“It’s pretty early to tell,” she mutters, taking her hot dog when I hand it over, her blue nails popping against the plain cardboard container.
“Nah, I don’t believe that. Your gut’s always blabbing.”
She laughs as we head for the lemonade truck. “You make it sound like I’m judgmental.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“It’s not good manners to tell your date she’s judgy, Finn.”
“Good thing I didn’t say it, then. You did,” I say, winking.
With a roll of her eyes, she stares down at her hot dog before pinching it between her fingers and bringing it to her mouth. Her lip gloss stains the bun as she bites down, and a glob of gravy drips into the container. I can’t take my eyes off her. Not when she looks over at me and wrinkles her nose in an attempt to get me to stop or as she pulls the hot dog away and licks her lips, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.
The light in her eyes nearly blinds me. I feel my throat tighten before I force myself to finally look away. If I’m not careful, I’m going to go too hard, too fast, and spook her.
I know that my dating history is thin, filled with short-term relationships and women who I didn’t ever see a future with. I’ve never been opposed to settling down, though. The idea doesn’t scare me. Rather, finding someone whom I can spend the rest of my life with excites me.
I know I’ll be a good husband and, eventually, someday, a loving father. Commitment isn’t my enemy; I’ve just never been in a relationship where I saw myself carrying those titles.
Maybe I was just blind.
What if I was looking for something—for someone, who was always right in front of me?
The thought hits me like a train, my blood pumping a little faster.
I’m so screwed.
29
The giant-sized lemonadein my hands is tinted the colour of the blue raspberry syrup Finn squirted into it. I’m positive my lips have gone from peach to blue from how many times I’ve sipped from my straw, but that hasn’t stopped him from kissing me every chance he can get, turning the same colour.
When I laugh? A kiss. When I grin at something he’s said? A kiss. When I call him out for being jealous after a stranger offered to buy me a churro at my favourite dessert stand? A kiss. Though that one was more claiming than romantic.
I’ve never felt sodesiredby a man before. Like he truly can’t get enough of me, even after spending the last two decades hanging out with me in this exact place.
It’s not only him feeling this pull, either. Similar to when I watched him take that woman on a fake date, I’ve bristled every single time he’s had eyes on him that lingered a bit too long. It’s jealousy, no doubt about it. And as concerning as it is, considering I’ve never been a fan of being controlled by that annoying green-eyed monster, I can’t seem to stop wanting to mark my territory.
More women have fallen victim to my glares this afternoon than in all my years of living, and I’ve never shied away fromusing my eyes to intimidate anyone before. It turns out that I can’t help myself when it comes to Finn. Not anymore.
Everything that I was okay with and didn’t even consider to be an issue in the past suddenlyis. I want things that I didn’t or hadn’t ever contemplated. I crave his hands on me and his voice in my ear to the point of madness. I’m distracted at work, which is the scariest part of all of this.
Rather than being in a courtroom, winning cases, I’d rather be on the team plane with Finn as he travels for baseball, watching his sci-fi movies and playing UNO with the team. My paperwork has piled up, and I’m behind on emails because I’m grabbing my phone the moment he texts or calls.
I should be angry about this. I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am, and there’s no time for distractions if you want your name on the wall like I’ve been dreaming of. Yet those reminders haven’t changed a thing.
“Are you sure you don’t want to drive? I don’t want your feet to hurt when we’ve still got the concert later,” he says, smoothing his hand up my arm.
The heat of his palm sends a rush of warmth through me that seeps deep into my bones. I tighten my grip on his arm and try to mute my smile at his concern. Offering him the final sip of lemonade, I watch him bend down to take the straw into his mouth.
“Have a bit of faith. Heels don’t bother me.”
“Until we’re leaving the concert and you’re asking me to carry you to the car.”
“Well, if that would be such a hassle, I’m sure one of your teammates wouldn’t mind helping me.”
I pinch my lips together and feign nonchalance when he whips his head to stare at me and dumps my empty cup into a nearby trash can. The way his bright blues dig into my facethrough his tinted sunglasses should scare me, but I revel in it, knowing I’ve drawn this reaction from him.
“I can assure you that not a single member of my team is going to be carrying you anywhere, Aubrey.”
