Maybe, but they probably still had another ten to fifteen minutes of decent light before it leached away, and Sweeney knew he was only calling time because her passes were getting more and more lacklustre. Fin needed this, though. To get away from the house, to get into the great outdoors and do some physical exercise that didn’t involve wrangling small children. So she could push through.
Sweeney flipped her ponytail back off her shoulder and cocked her hip. ‘Afraid of the dark, big boy?’
Maybe she shouldn’t have gone allbig boyon him given those moments in the kitchen this morning—was it only this morning?—but she knew she had to goad him a little or Fin would insist on letting her off the hook.
‘It’s okay,’ he dismissed. ‘I can see you’re over it and I’m feeling much better now.’
Yup—letting her off the hook. Well, that wouldn’t do.
‘Who says?’ Sweeney dribbled the ball forward a little, moving in his direction. ‘Stop me if you can.’ He laughed but she ignored it. ‘You think I can’t run this ball past you?’
Bemused, he squatted like a goalie defending the net, shifting his centre from one foot to the next in a continuous weave. ‘One hundred per cent not.’
‘Ooh, cocky,’ she teased, as she inched forward toeing the ball. If it took a little sexual innuendo to keep him playing, she’d go there. ‘I like it.’
‘You think you can, huh?’
Glancing up from the ball, she shot him her best coquettish smile. ‘One hundred per cent.’ She feinted left but Fin had her measure, not falling for the ploy, just continuing to rock sideways from foot to foot.
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘You sure?’
Grinning, Sweeney quickly feinted right, but again he wasn’t fooled. Rising out of his squat, he shoved his hands on his hips. ‘What else you got?’ he challenged as she drew to within ten feet of him.
Sweeney’s gaze darted left and right, assessing her best strategic options, which were limited given the calibre of her skills. Andhis. So, playing dirty it was. She didn’t think saying something like,Oh my god, there’s a giant octopus eating a boat, or something equally as outlandish, would work as well on this Fin as it had on eight-year-old Fin.
But the fact hewasn’teight anymore, that he was all grown up, had its advantages because she was all grown up, too. And grown-up Sweeney’s version of dirty was a whole new level. Still pushing the ball slowly forward, she gave zero thought to the appropriateness of her next move. She just knew it would work so she went for it.
Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she reefed it up to reveal her ice pink bra.
Nineteen
Fin would have liked to be able to say, when retelling this story in the future, that he did the gallant, gentlemanly thing and averted his eyes. And that he did not succumb to herfeminine wiles, did not let himself be distracted from his mission. Because he was supposed to be sad, damn it. And this was Sweeney.
But Jesus, she waskillinghim with that brassy confidence and absolutelyslayinghim with that shirt, which hugged her boobs like the frame around a painting done by some old master.
And thatcocky? It was the living end.
So, he did not avert his eyes. He stared.Agog.Possibly with his mouth wide open, although he couldn’t tell because he’d lost all sense of what his body was doing.
Was he distracted? Was he fuck.
The bottom half of the cups was a shiny satin, the top decorated in dark pink polka dots. Then there was the trim. The lacy pink trim that sat flush against the full spill of her breasts and took a ride down into the soft valley of her cleavage, where it met a little pink bow sitting sweet and pretty, utterly belying the debauchery of both the garment and the action.
Fin blinked as the vision before him picked up pace. It was all he was capable of as his heart banged to a standstill and his brain short-circuited. Sweeney’sboobs. He was looking atSweeney’sboobs. Sure, they were in a bra, which was essentially no more revealing than a bikini top, but a bra wasnota bikini even if they did happen to be on a beach.
A bra was intimate apparel. A bra was different. Bikinis were for anyone, bras were for a select few.
He felt like he was living in the grown-up, more X-rated version of that kiss all those years ago—thrillingly taboo, utterly unexpected, completely mind-bending. And it may very well have broken him because he sure as hell didn’t seem to be able to breathe, much less move, right now.
How long could a person stay upright without breathing or having a pulse?
Not even the wobble and bounce of said boobs as Sweeney passed right by him—completely unopposed—was enough to stir him into action.
What the hell was happening? Itwaslike that spin-the-bottle night, only the discombobulation was tenfold. And he hadn’t thought that was possible.
Finally, though, her hooting and hollering behind him dragged Fin out of his inertia. He sucked in a breath as his heart squeezed out a beat, then another, then another until, if anything, it compensated for its lack of action by going a little too fast. His hands slid from his hips. He was functioning again. But how was he ever going to be able to face her, knowing those lacy, dotty boobs would be a permanent fixture in his head for a very long time—possibly forever?
Like a goddamn adult, dickhead.Now, turn your ass around andact normal.
