It wasn’t there in Finn’s words per se, more in his tone, the way he spoke slowly, caressing me with his words letting me know that he really is well and truly mine while we’re in this situation.
ChapterFifteen
FINN
Things are going…well, they’re going, let’s leave it at that. Oakleigh has mostly been quiet which is unlike her, but during the rare moments that she does talk, she thankfully remains civil at the very least.
“How are you liking the food?” I ask in a final attempt to strike up a conversation.
Mickey brought me my usual—steak and fries. Sounds basic, I know, but you haven’t tried Mickey’s. He does something to the fries that makes me want to cry from happiness. For Oakleigh, a pasta that the waiter said he made especially for her. Like the artist that he is, Mickey somehow managed to mix cherries into the dish.
The first time she took a bite, I almost came in my pants like a teenager. The groan she let out was sinful and erotic. There was nothing else to do other than watch her and let the sound drag a shiver down my spine—the pure elation on her face as she savors the taste of her one obsession. I’m selfish enough to currently be imagining ways in which I can make her just as obsessed with me—light kisses and nips along her skin.
“I’m in love,” she moans before taking another bite. Her bites slow as she watches me. When she swallows, she looks down at her plate and then back up at me. “Did you…want to try some?”
I don’t know whether Oakleigh means for it to sound so much like an olive branch, but that’s how I decide to take it. Maybe because I’m so fucking desperate to get a part of her that can see me for the obsessed idiot that I am. Maybe because the thought of Oakleigh feeding me pasta is currently leading to the rather far-fetched thought of me eating her in return.
I tuck my folded arms beneath me as I lean forward, making sure she knows that it’s completely down to her to get me to try it. No intrusive thoughts are stopping me this time, not when I want this too badly.
I let my mouth fall open and her eyes dart to my parted lips, eyebrow lifting in silent contemplation.
She twirls some pasta onto her fork and lifts it to my mouth. I meet her halfway, leaning well over the table so I can wrap my lips around her fork. Tart cherry flirts with the balsamic and the sweet potato on my tongue at the same moment that Oakleigh’s breath hitching reaches my ears. It’s a surreal experience when two senses pair together in perfect harmony at the same time, the way they are now. Like two instruments that play two completely different tunes and end up creating the perfect sound.
The moan that leaves my mouth can easily be due to either of these experiences.
“You like it that much?” Oakleigh asks, her voice rough and low.
I take my time letting my lips drag off the fork, my gaze refusing to leave hers as I sit back down in my seat. “Something like that.”
My skin feels hot, my chest tight.
Oakleigh watches me skeptically, her eyes taking me in and analyzing me with calculated curiosity. I open my mouth to ask her what’s going on; why, all of a sudden, she finds me so unbelievably interesting. But instead I stay silent. I watch her watch me, my curiosity matching hers. I’ve never seen this expression on her face when looking at me before, and the craving for something new and unrecognizable from her grips at me like a rubber band cutting off the blood flow. If I do so much as move my hand, she’s tracking the movement.
She clears her throat abruptly, the sound making her jump.
“Do you—uh…do you think people in town will be satisfied now?”
My heart sinks.
“What?”
She fiddles with everything around her—her napkin, her hair, her fork. “Well, that was the point of this, you know? To make sure that people in town saw us together?”
She’s right and yet that does nothing to stop my stomach from rolling beneath the table. No amount of logical thinking is able to prevent me from feeling like complete and total shit. I mean, what did I think? We’d have one dinner where we manage to avoid arguing and by the end I’d be walking out of here with a real girlfriend and a love declaration?
I used to make fun of my sister for things like this. I used to call her naive and tell her that she was leaving herself open to being taken advantage of. She always used to cross her arms over her chest and tell me that she just refuses to see the negative in everything, that the world isn’t going to feel worth being in if everything in it is dark and cold.
Now, here I am, on a date that—in my head—is as real as the woman I’m on it with, being reminded that it is absolutely nothing of the sort to her. For the first time since Oakleigh and I began this fake relationship, I find my confidence wavering, and my drive to make her see our chemistry is faltering.
Why am I fighting for something that has been so one-sided since the moment we met?
“I—” I clear my throat, watching what’s left of my steak as my appetite slowly dissipates into queasiness. I shift in my seat. “I completely forgot about that.”
“You did?”
I nod solemnly. “I do that sometimes.”
“Forget things?” she asks.
