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“It’s not gonna happen, Lot,” I insisted for what felt like the fiftieth time.
Even as I insisted that, though, my phone chimed from the counter, making me pop up to check it. Albeit at a slower pace than I really wanted to.
I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, just waiting for the boy to text.
“It’s Andrew,” I flat-out lied to them as I saw Finn’s name on the screen.
Okay. These are all great. Now, you have anything that is a little more hopeful?
Hopeful.
Could that mean that all the depression tracks helped to exorcise some of his demons, and he was now searching for something more positive?
Or was I overthinking this?
Probably.
I don’t know what the fuck was wrong with me.
I never thought of men obsessively. Not even ones I was actually involved with.
I was going to go ahead and blame my brain injury.
It was the only thing that made sense.
“I’m going to go shower,” I declared as Lottie plied Perish with questions.
“You can’t get your stitches wet for another day,” Lottie reminded me.
“I know,” I grumbled.
I wasn’t someone who went a long time between hair washes. I once fell victim to the idea that I could “train” the grease out of my hair. A year of looking like an oil slick never made a lick of difference. So I was a ‘wash your hair every day’ sort of girl. And I just used some quality conditioner to make up for the drying. So going forty-eight ‘or more if you can’ without washing my hair made me feel gross.
At least there was no reason I couldn’t wash my body, though.
I sat on the end of my bed for half an hour before I got in, though, shooting off songs to Finn that I thought might be the right kind of hopeful without being cheesy or full of toxic positivity.
Then in the shower, hair tucked under a cap, the water washing over me, where did my mind go?
To the couch.
To his lips on me.
To what might have happened if Lottie hadn’t chosen that exact moment to burst in.
Ugh.
Fine.
Some part of me, even a large part of me, wanted to get Finn both over and under me.
And since that was never going to happen, I needed to get the hell over it already.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Finn
“Weren’t you supposed to go through the ‘lying in bed all day listening to music’ phase in your teens, not your thirties?” Fallon asked from the doorway of my room, making me jerk at the sudden interruption.
“Christ. The fuck do you want?” I asked, pulling my headphones down around my neck.
“You know what the kids are calling this these days?” he asked, waving at me in the bed.
“That when you start using phrases like ‘the kids are calling this’ means you’re getting old as fuck?” I asked, watching as his eyes brightened before a smirk tugged at his lips.
“That’s probably fucking true,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We aren’t young and stupid anymore, huh?”
“Speak for yourself. I’m not the old married man with a litter. What are they calling it?” I asked, though, some part of me giving a shit about the phrases that younger people were using, even if I knew having previously been a younger person, that me trying to use it would make them roll their eyes. Look at this old guy trying to talk like us.
“Rotting,” he said.
“That’s… amazing,” I decided. “Kinda pissed we didn’t think of that. “Pretty sure we just called it hanging out.”
“And our parents called it being lazy fucks,” Fallon agreed. “So, if you’re about done rotting in bed for the past few days, you wanna do me a favor?”
“Depends on the kind,” I said, getting a chuckle out of him.
“I have a very fucking illegal gun I need delivered to someone. It was custom made from that chick who is with one of the Shady Valley guys. Huck had West bring it back up after he went to visit. But I need someone to do the final drop.”
“And you want me to do it?” I asked, brows raised.
“Who am I gonna send? Sully? He’d get distracted by a skirt and follow his dick all around town instead of doing the drop for a gun worth over a hundred grand.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah. So get your ass up and meet me in the garage. Time to earn your keep.”
“Says the man who hasn’t done a drop in, what, three years?”
“Perks of being the man in charge,” he said, shrugging.
“What?” I asked when he went to leave, then turned back to look at me for a second.
“Just… this is the first time I feel like we’ve been… brothers in a long time,” he said, then he was gone.
Some part of me wanted to object to that. But the fact of the matter was, he was right.
