“Then do it.”
Her head snaps up. “What?”
“Do it.” I take a satisfying sip of my drink. “If you think you’re in the wrong—which I’m sensing you do—then apologize.”
She sends me her meanest glare. “You’re going the right way for an ass-kicking.”
“I wouldn’t. Since we started dating, I just see that as foreplay.”
She reacts perfectly—thrown off-guard by my impromptu flirting, her mouth remains open, any words that were to, I think, be cutting in some way, dying before they can even leave her mouth. The only time she closes it is to swallow the words.
“This feels right,” I say as I reach across and grab her glass, refilling it and placing it back in front of her. “This feels like us.”
She surprises me by laughing; a light sound that fills the room and makes it brighter. I’ve only ever heard Oakleigh’s laugh when it’s directed at those around me. Usually, my presence or acknowledgment cuts it off there and then. Hearing it float my way knowing it was caused by me is something entirely indescribable. It’s the fruition of years of dreaming and yearning and wanting, and for once it ismine.
“Do that again,” I say.
She smiles softly while playing with the ends of her hair.
“Laugh again.” I sound demanding, desperate.
“Why?”
“Because it’s one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard.”
Okay, Finn, good job coming on strong. There’s a gradual stream and then there’s me—a burst of water that comes from a broken dam. Fifteen years of keeping my feelings in check and suddenly one week without her and I’m an open book.
In a hopeless attempt to gain back some control, I try to revert back to our old ways.
“Try not to screw it up tomorrow, will you, Michaels?”
It’s exactly what is needed, because almost on instinct, Oakleigh’s spine straightens and that defiant eyebrow raises. “Me? Why don’t you try not blubbering the truth to everyone like you did about the tennis incident.”
“Why do you always bring that up?”
“Because you…”
We argue like this for ages, the two of us back in our natural swing of things, and while it is nothing but disputes and petty provocations, the entire thing has a new foundation of innuendos and lighthearted teasing.
ChapterTwenty
OAKLEIGH
“Idon’t think I can do this.”
I hold my stomach in the passenger seat as if I’m going to be sick. I know I look queasy, and I know it’s not down to Finn’s driving.
“It’s going to be okay,” Finn assures me. “We just have to be ourselves.”
“We hate each other,” I say, a hint of my usual sarcasm returning.
Finn’s foot pretty much slams on the brake. It’s a good thing there’s no one behind us. I whip my hand out and stop myself flying into the dashboard.
“What thefuck, Finley?”
The car remains in the middle of the lane, and Finn remains silent, his voice stolen by something in the air.
“You…you hate me?” Finn asks, voice quiet and…wounded.
