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"Is this where you get pissed I called your theory wrong, so you wait for me to go up a few stairs, then yank me back down, so I bash my head against the cement floor, and die?" he asked, smirking.
"I mean I totally have a big enough supply of peroxide to destroy the hemoglobin," I said, giving him a smirk right back. "But no. You go first, so I don't end up dead on the floor."
"If you thought I was going to hurt you, why would you let me in the house?" he asked, half turning back, pinning me with that light green gaze.
"It's got to be your awesome beard. I'm struck dumb by it, clearly," I said, then watched, utterly charmed, as a slight blush tinged his cheeks. A blush. On a full-grown-assed-man.
He seemed to feel the heat, though, and cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. "Beards do it for you, huh?" he asked.
"Pretty green eyes with a secret sadness might factor in, too," I added, not caring how obvious I was being.
"Secret sadness," he repeated, tone a bit more guarded.
"Just saying, I showed you my crazy. Maybe some day you can show me the sadness," I suggested. "Now up," I demanded, waving toward the stairs.
"Okay, you take the couch," I told him, watching as he whipped around to face me in the foyer.
"What?"
"Yeah, sorry, slick. I'm into you, but I'm not quite ready to have you in me," I said, mainly because I wanted to see that blush again. I wasn't disappointed, either. "You look as tired as I feel. And you can't drive like that," I explained. "Take a nap. If you want to see yourself out after that, go ahead. But I don't want you wrapping yourself around a tree because you passed out at the wheel. I'll get you a pillow and blanket," I told him, putting my coffee cup down on the mail table before making my way up the stairs toward my filming room, going into the closet, and grabbing him some linens.
I didn't usually have overnight male guests who didn't sleep in a bed with me. But one look at him said there was no way the man was up for some bed tumbling. And, to be fair, I was just tired enough that I wouldn't enjoy it as much as I wanted to.
So he could take the couch.
I could take my bed.
And then maybe after we got some sleep, we could have some fun morning sex.
I mean, that was what he was here for, right? Men didn't actually come over in the middle of the night to check out a case you were working on. They came over on the off-chance they might get lucky.
"Alright, I got... ugh, sorry," I said, stopping in the living room, hearing the neighbor playing his guitar. "He will be at that for a good twenty minutes before you start hearing the moaning," I told Finn, handing him the blanket and pillows. "Feel free to put the TV on to drown in out," I told him, walking back toward the front door, checking the locks, then heading to the sliding door, slipping the piece of wood into the track.
"No one is going to get to you with me here," he told me. It was a throw-away comment. Practically every guy I'd known said something like that to me when they saw me going around checking my locks and windows. But there was a fierceness in Finn's tone that made me swallow the comment I usually tossed back at guys who thought I needed them to protect me.
"Well, that is good. I kind of sleep like the dead. I am always paranoid about that," I admitted.
"You're safe," he said. A promise. A vow, even.
And even though I had no reason at all to believe him, I did.
"Goodnight, Finn," I said, giving him a small smile.
"Goodnight," he said.
Maybe it should have been weird to me right then that he hadn't started to get himself ready for bed, at least put the pillow and blanket down. He just stood there, holding them, and standing in the middle of the living room.
It wasn't until I stumbled out of bed a few hours later, bleary-eyed and in desperate need for coffee, that I realized why he hadn't gotten situated.
Because, apparently, my couch was filthy.
As was the rest of my house.
I didn't notice anything strange at first, but as soon as my feet hit the stairs, and found the carpet wet under my feet, I was shocked fully awake, worried the roof was leaking or something.
But then there I saw Finn, perched on a foldable metal step ladder that I did not own, wiping the grates of my return vent with a rag.
"Jesus Christ," I said, shaking my head. "It is too early for weird shit," I declared.
