
“Morning,” I said, wandering towards the kitchen.
“Morning.” He glanced over his shoulder at me before turning his attention back to the silver mixing bowl in his arms, which held something he was stirring with a wooden spoon.
My eyes fixated first on his thick forearms before drifting over his white T-shirt and down his grey sweatpants. “What are you making?” I asked, when I was done checking him out.
He nodded towards the waffle iron shining on the counter.
“I see,” I said, stopping on the far side of the butcher block. “Do you always make waffles after sleepovers?”
“No,” he said, setting the bowl down. “But if this goes well, I might start.”
I cocked a brow.
“I’ve only had the thing since Christmas, though, and I haven’t tested it yet so…apologies in advance if this is a disaster.”
“In that case, I suppose I feel less bad about you going to so much trouble.”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” he said. “It’s not like I made the batter from scratch.”
