I pull my gold clutch off the kitchen counter and make my way to the front door. My head is a little fuzzy. I really felt in control of this situation until now…
Finn is wonderful in every way. I thought I completely understood that he’s too good to be true…for me. He needs a princess, a real prize. I’m just his friend. That’s why this works. He’s safe with me just like I’m safe with him because our hearts are not involved. I tighten my jaw as I reach the front door. Stay out of it, feelings. I don’t want to walk down the painful path of unrequited love.
“Hey, Avery?”
“Yes?” I ask, spinning around.
“Should we put on your dress? As much as I’m enjoying the view, the restaurant has a dress code and at the bare minimum, you need to be dressed.”
“Oh, fuck me,” I mumble, palming my forehead, mumbling to myself. Okay, I officially need to calm the hell down. I was about two seconds away from walking outside in my thong and bra, not to mention barefoot.
“That’s the one?” Finn asks, pointing to my dress hanging from the staircase.
“Yep.”
He fetches it for me, pulling it off the hanger. “Do you step in, or does it go over your head?” he asks, examining my sleek black dress.
“Overhead,” I say as I grab my shoes and slip into them. I reach for my dress, but Finn doesn’t hand it over. He swivels his finger in the air.
“Turn around.” There’s a determination in his voice. “Arms up.”
I do as I’m told, relieved that he can’t see my face. This is a level of intimacy I wasn’t quite prepared for. Rough and tumble sex, sure. That I was expecting from a man who’d make professional models feel insecure. But his tenderness? His slow, sweet touches? Checking on me instead of abandoning our plans when I didn’t answer the doorbell? Taking me to dinner to show me kindness and respect?
I think I bit off way more than I can chew…
Once the fabric cloaks my body, Finn traces my curves with both hands, smoothing my dress in place. “This fits you like a glove.” Spinning me around, he keeps his hands on the outward curve of my hips as he studies me. I feel my cheeks reddening. Shit. What can I do? I can’t control it. “Your makeup is really pretty and your dress is stunning, Avery.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts my head upward, forcing me to stare into his eyes. I notice he always does this when he’s about to compliment me when he really wants me to soak up his praise. “You look like royalty—a goddamn queen.”
I couldn’t control my smile if I tried. I want to say thank you, but I’m speechless.
“Just remember, you’re going out with me tonight,” Finn continues. “I don’t care who hits on you this evening. You’re coming home with me.” He taps the tip of my nose. “No trading me for something better.”
He releases my hips and strides past me, grabbing my hand in the process and leading me toward the front door. He snags my clutch off the entry table then tucks it under his arm so all I have to hold is his warm hand interlaced with mine.
Something better, Finn? Ha. No such thing.
Finn seems slightly agitated, but I’m happy as a clam. It might have something to do with my third whiskey sour. I can’t even feel my feet anymore, which is great, because we’ve been standing for forty-five minutes at the bar. Finn made a reservation, but the restaurant clearly gives zero fucks about calling ahead.
“Sorry,” he mutters, scouring the restaurant. “It shouldn’t take this long.”
“Finn, I’m fine.” I pop a maraschino cherry in my mouth and munch happily. Just give me a few more cherries, and we can call this dinner. It’s already the perfect evening. This restaurant is fantastic. I’m not used to such a swanky, club-like vibe paired with the most sophisticated menu I’ve ever seen. It just feels nice to be out and dolled up for once. I wish Palmer could see me now, with my makeup, in this dress, at this restaurant, with this man. I swear she’d tear up and slow clap—her life mission complete.
“We’re packed like sardines. You must be uncomfortable,” he grumbles. “I’m uncomfortable.”
He’s spot-on. About thirty of us, waiting on our tables, are huddled around a bar that would barely seat twelve. Elbow to elbow, everyone is crammed, hungry, and grumpy…except me, especially when I find a bonus maraschino cherry at the bottom of my drink. Munch, munch, munch.
I’m about to tell Finn to calm down because I’m thoroughly enjoying myself when I notice a small hand with red manicured nails slink over his. Finn freezes and turns his alarmed expression to the woman standing next to him.
“What’re you drinking?” she says over the dull roar of the restaurant. “That looks good.”
Finn flashes me a quick telling look, his eyes bulging. Save me, he says wordlessly. But I don’t. Because the woman standing next to him is slim, blond, beautiful, and I suddenly feel very out of place standing next to Finn.
“It’s their signature whiskey.” Finn takes the opportunity to remove his hand from under hers and points to the top shelf of the bar. “That one right there.”
He angles his shoulders to face me, but the blond woman isn’t dissuaded.
“Would you recommend it on the rocks or neat?” she asks. But I’m almost certain this woman with the pouty red lips and platinum-blond hair doesn’t drink whiskey. She wants to drink Finn.
“Depends on what you like, I suppose,” Finn replies with a clipped smile.
“What do you like?” she basically purrs.
Wow.
I can tell Finn is torn. He doesn’t want to be a dick. It’d be easier if I was the kind of woman who’d throw her drink in this poacher’s face and tell her to back the fuck off my man. Except I’m not that kind of woman…
And Finn is not my man.
“I like what I have.” Finn taps the side of his glass, making the ice clink in his whiskey on the rocks. But it’s obvious his response is edgy and laced with double meaning. I like what I have. Does he mean me?
“You’re more than welcome to order me one on your next round,” she replies, shooting him a wink. I watch his strong jaw twitch. Now he’s annoyed.
“I’m with a friend this evening,” he says.
In the most unsubtle, mean-girl way possible, the blond woman leans backward, looking me up and down. She snorts to herself. “Oh well, then excuse me,” she snarks. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you and your friend.”
Yes, you did. You meant to interrupt. You just couldn’t fathom he’d pick me over you.
“Hey, do you want to go somewhere else?” Finn asks. “I’m sorry about all this.”
I shake my head. “No, this place seems great. I can wait.” I try to sound chirpy, but it’s too late. He notices my mood slightly deflated and my eyes that are probably just a shade less sparkly. It’s the result of a stranger subtly insulting you.
“Miss,” Finn says sternly as a hostess, dressed from head to toe in black, passes by the bar. I’m surprised when he catches her by the wrist. She looks alarmed as well, even as Finn immediately drops her arm. “Is Angelo in tonight?”