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I freeze. “How can you know that? You can’t even see me; you’re under the sink.”
He chuckles, and that sound makes my throat dry and my panties damp. How does this man still affect me like this all these years later?
“That’s true, but I know you. If I had to guess, you were staring out somewhere with a million thoughts going through your head and pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.” He scooches out from under the sink and raises an eyebrow in my direction.
I release my bottom lip and laugh awkwardly, running my thumb over it.
“I rest my case.” He disappears under the sink again. “So what’s on your mind. Talk. I’ve got all day.”
I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear my thoughts—they range from this was such a bad idea to what would it be like to straddle his waist right now while he is halfway under the sink. I could grind against him, exploring the new ridges and muscles that have transitioned his body from a boy to a man over the years.
The clanking sound of wrenches against the pipe and a few curse words from under the sink break me from my fantasy thoughts.
“Still waiting for you to start talking.” He goes quiet for a moment. “It’s just me.”
Exactly, you’r
e you, and I’m me. I sigh heavily. “I’m sorry. I umm, shouldn’t have run out on you like that. I definitely shouldn’t have left my brother’s wedding reception in the middle of it, but it was rude for me to just leave you there on the dance floor.” I fidget with my fingers, picking at the chipped nail polish. “It was just seeing you for the first time in all this time, and then you spun me around in your arms. It just brought up all of these memories, and I wasn’t prepared for how it would make me feel. It was like my head and heart were battling it out.”
Silence fills the kitchen. “All fixed.” He comes back to a sitting position, wiping his hands and a smug smile on his face.
“Go ahead and check it out.” He tilts his head toward the sink.
I hop off the counter and test the sink, and what do you know? The sink is no longer filled with water, and when I turn the faucet on, it drains perfectly. “Thank you,” I try to say calmly, but it comes out more of a squeal.
Finn extends his hand, and I stare at it. “Can you help me up, Lo?” I place my hand in his, and I don’t know if it’s the use of my nickname or my hand in his that has my stomach doing backflips. My lack of upper-body strength has me overexerting myself to help him.
He rises to his feet, although I’m not sure my lack of strength did anything to assist in that. His hand is still in mine, sandwiched between our bodies, and his thumb traces circles on the top of my hand.
I look up at him and find him staring intently at me. My eyes travel down to his lips when he parts them, slightly sucking in a breath.
Would kissing Finn be the worst thing in the world? My head and heart tell me no, but my swollen clit is telling me otherwise.
We continue staring at each other, slowly closing the distance, when Kate’s voice comes from my living room.
“So, I know Dani and Kyler gave us the spare key for emergencies only, but do you think raiding their pantry and liquor cabinet before they get home counts as an emergency?” she says, making her way to the kitchen. I push myself off Finn, with such a force that I fly back into the countertop and grip the edge to find my balance. “By the way, whose truck is out—” She enters the kitchen and notices Finn and me standing now with a greater distance than before. “—side. Oh, hi, Finn.”
“Kate, always nice to see you.” He leans down, beginning to pack up his tools from the floor and the counter.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her attention going back and forth like a pinball machine between Finn and me.
“I, uh, umm, had a clog in the kitchen sink, and I ran into Finn at the hardware store while I was lost among the wrenches. He offered to fix it.” I bite my lip nervously.
Kate crosses her arms and nods.
“You shouldn’t have any more issues with this, Lauren.” Finn stands with his toolbox in hand. It shouldn’t hurt hearing him call me Lauren instead of Lo, yet it somehow does. It’s not the first time he has done it today, but each time is a slow dig. He walks toward the front door, and I ignore the staring from my sister and follow him.
“Thanks again. I’m sure you had better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than this, so I appreciate it.”
“I will always make time for you.”
“Oh.” I swallow thickly when I catch his eyes drifting to my mouth when I made the O shape with my lips. “Well, thanks.”
“You said that already,” he smirks, “but you’re welcome. Anytime. You know I’m great with my hands.” He scrunches his face in disgust, and I blush. Yes, I’m very aware of how great he is with his hands, especially when they are around me, on me, and in me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, no, it’s fine.” I smile.
“I better go, before that one in there”—he points toward the kitchen—“starts wondering what’s taking so long.”
