Chapter Ten
Fin
‘What is your problem?’ I glare at Ivy through the mirror, so angry that I’m sure I must have horns, or at least veins, protruding from my head.
‘What’smyproblem? Well, funny you should ask that,FinolaRosalie.’ She slurs very slightly over the abomination of my middle name. ‘Because it’s you—you are my problem!’
‘Oh no, you didn’t,’ I say, scowling, because nobody full names me.
‘Cut that shit out right now, the both of yous.’ Natasha shakes her head, her whole body a machine of perpetual pissed off-ness. ‘Jesuswept, it’s like being out wi’ a couple of mad bitches. She’s a big girl,’ she says turning on Ivy, though pointing a finger in my direction. ‘She can make her own decisions, and if one of those decisions is to bang that bloke so hard her freckles fall off, then that’s her decision to make.’
‘Bang him? Who said I’m banging anyone?’ I interject.
‘She’s in a fragile state,’ Ivy says, paying me no mind whatsoever. ‘She’s not cut out for casual relationships an—and her husband just died!’ Flailing arms suddenly point to me as though we’re not the only three people in the restroom right now.
‘Aye, so you said, but did you no’ see her light up like a Christmas tree as that hot piece of man-meat walked by? Maybe a hot shag is just what she needs; someone to rattle her bones, make her feel something. Something’s got to be better than numb.’
I’m surprised mute by Nat’s understanding.
‘You don’t know her like I do,’ Ivy returns. ‘She married the man she gave her V card to—let him walk all over her—and she comes from a broken home!’
‘It’s not broken,’ I say, though by this point it’s clear I’m not part of the discussion.Just the topic.I pull my lip gloss from my clutch and run it over my mouth as I stare at my reflection. The pair continuing to bicker, debating whether or not I know my own mind. If I wasn’t numb, I am now as I bare my teeth to the mirror. Satisfied, at least that the remains of my dinner aren’t stuck there, I use my fingers to fluff my new snazzy bangs. All pretty ordinary reactions as I try to block their words out.
Numb?Probably.
A pushover?Not anymore.
Unstable?Who the hell knows.
I know I need to make inroads to some level of functioning adult, but I just haven’t been in the right place. I need to move on, find a job, and get my life back on track. It’s like a line from an old Tom Cruise movie, I can’t remember which one, but it’s something about burying the dead because they make the place smell. While I’ll never be able to bury Marcus physically, I need to do so mentally before the reek of his presence ruins me.
I push my boobs together and pull a duck face. From the attention Ivy and Nat pay me, I might as well be alone.I’m not bad looking, trout pout aside, and I’ve been told I’m cute a time or two.It’s probably the freckles,I think, scrunching my nose. What I lack in height, I make up in length of leg, which leaves my torso kinda short. I suppose I’m what you’d call compact. It’s not as bad as it sounds, though I didn’t exactly love being labelled M & M for most of my senior year. And it wasn’t because of my rapping or freestyling skills.
‘You know the difference between Fin’s tits and M & M’s? You can enjoy a handful of the wee sweeties!’
I might be all grown, but I’m still a member of the itty-bitty-titty-committee.
‘Geddit—the lassie has nae tits!’
Yeah, Ivy might be right sometimes, but what she’s clearly lacking is an insight into the male brain. And so she caught me staring.Big whoop. It’s not like I’m planning on doing anything other than look. Besides, I think my flirt default is busted. Probably from disuse.
Without another word to my arguing friends, me and my little boobies leave. My head overflows with the nonsense they’ve been throwing around. I make my way into the main bar, intent on slipping out, when the sound of laughter pulls my feet to a stop.So rich and warm.The tenor resonates deep in my belly, and if I’m honest, a little further down. I know instinctually to whom the laughter belongs.
Sure enough, Rory stands leaning against the bar, his face wreathed in a smile that would make the moon seem dim. Is it wrong that his laughter is still fizzing in the pit of my stomach? It feels so familiar; like a hug from an old friend. And then it hits me, making sudden sense. The familiarity I feel isn’tforhim; it’s for intimacy. Attraction. Sex. Things I haven’t felt in an age. And suddenly, I want to have sex, like real bad, to the extent that it’s almost as though between my legs has developed its own pulse.
How the hell can laughter turn you on?
Who cares? I’m overthinking. It’s not like he remembers me, and it’s not like I’ve the courage to hit on him. Besides, it wouldn’t be right. I’d be using him.
Like he used me.
At something the bartender says, his laughter resounds again, deep and masculine. It’s like the universe is reminding me that men can be fun.
That life doesn’t have to be drama filled.
‘Excuse me.’ A man squeezes by and I realise I’m still standing in the entrance to the restrooms. A moment later—and if you ask me how, I wouldn’t have the answer— I’m standing next to him.
It takesa moment for him to register my presence, his head eventually turning and making a slow inventory as he looks me up and then down.It should piss me off, this lazy perusal, but it doesn’t. Far from it, it just heats my skin. I feel a jolt; a little zing of electricity as his gaze meets mine. He has the most beautiful almond shaped eyes—how did I not remember that? Slate grey, immersed in indigo. Or are his pupils dilated?
