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“Disgusting,” I mutter, but feel something move through me. Lust. Need.
Yeah, this is hot. He’s so hot.
He pushes himself up and that’s when I hear it, the buzzing of his phone from his pants pocket. I glance down at it and wonder if it’s Archer texting him.
Wondering if Finn is going to answer it.
But he doesn’t. No, the phone stays tucked away in his pants, ignored.
Archer is ignored.
Because Finn has me now.
Motherfucking me.
fourteen
SIX YEARS AGO
FINN
Fuck,I hate coming home. I’d much rather be at the Lewis’ house where I feel like I have a family. Where I feel welcomed and alive.
“Is he home?” Landon asks, his eyes wandering around the space. It’s not a large place, but since my mom died when I was four, it’s just been Dad and me, and we don’t need much.
The size of the place isn’t the issue, though; it’s how barren it is. It’s just four walls and a roof. There is nothing personal hanging up or decorating the surfaces, despite us living here for the past two years. It’s plain and empty.
But to be honest, I don’t really care. I’m just glad we haven’t had to move again, and that my dad seems content with us staying here for the time being. I never expected to spend my sixteenth birthday in this town, but fuck, I’m glad I did.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop though. Anxiously. It lingers in the back of my mind like a ghost. It’s all goingtoowell. Something has to give.
I glance over at Landon who is pressed up against me, his lips pulled between his teeth.
God, I don’t want to leave him. It would kill me.
Please don’t make me leave.
“I just have to grab some clothes,” I say, planning on spending the weekend with Landon and Logan. It’s what I do most days anyway. My dad doesn’t really seem to care where I am, as long as I check in with him.
And he’s met the Lewis’. He likes them.
Thank god.
I move to my bedroom. It’s as basic as the rest of the space. I still have unpacked boxes sitting in a corner.
Landon flops down on my bed, the bottom of his shirt riding up his stomach, exposing some of his skin. I wrench my gaze away and grab my duffle bag and begin stuffing it with clothes.
“So, I’m thinking we go to the movies Saturday and then the Boardwalk Sunday…” he says and stretches up a little farther, exposing more of his stomach and that small happy trail.
I’ve dreamt of tracing it with my finger, of dipping below the waistband of his jeans…
I shake those thoughts away as I zip up my duffle bag.
There is no way that will happen. He’s not into guys. And he’s definitely not into me.
This is an unrequited love.
I will forever be wanting him, it seems.
