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I down my sandwich and then trudge upstairs ready to hit the sack. Yeah, I know. It’s barely ten o’clock on a Friday night and I’m going to bed. But sleep is important to maintain my killer physique. Muscles like mine need proper rest. Don’t get me wrong, if Chloe were here I’d be all over her, exercising one particular muscle to great length and sleeping later.
A solid eight hours will do me good, though.
And a run tomorrow morning before Dwayne shows up to kick my ass.
Then before I know it, the hot blonde I’m in love with will be back in my arms. I fall asleep to the surety of our impending reunion.
Big mistake.
Chapter Twenty-Two
#DownForTheCount
Finn
“Dude, you’re scowlingso hard your face is gonna get stuck,” Giancarlo says to me. “And what good do you think it’s doing, anyway? Clemons can’t see it. Only me and Mike can, and it’s messing with our vibe, so knock it off.”
He’s right. Glaring at an Instagram picture of Clemons and Chloe on my phone isn’t accomplishing anything. It’s Thursday night, there’s a hockey game on my big-screen TV, and my two teammates are here to enjoy themselves. (Although they were highly amused when I grumbled about the injustice of the Chloe-Clemons situation.)
I place the phone on the coffee table and slide it out of reach.
“Was that so hard, smiley face?” Mike asks.
I dial back my irritation. It isn’t Mike or Giancarlo’s fault Chloe got assigned to a project with Clemons. “Nope. Who wants another beer?”
They both do, so I grab three bottles out of the fridge. Another plate of Sylvie’s homemade tamales too.
I can’t remember the last time I was drunk, but tonight seems like a good idea. I’m pining for a girl whose left me one measly message in the past five days, and it pisses me off that I’m letting it get to me. It’s not like I won’t see her again. And I’m genuinely happy she’s doing work she’s excited about. But seeing her smile alongside Clemons’s smug grin is like a fastball to the solar plexus. I can’t breathe, the wind completely knocked out of me.
I replay her message in my mind. She called when I was in the shower on Saturday morning.
“Hi, Finn. Sorry I missed you. I’m sure you’ll hear from Rena, but I’ll be out of town for the next week on a special MLB project. I’m super excited about it as it’s been a dream of mine to work directly for them. So, I guess I’ll see you next year. Crazy, huh? Take care. Bye.”
Take careis something you say to an acquaintance, not the man who’s been balls deep inside you.
After leaving her a couple of voice messages, I gave up. Those times I’ve said I go after what I want until I get it? I’m not feeling it so much anymore. I’ve got my pride and I get the sense Chloe is pushing me away. I’m not sure of her reasons, and that doesn’t sit well with me, but that makes her reticence even more bothersome. Confusion isn’t a color I like to wear. She’s been hot and cold with me from the start, though, hasn’t she? Not to be cruel. To protect herself. And I get it. I did the same as a teenager to keep my dyslexia a secret, and I still do it now on occasion.
“Yes!” Giancarlo shouts, snagging my attention.
The Kings have scored a goal to take the lead three to two with ten minutes left in the third period. The crowd goes crazy. Los Angeles fans are the best. I bring my beer to my mouth as the game goes to commercial.
“Oh, hey, I’m supposed to invite you to dinner at our house next weekend,” Mike says to me. “Layla wants to set you up with another friend of hers.”
Giancarlo throws the last bite of his tamale at him. “Hey, why doesn’t she ever set me up?”
Mike catches the piece of tamale with ease and pops it in his mouth. “Because you’re all about ‘variety is the spice life’ shit, and Lay wants to see all her friends married.”
“Ah. True.” He settles back into the couch, while I choke down my drink.
Mike slaps me on the back. “Was it something I said?”
He damn well knows it is. The last time Layla set me up with one of her friends, the woman had our wedding planned before we’d finished dinner.
“Not interested,” I rasp.
“Swear to God this girl’s different. She’s an investment banker. Owns her own home. Runs half marathons and eats tofu. Interestingly, she said the same thing when Lay brought up your name.”
I didn’t see that coming. “No shit?”
