And I let him lead me home.
Chapter 18
Finn
The Kelpies shimmer in the pale daylight as we pass them, their steel flanks catching the weak February sun. Theo’s gazing out the car window, legs crossed, one boot bouncing gently with the road’s rhythm. Her profile’s sharp in the dim light. Thoughtful, unreadable, and a complete knockout.
I should be focussed on the road.
We’re on the M9 heading for Stirling. The sky has that weird, washed-out blue that makes it seem later than it is. It’s quiet in the car. Not awkward quiet, good quiet. We’re not talking. We don’t need to.
She glances over. ‘You keep staring.’
‘Yeah, well. Your face is distracting.’
‘You’ve seen it before.’
‘Still distracting.’
She rolls her eyes, but she’s fighting a smile. Which means I’m winning. I know that expression now. I know a lot of things I didn’t two weeks ago. Not only the way she grips my hair when I’ve got my tongue on her or how she swears when she’s close, the in-between bits too.
Two weeks. That’s how long I’ve been living in Theo’s flat. Was only meant to be one, but that day came and went, and neither of us said a thing. So I just…kept waking up next to her. Feels as if I’ve nicked something no one said I could have.
I flick the indicator. ‘We’ve got two and a half hours before the MacKenzie Mid-Season Mixer, so I figured…pool?’
She turns to face me. ‘Are you asking me on a date, Lennox?’
‘I’m asking you to publicly humiliate me in front of several pensioners at Hendry Halls so I can jerk off to the memory later.’
‘Romantic.’
‘I’m trying.’
‘Sure.’ She giggles, and something behind my breastbone gives a hard twang.
The truth is, I’ve been thinking about that night at the party since it happened. The way she stalked around that table, confident and smug and hot with the casual lethality of a panther cleaning blood from its claws. She wiped the floor with Scottie. I’d wanted to drag her into a dark corner right then and there. Still do.
Except now I’ve had her – gasping into her pillow, clenching around my fingers, making those needy little sounds I’ve been dreaming about – and somehow I’m worse off than before.
The want’s not gone. It’s fucking multiplied.
I’ve barely slept. I’ve barely eaten. I’ve bent her over the counter, fucked her against the door, had her legs locked around me. My thighs are wrecked. My groin’s tight. My lower back has a dull, satisfied ache. I’m not even sure I can sprint right now.
And I don’t give a shit. I’d rather limp onto the pitch tomorrow than miss a single sound she makes when she comes. I’m getting more hooked on her happiness than the game.
Didn’t see that coming.
* * *
Hendry Halls is half pub, half shrine. Signed posters of snooker legends on every wall. The old carpet holds the faint smell of battered sausage and vinegar. The table is a bit warped, but Theo leans over like there’s prize money riding on it. She lines up her shot, brows pinched in concentration. Her boot nudges against mine for balance. The ball clacks clean into the corner pocket.
She straightens. ‘That’s four–nil.’
‘I’m still finding my flow.’ I’m chalking my cue like it’s going to help. ‘Or maybe I’m lulling you into a false sense of security.’
She laughs. ‘You said that two games ago.’
‘Still true. You’ll never see it coming.’
