I poured the shampoo into my palm, then scrubbed my scalp a bit harder than strictly necessary. Maybe that would make my smarter, annoying inner voice shut up. But instead, it simply reminded me of the last time I’d been in this shower. I hadn’t been alone, and Finn had washed my hair far gentler than I was doing to myself. He’d been tender and loving and kind.
And then the next day, I’d found out who he was.
By the time I was out of the shower, I felt better physically, but much worse emotionally. After I dried off, I padded over barefoot to the toilet, where he’d apparently left a folded up T-shirt and a pair of boxers for me. I recognized the T-shirt. It was the red one I’d been wearing the day I found out who Finn really was.
I had washed it and set it on his porch step weeks ago.
Of course, that was after I’d slept with it on for a week. I hadn’t wanted to give it back. It had smelled like him, even after a washing. He hadn’t said anything to me about me bringing it back, but he hadn’t had a chance to say anything at all until today. I hadn’t even seen him in three weeks. Part of me had wondered if he’d quit and gone home.
That same annoying part of me was thrilled at being proved wrong.
I pulled the shirt over my head, inhaling deeply. Had he known giving me this shirt would affect me so deeply? Or had he just blindly reached in and grabbed the first thing he saw? Probably the latter. I picked up the toothbrush, did a quick cleaning, then steeled myself to face him again.
I opened the door and peeked out. He sat on the couch, texting someone. His girlfriend? My dad? The freaking Pope? Who knew. “Hey.”
He clicked his screen off and stood up. He still didn’t wear a shirt. Probably just to taunt me with the muscles I would never touch again. “You look like you feel better.”
“I do.” I crossed the room and climbed into the bed, tucking myself in. “Thank you.”
He stood up and came to my side. Gently, he pressed his hand to my cheek. “You feel cooler too,” he murmured, his blue eyes examining me.
Looking for signs of…what?
“Good.”
“Yeah. Good,” he said.
We fell awkwardly silent, neither one of us so much as moving. Daring to be the first to break the hold we had over one another. His phone buzzed, making me jump. He dropped his gaze and checked the message. I swallowed back the jealousy threatening to take hold. “Who are you talking to?”
“Hm?” He typed a quick reply. “No one.”
“Is it her shampoo in there?”
That got his attention. He looked up at me, his brow furrowed. “Whose?”
“You tell me.” I touched my damp hair. “There’s girl shampoo in there. Are you seeing someone?”
“What? No.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe I’d asked him that. “I got that for you, back when we were…well, you know.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s where the toothbrush came from too. After that first night, I went shopping while you were at school. I thought that maybe you were going to be spending a lot of time here, so I wanted you to have what you needed. But then…well, you found out who I was, and that was that.”
“That was that,” I repeated, thoroughly and utterly confused. Nothing about this man added up. He acted as if he really cared about me and wanted to be with me, but he worked for my father. And he was a liar. And manipulative. And bossy. And annoying.
And irresistible.
There were a million things I wanted to say, and at least a million reasons why I shouldn’t say them. So I said nothing at all. When I remained silent, he shifted uneasily on the bed. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. You can have the bed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He arched a brow. “How am I being ridiculous?”
“You can sleep in the bed too.” I flushed, searching for the right words to make it look like I offered because of practicality. I couldn’t let him know how much I ached to sleep in his arms again. Or how horribly I’d been sleeping ever since we had broken up. Or how I missed him so much it hurt. “It’s not like we’ve never, well, you know. Worse things have been done in this bed than sleeping together.”
“Worse?”
“Crap.” Mental facepalm. “Not that it was bad or anything—what we did. I mean, you know it wasn’t.”
His lips twitched. “Do I?”
I covered my face. “I’m done trying to talk.”
He laughed and pulled my hands down. “Relax, you’re fine.”
“No. I’m not fine.” I looked at him and his laughter faded away. “I’m not fine at all.”
He swallowed hard. “Carrie…”
“Don’t say it. Don’t say anything.” I rolled over on my side. “Just turn out the light. I’m tired.”
After what felt like an hour, he finally turned off the light. I released the breath I’d been holding, willing my racing heart to calm down. As he lowered himself on the bed, keeping above the covers, he also let out a deep whoosh of air.
He remained blessedly silent. I didn’t know if he went right to sleep, because as soon as I felt him next to me, I zonked out. When I woke up in the morning, he was gone. My clothes were washed and folded nicely at the bottom of the bed.
A note rested on top of it. I opened it with trepidation. What would he say? What could he say?
I’m sorry.
--Finn
That’s it. Just three little words. And yet, they were more than enough.
Chapter 23
Two days later, I leaned against the outside of Carrie’s dorm, my eyes on the building she was currently in. I knew exactly who it belonged to, and I also knew how much I hated that she was inside of it. With the man she should have fallen for all along.
Fucking Lover Boy himself, in the flesh.
Ever since the night she’d spent at my apartment, I’d resumed following Carrie around sight unseen. Just like she wanted. Yesterday, she’d kept darting glances all around, watching for me. Almost as if she wanted to catch me out of place. I’d made sure to stay out of sight, and she had eventually stopped looking.
I didn’t blame her in the least. If our roles were reversed, I would’ve felt the same way. I wouldn’t want to ever see her again, but that didn’t make it any easier on me. Losing her had only made it all the more evident that I loved her. And all the more evident that I was an idiot too. The two kind of went hand in hand, didn’t they?