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“God, I… I wish I could believe you.” My voice breaks.
Finn doesn’t waste a second tilting my chin up.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I deny him the eye contact he seeks.
“Dia, lookat me.” He presses his forehead to mine, his request evolving into a plea. “Please.”
I surrender and allow our eyes to meet in the darkness of the supply closet. He cups my face with both hands, as if to carve his speech into my brain. “From the moment I kissed you, it was over.”
A tidal wave of memories crashes into me. Our first kiss is still so fresh, so vivid in my mind. It happened in his dad’s wine cellar last summer. Finn had just caught me eavesdropping on him and his friends.
“One kiss,” he breathes out. “Just one kiss and I knew… no one stood a chance.”
Fear grips my insides when the ice walls I built around my heart begin to crack.
To melt.
I’m letting him in.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Dia, I swear on my mom’s life, I haven’t talked, touched, or even looked at another girl since that night.”
I pause.
“And your car? Remy must’ve been pretty damn special for you to name your car after her.”
“I didn’t name it after her,” Finn says matter-of-factly.
Confusion overwhelms me.
“But Theo said—”
“Theo’s wrong,” he cuts me off. “Think about it. Have you ever heard me refer to my car as Remy?”
I rack my brain, combing through every moment we ever spent together, only to come up empty. Truth is, I’ve never heard Finn refer to his car as Remy in the time that I’ve known him.
“Why would Theo think that?”
Finn sighs. “It started a year ago. When the guys and I got wasted after a game. We were making fun of Axel for calling his cock ‘The General.’ We wound up naming a bunch of shit like our favorite basketballs and our jerseys. Then we named our cars. I said the first name that popped into my head.”
“And the first name in your head was Remy?”
“Yes, but only because Remy is the one who got me the car. Well, technically, she found it, and we stole it together.”
Wait, they stole it?
“I never called my car Remy after that, but for some reason, it just stuck. I didn’t bother correcting the guys.”
So, he didn’t call his car Remy. Good to know she wasn’t some epic love he never got over. Although it begs the question: who was Remy to him?
“Who was she?” I’m afraid of the answer. “Remy, I mean. What’s the story there?”
“She was my friend,” he exhales. “At first.”
I flinch.
