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“Somehow, I’m more nervous about you standing over me with gloves in this bathroom than I was when we were in the tattoo shop.”
I glance at the open container of purple hair dye and back to where Finn sits shirtless on his toilet. He looks good. A light dusting of hair decorates his toned chest, and I fight to keep my eyes from dipping lower. “Honestly, this is far safer. I’ve used hair dye plenty of times.”
“So what do you do?” he asks. “Just like, put it on there?”
My mouth turns up at one corner, and I dig into the container with one gloved hand, pulling out a glob of purple. “Pretty much. Then we will wait for fifteen minutes and you’ll rinse it out.” I stare at his dark strands of hair, wondering if this is even worth it. “To be transparent, it may not be that different. This stuff is made for brown hair, but yours is pretty dark. It might not be that purple in the end.”
Finn leans back a bit, eyes dancing with humor. “Perfect. I can’t even pay you back because your hair is darker than mine.”
“You have to think things through,” I tease. “You’ve given me the upper hand.”
He sits up, his legs relaxed and apart. Somehow, when I move to stand in between them, what we are doing starts to feel intimate. My stomach is fluttering again, my mind dizzy, and from this angle, I can see the plastic bandage poking out over his shoulder from the tattoo I gave him.
I stop thinking and start running my hands through his hair. Finn holds his eyes steady on mine, and I can’t for the life of me meet that stare–not when my breathing is so shallow.
The longer I spend breathing the same air as Griffin, the more I think the oxygen is laced with hard drugs.
“Why are you letting me do this?” I ask, grabbing more dye and working it through the strands. “Running around andletting me give you tattoos, dye your hair, and force you to weddings you don’t belong at.”
Finn chuckles, casting his eyes downward. “It’s fun,” he offers, but I don’t feel like that’s the full extent of it. I dare a glance, and when he looks up, I can tell that it wasn’t.
“My brother,” he continues. “When he passed away, every holiday–birthday–every event. It all felt—” He pauses, trying to conjure up the right word. “Bigger somehow. Like any single one could be our last time together.” His hands rest on his knees, and I briefly register the warmth radiating off his body. “When I saw your picture pop up and realized the coffee-covered girl from earlier didn’t have anyone to spend her birthday with, I thought I’d jump in and take care of things.”
I focus on his hair, nearly done considering the length. “That’s–” My brow furrows. “That’s sweet.”
“Well, it was that and the fact that you’re very pretty.”
A laugh drags from my throat, and I lean back, keeping my feet firmly planted between his and refusing to talk about what he just confessed to. From the depths of my recent memory, I remember his comment about palming my ass and my cheeks suddenly heat.
I wish he would.
“Should be good to go,” I say, carefully pulling the gloves from my hands, throwing them in the trash, and reaching toward the counter to set a timer on my phone. “Now we just have to wait. Maybe you can tell me more about this tight-knit family of yours. Considering most of what I know about you is a lie from the wedding.”
Finn looks up, and I notice how long his eyelashes are. It’s an insult to all women.
“I have one sister, Skylar. She lives in New York with her partner. She should actually be here on the twenty-fourth for Christmas. We will all be going to my parents' house.”
I’m still standing between his legs, looking at the saturated strands of hair, and not really knowing what to do with myself or my hands. I risk touching him, my body buzzing as I tilt his head to the side, pretending to analyze my handiwork.
“And where do your parents live?” I ask.
“Thirty minutes away. It’s a small town just east of here. They have some good restaurants that way. We could go check them out.”
I pause, my hands still on his cheeks, his newfound stubble scratching beneath my skin as he stares at me. He’s absolutely serious.
“If you needed another two-hundred dollars, Finn, you should have just said so.”
He frowns, brows lowered, that smile disappearing, and I desperately want to bring it back. “It’s not about the money. I just wanted to spend time with you. I spent all the other stuff between the thrift store, the wedding, and your tattoo anyway.”
“How much was the tattoo?”
“A bit more than two-hundred dollars.” His smirk returns, and warmth runs through my chest, pushing out to every limb as I stare at him.
The bathroom is silent aside from the gentle sound of the fan, keeping the dye fumes at bay while we stand and stare at each other like we’ve known one another forever.
When Finn’s lips part, my stomach dips, and I risk moving closer–just a hair before his hands meet the backs of my thighs over the jeans I’m wearing.
Mouths parted, breaths heavy, his eyes dip down to my lips. I think for a moment that maybe hiring someone to plan my birthday wasn’t that pitiful after all. He hasn’t made me feel that way, at least.
