Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Fishing my keys out of my pockets, I rest the phone on my shoulder, holding it in place with my cheek. “You’re still in New Orleans?”
“Yes. I’ll be here for a while.”
It makes no sense. Britt’s home is in Stockholm. “I’m in California for the week.”
“I’ll be here next week,” she says.
When I don’t say anything, she presses again. “I want to see you. And I . . . I’d rather not talk about it over the phone.”
I don’t point out that she called me. This feels off. No, it feels like she’s working her way up to asking me out. “Britt, I don’t . . .”
“We share something, Finn. There is no one else in our lives who understands it the way we do. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”
The desperate pain in her voice is too much for me. With a sigh, I turn on the Jeep and pull out of my spot. “All right. Text me next week, and we’ll set something up.”
As soon as I hang up with Britt, I toss the phone on the car seat. I’m not looking forward to that meeting at all. Sharing with her doesn’t make me feel better. There’s only one person who does that. I turn onto the main road and head for Chess.
I can’t let her go. It’s too late for that now. But I can give her space.
Either she takes that distance and pulls away. Or she’ll find it as unnatural as I do now. Instinct tells me it will be the latter. I fucking hope so.
Fourteen
Chess
It is fairly horrifying to realize how well Finn Mannus can play me. For the rest of the day, and into dinner, he keeps his distance. He isn’t cold or anything. Hardly that.
He’s a great host. Solicitous, including me in conversations, making sure I have enough to eat.
That’s the problem. He’s treating me like a guest. Gone are the light touches, as if he can’t keep his hands off me. Gone is the way he somehow always manages to be standing close enough that our arms brush. And gone are the teasing glances that dare me to reach for more.
I hadn’t truly noticed he’d been doing these things until he stopped.
The result being, I seek him out. I’m the one finding ways to stand closer, to touch his wrist or the curve of his biceps. And though he doesn’t say a word about it, I know he’d predicted with unnerving clarity how I would react.
I don’t know if I should admire his skills or be annoyed. Both, is the answer.
My annoyance grows when he gives me space and heads out to get wine for dinner without inviting me to come along. He’s gone for over an hour.
I’m pissed at myself. For being a coward where he is concerned. For pretending that what we are to each other isn’t evolving. I know he cares about me. He makes certain I feel his care every day. He won’t hurt me. Not intentionally.
I need to apologize because how I reacted to kissing him was hurtful and unfair, but I don’t get the chance. Between Finn distancing himself and his family intent on being good hosts as well, we are never alone.
Before dinner, Finn and his dad settle down in the den for a game of chess. “I didn’t know you played,” I say to Finn, as I sit next to him on the couch to watch.
“We never really got to the ‘hey, by the way, I love playing chess’ stage of our relationship,” Finn says with a sly wink.
I nudge his shoulder. “Smart-ass.” God, I’m doing everything I can to be close to him. It’s ridiculous.
Even more so when my heart gives a little leap as he nudges me back, softly chuckling. “You play chess, Chess?”
I resist sticking my tongue out at him since Sean is watching with avid interest. “No. I admit it’s over my head.”
“Then watch and learn, my friend.”
“I’ll watch, but all I ever see are pieces being moved around, seemingly at random.”
With a snort, Finn hunkers down and studies the board. The stern, absorbed expression on his face is adorable, and frankly hot. It’s even sexier when I realize he’s good, really good.
I lose track of time as he and his dad play with the intensity of men at war.
Eventually, I end up reclining on the couch to read. Without taking his attention away from the board, Finn puts my feet in his lap and rests one warm hand over my ankle. I keep reading, but I love it. I love that, every so often, his thumb strokes my skin in an absent-minded but tender caress. Whatever is going on between us, I know he isn’t angry with me. And some of the tension flows out of my body.