“Honestly,” I reply.
“Obviously, I did. It’s a lot of, um”—he scratches his head awkwardly—“parts and stimulation when you’re with more than one woman.” He runs his hand over his face and groans like the words taste bad in his mouth. “But I would never expect you to do that. And I was only concerned about Cass’s birthday because I wouldn’t introduce you to Nora, so I’m not sure what to do about Cass. She really is just a friend, but still, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I know he’s trying to be considerate, but all I just heard was that Finn likes threesomes and yet he’d never expect me to do that.
“What else do you like that I don’t know about?” I’m almost scared to ask. “I don’t want you to feel like I can’t keep up.”
He tilts his head to the side and looks at me with pity in his eyes. “Keep up? You’re miles ahead, Queen. I’m happy. I am perfectly content with the way we have sex.”
“Perfectly content?”
“Yeah.” Finn gives me a kind smile and taps his nose. “You’re perfect.”
We’re quite clearly fixating on different words because he thinks perfect is a compliment, but I know exactly what content leads to. It’s boredom, dissatisfaction, and after four years getting proposed to and then immediately dumped while you cry into a messy, crumbled pile of chocolate cake. I’ll be damned if I fall in love again just to start over at thirty-four.
Finn grabs the shopping bag Lennox sets down and takes a peek. “Okay, to be clear, you’re not going anywhere dressed like this unless I’m with you.”
I scowl at him. “So I let you push me around the bedroom once and suddenly you think you’re my keeper?”
“You need a keeper wearing this.” He pulls out what can barely be considered a bra. It’s essentially two clamshells attached to each other with a thin wire. It wouldn’t support a cotton ball, let alone my large breasts.
My jaw drops at Lennox’s wildly misguided judgment. Finn peeks back into the bag and smiles at me wickedly.
“Do I even want to see the bottoms?”
His smile is devilish. “There’s not much to see, Queen.”
“Good grief.”
He drops the mermaid bra back into the bag and pulls my coffee mug from my hand before setting it aside. He takes each of my hands and wraps it around his waist. “My friend who used to be my friend with benefits is having a birthday party. I know we’re in the gray area, but if you’re okay with it, I’d really love for you to be my official date and show you off in your sexy mermaid costume. What do you say?”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you for inviting me. I’d love to.”
“Good,” he breathes out. “Now come on.” He grabs my wrist in one hand and tugs me behind him, snagging the shopping bag off the counter as he passes by. “I need to do a thorough inspection to make sure this fits.”
Oh boy. The urge that immediately bubbles up between my thighs is a little stronger than the tender ache. It would probably be wise to take a break after fucking for hours last night, but it’s Finn. What crazy woman would say no? I just have to hope and pray his dick falls off so I can take a break from this man.
This is chemistry. Lust. Desire. Obsession. It’s nothing in the realm of content. Now how the hell do I keep it that way? How do I avoid the same fate as my last relationship?
“I suppose if it doesn’t fit, we can leave it off.”
“That’s the spirit, Queen.”
Finn squeezes my hand, causing the mermaids on his forearm to dance. There are three of them clustered together on that rock. I stare at them inquiringly. Their smiles are so wicked like they have a dirty secret. It certainly looks like they’re enjoying themselves.
So be honest, ladies. Do you guys all get busy together, too? Am I missing out?
“Avery?” Finn asks outside of his bedroom door. “Are you okay? You look worried.”
“No, no,” I assure him as I squeeze his hand. “I’m fine.”
Totally fine.
Perfectly content.
33
Avery
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of skin showing.”
It’s not just Palmer’s words through our FaceTime call. It’s the way her face is screwed up like she’s in pain. It’s unmistakably a look of shock and horror at me in my mermaid costume. “Do you have a shawl or something?”
“I really only asked about my makeup, Palmer,” I say, stepping closer to the mirror and taking a seat on the bathroom chair positioned in front of several different eyeshadows and mini tubs of glitter.
Lennox was supposed to help me get ready, but she got horrendously ill with what she calls the super flu. It’s been over three days and just this morning we confirmed there was no way in hell she was attending the birthday party tonight. I offered to skip the party and help take care of her instead, but she insisted she felt guilty enough for infecting Alan. They have plans of commiserating in their misery tonight together, in Snuggies, in front of a Marvel movie marathon.
I’m jealous. Outside of the fever and chills, that’s exactly my perfect version of date night. Dolling up for hours, like I’m about to walk the red carpet or walk down the aisle is not a routine I want to fall into. But Finn seems so excited about tonight. I don’t want to be a killjoy. For the past couple of weeks, we’ve been enjoying the gray area. The place where we get to flirt, cuddle, have constant sex, but don’t have to make any life-altering decisions. But the gray area has an expiration date—and it’s in three days when I head to Cancun to present to the board.
I blink at Palmer, who has fallen into an awkward silence.
“Okay, fine, just say it—do I look fat? Because Lennox and Finn have already seen me in the costume and they said I look—”
“No. No, Aves. I didn’t say fat. It’s just…” She pinches her brow. “What did Finn and Lennox say?” she asks in a mocking tone.
Lennox said I looked jaw-dropping bold and hot. She also made some less-than-tasteful comments about my breasts—all complimentary. And Finn didn’t say much because the moment the costume was on, he peeled it right off. He did mention mermaids may be his new fetish.
“They said it looked good.” The bottom of the mermaid costume is a long, flowy, pink skirt that’s see-through and sheer. The delicate fabric is held together with silver chains that attach to a clamshell—that conveniently matches my bra—covering my bottom bit. This is the most revealing thing I’ve ever worn in my life, but I’m headed to a strip club costume party. And aren’t I an adult by now? Who has the right to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be wearing?
“Maybe just throw a crop top on over it. Like take a T-shirt and just put it over your bra and tie the ends.” She demonstrates a knot with her hands like it’s a foreign concept to me. “You’ll feel even more comfortable.”
“Thanks, Palmer. Real supportive,” I mutter bitterly and pick up a makeup brush and passive-aggressively stab the bristles into the glitter pot too hard. Pink and silver shimmer goes flying all over the bathroom countertop and the bottom of my phone that’s propped against the container of cotton swabs.