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“Thanks,Dad,” she teased, feeling sad at the thought of her own dad.
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t,” she insisted. “Because what you’re saying is ridiculous. What? I’m too good for you? You have your own apartment. You have a job. You took care of me when I was just a stranger. You’ve offered to let me stay here despite the fact that I’m stillbasicallya stranger. What part of you is bad?”
“I didn’t say I was bad,” he said quickly. “I’m not a bad guy.”
“I know that.”
“It’s just…I’m not stable. I’m not the best choice for you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I was. I want to be selfish, but you deserve more than that.”
“I decide what I deserve, Finn,” she told him, poking his chest with her finger. “No one else.”
“Look, all I’m saying is that if you want happily ever after, you should choose someone else. I’m not that guy.”
She nodded, her throat tight. “Fair enough.”
“So, do you still want to go out, or…”
“Doyoustill want to?”
He smirked. “I’m starving.”
“Okay, then.” She stood, watching as his expression filled with relief and he turned around, pulling open the door. When she drew close to him, he reached for her arm, stopping her before she passed through the door. She looked to her right, staring into his dark eyes as a fire lit in her belly. His lips parted slightly, his eyes darting between hers.
“Blythe, I—”
“Yeah?” she asked when he didn’t finish his sentence right away.
“I do want to be an option,” he said firmly. “I may be the wrong one. But I’ll hate myself if I don’t at least say that I want to be in the running.”
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his without warning. “Keep it up, and you may just be in the lead.”
Chapter Eleven
The next day, Blythe laid on the couch wearing Finn’s sweatpants and T-shirt. At the end of their date, he’d offered them to her, and though she had her own, she felt extra safe wearing his. There’d been a few more kisses, though nothing serious despite their amazing night. He was holding her at arm’s length, and she couldn’t for the life of her understand why.
A knock on the door startled her, and she sat up straight, looking around the empty apartment. Finn had just run out to get them breakfast from a cafe across the street, but she wasn’t sure why he’d be knocking. The knock came again, this time louder, and she stood, walking toward the door slowly.
“Finn—open the damn door!” called a gruff voice. She jumped back, bumping into the stool behind his kitchen island and knocking it over. “Damn it! I can hear you in there!” the voice called again, pounding on the door for a third time.
“Sorry!” she called, approaching the door and staring out through the peephole. “I’m sorry. Finn isn’t here right now.”
“Like hell he isn’t.”
“No, he’s really not.” She stared at the man through the blurred glass, taking in his bulky form, his long white beard, and the leather vest on his muscled shoulders. He snarled his lips at her, though she knew he couldn’t see her.
“Where is he, then?” he asked.
“He went to get breakfast. He’ll be back. I can tell him you stopped by.”
“No. I’ll wait,” he said angrily. “Are you going to let me in or what?” His fist collided with the wood of the door, shaking it in the frame.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m—”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Finn’s voice shocked them both as it climbed the stairwell. She tried hard to find him in the small line of vision the peephole allowed her.
