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Finn inches his nose closer, matching me at eye level. Those irises of his dance with emerald fire and violence.
“You gave up on this dream a long time ago. Remember?” he mocks bearishly.
Those hazel eyes watch my every fluctuation, my every gulp, as he continues looming over me with coiled muscles and a temper begging to rise to the surface.
I have to fight to look anywhere but his face.
“Things are different now,” I remind him through gritted teeth. Doing my absolute best not to slap that smug expression right off his too-handsome face.
Overconfident and unpleasant, what a combination.
“Didn’t change your mind the first time.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Couldn’t keep you here.”
My lips part on a gasp. He might as well have smacked a hand across my face with that low blow.
The veins in his forearm flex with the strain between us.
Tension radiates, fizzling like a firework that could go off any moment. The anticipation builds, unnerving me the longer we continue in our silent standoff.
Finn licks at his lips, eyes darkening with mischief like he can’t help himself as those lashes of his lower. Glued, they’re now stuck to that spot below my nose.
My pulse skyrockets, thumping deep and strong.
When it feels as if I can’t take it anymore, they flick back up and it’s as if the trance he’d had me in is gone and I can finally breathe again.
Barely.
Pushing, he grounds his weight, shoving off the doorframe like he’d been stung. His chin a straight line as it shoves to the side.
“Go home, Hailey. You don’t belong here anymore.” His tone as dead as his features. “You aren’t welcome.”
“We need to talk,” I iterate, stubbornly shoving my hand in the doorway to thwart his mission of slamming it closed.
Finn’s tongue rams his teeth. “Why’s your face red?”
More heat rises past the collar of my shirt. He’s deflecting.
“It’s flushed.” The strength I have inside springs from nothing. “It’s summer. It’s hot out.”
A heinous bark of a noise erupts. “Sure.That’sthe reason.”
My nostrils flare. When did he become this person? This isn’t the Finn I remember. That Finn was carefree, funny, and had more charming energy than a bunny.
I haven’t been oblivious to this edge he’s had. I’m like a chip on his shoulder he can’t get rid of.
Only now, I spot the hints that he isn’t working at full capacity. Dark circles under his lower lashes, the squinted repulsion toward the sunshine. Is this the reason he leaned his weight on the doorframe earlier?
Was it not a play of power but because he couldn’t hold himself upright without?
Finn’s either exhausted, dehydrated, or hungover. Possibly all three?
My analysis is cut short as soon as I hear the creak of a step. My hearing abilities intensified after becoming a mother.
This invisible overripe atmosphere is magnified the second I spot a pair of manicured hands attached to a female’s body on the handrail. A pair of too-thin legs follow, traveling down the length of the stairs beside us.
I spot the pair of strappy heels dangling from the tips of her fingers once she reaches the bottom.
“Thanks for the fun last night,” she coos, arching the tips of her feet. What’s left of her lipstick smacks, becoming permanent on his cheek. “Tootles, cutie.”
