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Twining his fingers with mine, he kisses my knuckles.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, and I know what he means.
This is perfect. We‘re perfect together.
And when he grins and says, “How about that dessert?” there’s no doubt.
“Pizza, beer, sex, and dessert? Linc, it’s meant to be.”
He laughs as he rolls on top of me and tickles me again. “That’s just what I was thinking.”
I smile.
Yes.
Perfect.
Avery & Finn
Avery
Yet another stack of fliers almost done. I sigh, pushing my hair back off my forehead and step back to look at my work. Multi-colored pieces of paper line the walls of the 59th and Lex station, yet hardly anyone is paying attention. This is the third train stop I’ve canvased today, and I’m starting to feel like the effort is futile.
Fucking Finn Turner.
Thinks he’s a damn king and can do whatever he wants. Well, not if I have anything to say about it. And with any luck, the citizens of New York.
I mean, who the hell thinks they can just shut down the whole MTA? Seriously. He’s got to be the biggest narcissist ever. Spinning around, I catch a flash of reddish-brown hair sticking out above the crowd as the 6 Train pulls into the station, the speeding cars kicking up a breeze that scatters some of the fliers I’ve just worked so hard to tack to the wall in protest.
No way. My eyes narrow as I follow the tall man weaving his way through the crowd of morning commuters.
The man himself, the one I’ve basically declared my mortal enemy, is actually lowering himself to join the masses on the subway? I wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t standing right there.
But yep. He turns around, and I see him straight on. Definitely Finn.
Grinding my teeth, I stride across the terminal, one goal at the front of my mind—to give him a piece of it.
But the crowd surges forward onto the waiting cars, and for a minute I lose sight of him. I push my way forward when I catch another glimpse of him, determined to get on that train.
I make it inside just as the doors start to slide shut. Scanning the crowded car, I spot him back and to the right.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, elbowing my way throw the tight space, ignoring the glares and grumbles passengers toss my way. I couldn’t care less what they say.
Then I’m there in front of him. Not knowing what to say. A little taken aback by the intimidating presence before. He’s way more captivating in the flesh. Not nearly as steely as the images I’ve seen in the media. But just as forbidding. Commanding. Sucking up all the air around him in a way that dominates everyone and everything around him.
Cocky bastard.
Steeling myself against the totally unexpected way my breath catches and my stomach flips, I thrust the rest of the fliers I’m holding up into his face.
“You think you’re going to get away with this?” I demand.
He arches a brow, cool and calm and oh-so-arrogant. I want to wipe the smugness right of his perfect face. Almost as much as I want to kiss it.
What the hell? I shove that aside, not sure where it came from. This man in his fancy designer suit and over-priced haircut, flashing perfect white teeth at me, is not going to deter me.
“You’re not,” I seethe. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Finn chuckles, a low rumble working its way through me in a way I don’t like in the least. He takes a flier from me and studies it, then his eyes meet mine, suddenly full of anger as he jabs his finger at the words. “You’re responsible for this?”
