“You say all the right things, and it still feels wrong.”
“Is it my tone?” he asked, stomach clenching.
“Do you actually believe what you’re saying?”
“Of course. It’s my platform.”
“Doyoubelieve it? Not politically. As a man?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t feel like you do.”
“I … I don’t know what to do with that.”
“It feels like you’ve practiced that answer a thousand times.”
“I have.”
“That’s the problem. People don’t want to hear the right words. They want something real.”
Finn sighed, shaking his head. “I am real. This is real. This is who I am.”
“Okay,” she said, turning and walking away.
There was a moment of defeat before she was at the doorway again, this time holding up an old photo album he hadn’t seen in years.
“Then who is he?” she asked, opening to a page that featured a teenaged version of himself, decked out in merch for a cheesy show he’d been obsessed with, holding up the action figure his mother had gotten him for his birthday.
His face was unguarded. His eyes were bright. His smile so wide, it made his eyes small.
“I don’t know anymore,” Finn admitted, feeling the tug of regret. He’d spent so many years becoming the man he now was. He didn’t recognize who he used to be.
“Maybe you should try to find him again,” she said, closing the album. “Because he is who people want to know. They can relate to him. They like the suit,” she added, putting the album down. “But they want to see themanunder it.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked, lips curving up, eyes going bright.
“Not like that,” Iris said with a tinkling laugh. “Though, I bet posing for one of those shirtless calendars wouldn’t hurt your chances.” Her gaze tracked down him, then back up. “I mean, why spend all that time in the gym if no one is going to see the hard work?”
Her eyes had gone heated as they quickly stole another look at his abs.
The memories of the night before came back with avengeance. Her soft skin, her soft sighs, the way she cried out when he was inside her.
Before he could even try to fight it, he felt himself getting hard. And the towel wrapped around his waist? It was doing nothing to hide the issue.
“Maybe you should—” she started, but her gaze slid down again, this time eyeing the shape of his hard length.
“I should what?” he asked, desire pouring through his veins as he saw her pupils blown wide when her eyes found his again. “Drop this towel, push you against this counter, and let you decide if the way I make you feel is fake?”
A sweet little whimper escaped her at that.
He knew he had her; he would bet good money that if he reached out and slipped his hands into her pants right then, he would find her wet and aching for him.
Reaching out, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the bathroom, then slamming the door.
“Your back …” Iris said as he pressed her back against the sink cabinet.
“To hell with my back,” he said just before his lips were on hers.
