“It’s me.”
“Finley?”
I unlatch and crack the door. Finley pushes it open, hands landing on my shoulder to guide me further into the room. She kicks the door shut, waiting for the slam before lunging at me. She moans when her tongue connects with mine, and her hips rock into me.
“I’ve needed to do that since you walked in.”
She kisses me again, hands skimming my torso.
“We can’t do this here.” But my hands are on her ass, pulling her closer.
She murmurs, “I know.” She keeps kissing me as we walk backward until we settle on the lip of the bathtub. Finley pulls her dress up slowly flashing me red lace before descending to my lap.
My hands are in her hair, tracing down her arms, before settling on her hips. “You look so fucking gorgeous, High-flyer.”
The door to the restroom swings open. Finley flinches in my lap, and we totter into the bathtub, my hands bracing on the wall to balance us.
“What in thefuckis going on here?” Matt stands in the doorway, slack-jawed, staring at his sister straddling me.
I’m frozen, watching the usually amiable face of my captain morph from shock to disgust. His nostrils flare, his hands tightening into fists. With each passing second, I helplessly register a new sign of rage.
Finley doesn’t move either. From the way her gorgeous eyes narrow into slits, I don’t think it’s for the same reasons as me.
“Do youmind?” she sneers.
Matt scoffs. “So that’s how you’re going to play this?”
Fuck. Finley and I hid our relationship from him to avoid this reaction. Some part of me thought underneath his surprise and apprehension, there’d be relief in knowing he trusted his sister’s partner to have her best interest in mind.
I never considered my blissful naivety a bad trait until this moment.
“It’s none of your business who I date,” Finley replies, anchoring her feet on the floor and pulling me to a sitting position.
She makes no move to leave my lap, rearranging herself to be more comfortable—legs crossed over mine, knee-high boots on full display. Her red dress pools around us, but my bare chest is still on display.
Is there a worse way to reveal our relationship than half-dressed and devouring each other during a family-friendly Christmas party?
Matt motions between us with a careless flick of his hand. “Is that what you call this—dating? Is italsohow you and Sawyer Jennings describe your relationship?”
Finley’s hand finds mine, gripping tightly, something her brother doesn’t miss. “No. I callhimmy boyfriend’s best friend and teammate.”
“B-boyfriend?” Matt sputters.
“That’s right,” she says, exaggerating the A inthat.
Someone else might see the satisfied smirk on Finley’s face and question her motives for being with me, but I know this conflict with Matt and the rest of her family goes much deeper. When we met two years ago, she seemed detached, at least in comparison to the woman I now know. So much about Finley's life still doesn’t add up, because there’s a missing piece I don’t have to explain the seismic shift away from her chosen path.
“You thinkhe”—Matt nods in my direction like I can’t hear him—“can handle you, Finley?”
I can’t remember the last time I felt so small and insignificant. A sinking sensation in my gut tells me I’m about to finally learn what she’s chosen not to tell me.
“You don’t need to worry about it. It’s none of your business.”
Matt crosses his arms over his chest. “Wrong on both accounts. You live under my roof, and I’m responsible for making sure you stay on track.Everythingyou do is my business. You have a condition that needs to be managed, Finley. You thinkhecan manage it?”
You have a conditionrattles around my brain. There’s no way the intensity of my stare doesn’t prickle Finley’s skin, but her eyes remain steadfastly glued to her brother.
“Ican manage it,” she snaps.
