“Me?” His eyes widened. “I promise, Emma, what you see with me is whatyouget.”
“That’s actually the part thatscaresme.”
Finn leaned back in his chair seeming confused, if not a littleoffended.
“It’s not you… or I guess maybe it is. You’re not my typeatall…”
“Yeah, I spent the day in your world,” he said, studying his drink. “I’m pretty sure I know what yourtypeis.”
“Myworld?”
“Behind the VIP tents? Where all the rich people hang? You can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talkingabout.”
Obviously, I wasn’t making myself clear. “I’m not rich, Finn, just connected. I work a normal job, and when I said you weren’t my type, I didn’t mean it as an insult but as a compliment. I’m a very careful person. Predictable. You strike me as someone who is the complete opposite of that; yet for some reason, I’m having trouble looking at you withoutdrooling.”
Finn blinked back his reply. I’d just provided him with probably the most honest, cringe-worthy explanation possible, and the minute the words left my mouth I regretted them. I’d laid all my cards on the table for him to play whatever way he saw fit. I could only imagine what was running through his mind. Now that he knew I was an easy mark, would he take advantage of my weakness for his ownbenefit?
“Sorry, but if you’re predictable, then I’ve been hanging out with the wrong people all my life,” Finn said, grinning. “And since we’re being brutally honest with each other, even though we’ve known each other for a total of about an hour, I’ve spent the better part of the day chasing after you. And when I say that, I mean I’ve circled the entire festival twenty times. I wish you had just called me because it would have saved me so muchexercise.”
“The way you came up to me panting makes me think you could use a little more cardio in your life,” I said, grinning. “And just so you know, my honesty comes from the alcohol. But even sober, I still thought you were a hot,greasymess.”
“I’m flattered,” he said, rubbing his jaw with his fingers. “I think. Andsurprised.”
“Why does itsurpriseyou?”
“Well, you’re just…” Finn looked me up and down, as if something about me genuinely intrigued him. He was about to finish his sentence when the waitress brought our drinks. He paid, never taking his eyes off me. And when she left he completed the thought: “fierce.”
I nearly fell from my chair. Of all the words to choose, Finn picked that one. I felt a churning of emotion well up deep within my belly. My hand rested on my heart for a split second before I cleared my throat and replied. “Why did you usethatword?”
He could clearly see my emotion and attempted to backtrack. “Did I say something wrong? I meant it as acompliment.”
“I know.” I smiled at him. “I just… I like it.Thankyou.”
Finn relaxed upon seeing my smile, but he was still obviously confused by my reaction. How could I explain to him that I’d been called ‘fierce’ before, during a time in my life when I feltanythingbut?
He raised his glass. “Here’s to a girl withconnections.”
“And to a guy who knows how to get grease stains off his jeans… oh, and to good porta-pottysex.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, as he clunked his plastic against mine and grinned. I smiled back. I was, once again, feelingtheheat.
Needing a distraction, I asked, “So, did you have funtoday?”
“‘Fun’ is not the right word for what I’ve been having.” He held up his wristband. “Do you have any idea what thisbabydoes?”
“I have a prettygoodidea.”
“It’s like I’ve spent the day in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, and I have a storage unit filled with gold toproveit.”
“Wow, you havebeenbusy.”
“You havenoidea.”
Another long staring session ensued. We were saying more without words than we weresayingwith.
Finn cleared his voice. “So do you really have anormaljob?”
“I’m anurse.”
