‘Impressive. Most men can’t recall what I said five minutes ago.’
‘I’m not most men.’ He closes the gap, his body aligned with mine, as he steers us forward deeper into the party.
Built behind the Georgian townhouses, these mews are tucked all through Edinburgh’s New Town. Today, they’re worth millions. This one is quite big and packed with rugby players, their partners, friends, and other guests. About forty, fifty people? Most of them are watching us with varying degrees of subtlety. Finn’s palm stays where it is. Not possessive, but present.
My ribcage tightens, stupidly aware of the contact. ‘Everyone’s staring at you, Finn.’
‘They’re staring at you,’ he counters. ‘Can’t blame them. You’re a sight to behold.’
‘Okay, so they’re staring at us then. Happy?’
‘More than I’ve been in a while.’
A blonde in a glittery top glances over, her gaze lingering on Finn before sliding to me with naked curiosity.
‘Three o’clock. Sequins. She’s wondering what kind of spell I used on you to make you behave and follow me,’ I say.
‘And what’s your professional assessment?’ He presses the heel of his hand lightly into my back. The contact writes itself across my spine. I try not to read it.
‘That she should wonder what kind of spell I’ll use on her if she doesn’t stop gawking.’
He laughs. ‘There’s the clawed kitty. I was starting to worry you’d gone soft.’
‘Never.’ I sip my drink. ‘Though your teammates seem convinced I’m either a saint or a scam.’
‘Which would you prefer?’
‘Neither. I’m just doing my job. Overtime, by the way.’
His smile dims slightly. ‘Right.’
Someone calls his name, and he introduces me to a blur of faces. Nevin, the birthday girl’s brother. His shy girlfriend Ava. Two other players whose names I immediately forget. Polly’s doctor friends. They’re all watching us like we’re a new Netflix series they’re not sure about yet.
Finn drapes his heavy, muscular arm around my shoulders while spinning a training story. His arm stays there, thumb brushing slow arcs over the curve of my upper arm, so casually I almost don’t notice.
Almost.
In truth, my body records each touch, time-stamping the moment. His hand on my back at 9:17. His fingers brushing mine at 9:24. His arm around me at 9:38.
‘Selfie time!’ Polly appears with her phone. ‘Everyone squeeze in!’
Finn pulls me closer. Just before the flash, he presses his lips to my cheek. Warm. Soft. Lingering.
He doesn’t let go after the photo. His mouth stays close to my ear. ‘You okay?’
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Across the room, two women whisper, glancing our way. I catch fragments: ‘…porn pictures…’ and ‘…shag sandwich…’
Of course they’re talking about it. Everyone is.
‘Ignore them,’ Finn says quietly. ‘If I can do it, you can do it.’
But that glint behind his eyes sharpens, too fast for anyone else to catch. I see it. The micro-shift in his posture, tension notched at the corners of his mouth. He’s playing the charming rogue they expect, but something underneath is crumbling.
‘I’m fine.’ There, I said it again.
‘You’re not.’ His eyes hold mine. ‘But thanks for pretending.’
