Molly’s stomach clenched. No, ma’am, they did not. But she didn’t say it out loud. Would either of them care? The sex was decent, she wasn’t looking for strings… isn’t that what every college guy wanted?
“You know I love you.”
Here it comes. Buuuuuut?
“And I’m not slut-shaming you either, so don’t even go there. But I’m worried about you.” Cleo crossed the room and sat on the edge of Molly’s bed, tugging the quilt back from her face. “You’re a free spirit and love sex, sure. But this… eh… extreme? This isn’t like you.”
She wanted to defend herself, to deny that it was out of the norm for her, but Cleo was right, it wasn’t like Molly. Her feelings for Finn had gotten so scary big in her chest that she hadn’t known what to do with them. So instead of facing them, or God forbid, actually dealing with them, she’d decided to ignore them and instead fuck damn near anything with a pulse.
Was she proud of herself? Hell no. But she’d had some pretty good orgasms lately which almost made it worth the reputation – though it did little to sate the desire to ride Finn O’Brien until his dick didn’t work anymore.
She sighed. It didn’t matter what she did or didn’t do, women who loved their bodies, who owned their sexuality, often got branded as hos and sluts. She’d been labeled when she started burlesque dancing, and it hadn’t gone away. She leaned into it as she grew older, owning it, shrouding herself in it like it could somehow protect her.
“You know I’m here for you, right?” Cleo’s persistence warmed her heart.
Molly nodded.
“And you know this is a judgment free zone?”
Another nod.
“When you’re ready to talk about him, I’ll be here, okay?”
Another nod. Molly hadn’t yet come out and admitted her Finn-Feels to Cleo, but Cleo knew, and Molly knew Cleo knew that Molly knew. There was a lot of knowing, but not a lot of speaking.
If Molly spoke, there was a chance the wind would carry her words right to her big brother’s door, and she could lose them both. Taking a chance that Finn might want to kiss her the way she ached to kiss him, wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t lose either of them, never mind both.
Chapter 5
Finnegan
On any normal day, there was something Finn loved about being up before the sun and just getting shit done. It was freeing. But he’d had nightmares every night for the week since he’d been at dinner at Casa Morrison. His body was heavy, and his muscles ached from the overworking he’d been giving them. If nothing else, at least his liver was fine.
Though the lure of drowning out his pain with liquor was strong, having a piece of shit, alcoholic father made him question every drop that passed his lips. The fear of becoming anything like the man who beat him for years was enough of a deterrent to finding peace at the bottom of a bottle.
It was 6.30 on the morning of Liam’s anniversary. Finn had barely slept. Lying in bed with a hand tucked under his head, he stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure when he’d last consumed a meal that wasn’t cereal, and that “something has died” smell permeating the room was probably him. He hadn’t showered for two days. His phone chimed from the nightstand.
MoMo:You doing okay?
Molly was anything but a morning person, which meant she’d been out with someone the night before and wanted company on her walk of shame. Something bitter stirred in his stomach.
Finn:Is the apocalypse coming? Have the zombies arrived? WTF are you doing awake?
MoMo:I get up early sometimes.
Finn:Good night?
MoMo:Totes. ChoCho and I devoured a few pints in front of some chick flicks after a very healthy dinner of bacon cheese fries.
Huh. So it wasn’t a hot date with steamy, wild sex all night.
Finn:With ranch?
MoMo:Always ranch.
MoMo:You didn’t answer my question, Finnegan.
Few people used his Sunday name, he didn’t let them. But Molly… she could call him whatever the fuck she wanted and he’d answer.
