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Xavier scoffs. “Says the jackass who has none.”
“I have hobbies,” Finn disagrees.
“Jacking off to pictures of your house sitter isn’t a hobby,” Xavier fires back, and the three of them laugh.
I know he’s kidding, but heat explodes in my stomach just thinking about it. Images flood my mind. I see Finn shirtless, lying in bed in the dark, his jaw clenched as he fists his—
“Out. Both of you.” Finn snaps me out of it, and the boys oblige.
I stiffen up when they exit the wine cellar one by one. The soft creaking of the stairs fills my ears, along with Axel bitching about “not being able to see shit.” Then the door at the top of the stairs closes.
There isn’t a sound to be heard in the pitch-black basement.
My alarmingly fast heartbeat declines, and I release a deep breath of relief. Finn said he was tired, meaning he’s probably off to bed. All that’s left for me to do is sneak up to my bedroom and pretend this never happen—
“What the fuck?”
I’d recognize his gravelly voice anywhere.
No.
This is all in my head.
Finn can’t be here.
He can’t be right in front of me.
But he is.
He’s standing a few steps away from me, the outline of his broad frame all I can see. Not that I need to see his expression to know he’s about to rip me a new one.
“So, what? You’re fucking spyingon me now?” he snarls inches away from my face.
“What? N-No,” I begin to say, but Finn interrupts me, smacking his palm over my mouth to shut me up. Next thing I know, he’s captured my forearm and hauled me into the wine cellar.
I shriek when he traps me against one of the wine racks, his hard chest meshing so closely with mine that I can feel his body heat enveloping the skin my top doesn’t cover.
The small window in the wine cellar emits just enough moonlight for me to distinguish his disarming hazel eyes. I understand when he points to the ceiling with his other hand—more precisely, to the floor above our heads—that he’s waiting for something.
We stay in this position, his torso flush with mine, his palm over my mouth, until we hear the front door slam in the distance. That seems to be Finn’s cue because he backs away, robbing me of a warmth I ache for instantly.
I’m quick to understand he was waiting for his buddies to leave before raining hell down on me.
How thoughtful.
“You have five seconds to explain yourself.” He folds his tattooed arms over his chest.
“I… I heard voices and came down to check,” I improvise.
An angry scoff leaves his throat.
He’s not buying it, but he doesn’t argue.
“How much did you hear?” he asks.
It’s a simple question, but secrets and lies plague every word. I see it in his eyes. He’s hoping I didn’t hear about what he did to get my stuff back. Hoping to keep up the charade a little while longer.
“Everything,” I admit.
