“Do you really not get nervous before going on dates?”
I pull my hair up off my neck, already regretting not pinning it up. The overly hair-sprayed curls weigh heavily over my shoulders and against my sweaty back. The halter neck of my dress pinches my heated skin, and even as I pull at the swooped front, it doesn’t become any more comfortable. Even my shoes feel off, the heels digging in where they never have before.
I’m overstimulated before I’ve even seen my date, let alone gotten that first whiff of cologne or heard his laugh. The photo I forced Finn to show me on the way here didn’t make me feel any which way, and that sure as hell hasn’t helped settle me. I don’t know what’s made me so picky when it comes to men, but shit, you’d think I was a supermodel or something.
Finn tilts his head slightly as he thinks, his arms dropping to the table. I look at them a bit longer than I probably should, taking in the way the biceps bulge when he leans forward and digs his elbows into the wood top. In my defense, I’ve been the one person who’s gotten the full experience of watching them grow over the years. Or rather,all of himgrow.
When we were teenagers, he used to stay the same size regardless of how much he ate, thanks to his fast-working metabolism. Then, we were graduating, and he was putting on bulk like it was nobody’s business. Each time I blinked, there was another inch of muscle on his body, and those arms were thick enough that he had to go up a size in shirts to avoid the sleeves cutting off his circulation.
There’s nothing youthful about his physical appearance anymore. His jaw has gotten squarer, his lips thicker and smirk cockier, and even his hair has somehow gotten floppier in a sexy way. Over the last few years, it’s become clearer to me that he’s not just cute anymore, but the best-looking man I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s the world’s biggest slap in the face knowing that theone person who seems to check every single one of my physical boxes is someone who is completely off limits.
Even now, as my tongue starts to feel heavy in my mouth, I have to remind myself that he’s my best friend and that I’m not supposed to be staring at his body like I want to use it as my next favourite toy. The heat inside me hisses as I extinguish it and fill my mouth with the cold water he’s offered.
“Sometimes. It depends on the date, I guess,” he says, completely oblivious to my previous eye-fucking.
I clear my throat. “What?”
“I don’t get nervous all the time. Very rarely, actually.”
“Right,” I mutter, catching back up. “Well, lucky you. I’d guess that has something to do with you playing baseball in front of thousands of people and having them judge you for every shitty throw you make. You don’t care about people’s opinions of you anymore.”
“Hey, hey, I don’t make shitty throws.”
“Not according to the fans online,” I sing.
“There’s a difference between playing and watching, Bree. Some people love to blab like they know better than the athletes they’re really watching.”
“You’re so humble, Finn. Maybe that’s the key to never getting nervous.”
“Damn, my coaching is working already.”
I push the glass of water back toward him and watch as he swipes one long finger over the dew on the side. “Do you have any actual advice for me?”
“Just live in the moment. Don’t let your mind wander to whether or not you’ll be able to sit and build an IKEA table with him without fighting. At least wait until you know if he’s got any siblings or if he’s close with his parents first before doing that.”
“That’s impossible. If I don’t think about those things on the first date, then I risk missing something important and gettingstuck in a relationship with a man who’s bound to disappoint me two years down the road.”
“Rather than what? Never giving a man the time of day and spending the rest of your life on terrible blind dates?”
“It’s the safer option.”
He frowns, and I feel my stomach shrivel up from guilt. “Just try not go easy on Leo tonight. For me.”
“Fine. But I swear to God, Finn, he better be a goddamn saint.”
“He’s . . . close. Ten times better than the last guy you went out with, at least.”
“You said he’s Jett’s cousin?”
“Yes. He’s thirty-one, makes good money running his own photography business shooting weddings, and—bonus points—has never been married.”
I roll my eyes and reach into my purse for my lip gloss. Uncapping it, I glance across the table at Finn. He’s staring over my shoulder, an odd expression twisting his features that’s gone before I can think much of it. When I turn in my chair, I have to blink twice when I see the massive man standing by the entrance, appearing as though he’s looking for someone. Me?
I’m pleasantly surprised when my nauseating nerves transform into subtle butterflies. I quickly swipe my gloss over my lips and jam it back into my bag, clutching the leather handle. My hair doesn’t feel so heavy when I whip back around and grin appreciatively at Finn.
“Okay, if that’s Leo, there’s a bigger chance than I thought of this going well.”
“It is. I’ll stay here until you’re done,” he says, leaning back in his chair, one arm hanging over it. Then, with a crooked grin, adds, “Unless you text me otherwise.”
