‘It stands for Focus, Unity, Courage, and Kindness,’ he says.
‘Aye, right. And Theo stands for Tequila, Handcuffs, Ecstasy, and Orgies.’
He laughs. A full-bodied, head-tipped-back, no-performance laugh rips out of him as if his body couldn’t stop it if it tried. The sound is so deep and rich, I feel it in my chest first, then lower. A tingle I don’t have time for.
His laugh ebbs out slowly, but the sound lingers. So does the heat in the space between us.
He moves closer, only an inch or so. ‘Your hands are small.’
Of course he’d notice my proportion problem. They are small and have always made me feel slightly unfinished. ‘I know, it’s a bit weird. But also irrelevant.’
‘Naw, not weird. I like girls with small hands.’ He pauses and holds my gaze, bold as brass. ‘It makes my dick look bigger.’
What comes out of me isn’t a laugh. It’s a giggle-grunt. Sharp, breathy, undignified. The sound of my guard tripping over itself and face-planting right in front of him.
Deflect, deflect!
‘Judging by the screenshots I saw, that’s not a real issue. So stop swanning about and focus.’ I force myself to breathe calmly and adjust the angle again. ‘Can you tuck your thumb in?’
He grins and shifts his grip without comment. But now our hands lie limp like two dead fish at a market stall.
‘Ugh. This isn’t working.’ I jab at delete with more force than necessary like it’s the phone’s fault. ‘We need something that says, “besotted couple” not “business transaction”.’
‘Isn’t that what this is?’
‘Yes, but it can’t appear that way.’ I pat my phone against my palm a few times. ‘The sponsors need to believe you’re reformed through the power of…my stabilising influence.’
Finn’s mouth quirks. ‘Your stabilising influence. Listen to yourself.’
‘Got a better idea?’
He sinks back, arms folded. ‘Several, but none you’d approve of.’
Don’t blush.
Too late, my traitorous face goes full cherry tomato. ‘Please concentrate, Finn.’
‘I am concentrating. You’re the one overthinking this.’
I glare at him. ‘I’m not overthinking. It just seems that way next to the mess you’re in from chronically underthinking.’
‘Maybe. But I look great in it.’
He’s enjoying this. I can tell by the smug tilt of his mouth. He’s reading me – my flush, my glare, the tiny ways I lose control – and cataloguing every reaction. I don’t know why that’s riling me up so much, but it is.
I press my fingers to my temples. ‘Our hands need to tell a story. This looks like we’ve never touched each other before.’
‘We haven’t.’ There’s a glint in his light blue eyes like he’s about to steal something just to see if I’ll chase him.
‘Fine. New approach,’ I say. ‘We’ll sit on the chair.’
‘It’s too small for both of us.’
‘I’ll perch on your knee, of course. Seriously, does getting hit by human battering rams for a living impair your cognitive abilities this much?’
‘Ouch.’
I hear myself too late. I didn’t mean to sound this bitchy. That’s not who I am. ‘Sorry, Finn. That was uncalled for.’
