Page 84 of Camera Shy

I open the door to see Finn’s broad back. He’s wearing a thin T-shirt that hugs the bumps and ripples of his well-defined muscles. I know what these muscles feel like. I’ve caressed them, licked them…scratched them. He whips around, two blueberry Red Bulls in his hands.

“Surprise,” he says with a charming smile.

“My hero.” I reach for the drink in his right hand. “These will go great with dinner.” After spinning around, I make my way down the hall, hearing Finn’s heavy footsteps behind me.

“There’s dinner?” he asks. “I thought this was just a business meeting.” I did in fact specifically tell him there would be no sex tonight. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage of him, so tonight all we’re doing is talking shop.

“Dinner might be a stretch.” I stop in place and rotate, facing Finn head-on. “I can only really make three things.”

He looks amused. “Being?”

“Baked potatoes, cereal—”

“Does cereal count as making something?” he asks with a teasing smile.

I proceed to roll my eyes. “And dip,” I finish, pointing to Dex’s kitchen table that is currently displaying five different bowls of various dips.

“Holy crap.” Finn follows my finger and assesses the table. “That’s a lot of dip.”

I nod so enthusiastically, my hair falls over my face. “I’m pretty passionate about dip.”

Finn chuckles. He smacks my ass casually, ignoring my girlish yelp as he passes by me. Finn sets his drink down and proceeds to pull the Saran Wrap off each of the glass bowls. “You made these just for me?” he asks, cocking one brow.

“Yep.” Slaved away all day.

He immediately shoves his finger into the first bowl, then shamelessly sucks it clean. “What the hell is this masterpiece?” He dunks his finger in again.

I proceed to fetch the new bag of pretzel rods off the kitchen island and hand it to Finn. He opens it with ease, gleefully dunking the thick pretzel stick into the dip once more. “Honey mustard but with a twist—I use spicy brown mustard and dijon. I know—it shouldn’t work, but it’s tasty, right?”

Mouth full, he nods and gives me a cheesy thumbs-up.

“Don’t fill up,” I say. “We still have buffalo chicken dip—yes, with actual chicken so I can try to pass this off as a real meal, French onion dip for the potato chips, I have French baguette for the bacon cheddar chive dip, and for dessert, banana cream pie dip with Vanilla Wafers.”

Finn looks at me the way you’d look at a puppy tripping over its big ears. Adorably…with a little pity. He’s silent, but his shoulders are shaking, so I know he’s laughing at me.

“What?” I ask. “Look, it’s the best I can do. I struggle in the kitchen…”

He shakes his head, a goofy expression on his face. “You are so cute. Never have I been treated to a feast of dips. This is a new standard for date night, by the way.” Grabbing the bowl of banana cream pie dip, he places a quick kiss on the top of my head as he passes me. “Can we start with dessert?”

Wait, date night?

“Of course.” I collect both of our drinks and a box of crunchy vanilla cookies and join him in the living room. He scowls at me when I join him on the couch, leaving at least a foot of space between us.

Raising up his arm, he invites me to cuddle into his chest and is less than pleased when he sees me grimace. “Okay, what’s with you tonight? Did I do something?” I don’t think anyone else in the world would notice, but I see it—Finn seems to shrivel in his seat. Just a hair. Almost unnoticeable…except I notice. “Are you upset with me?”

“Why would you think that?”

“No kiss hello. You only want to talk business tonight. You’re sitting over there like I’m contagious. I’m counting down the minutes until you start giving me the silent treatment.”

I roll my eyes so hard they strain. “I hate the silent treatment. Such a waste of time. I’d rather be in a screaming match than play the ice out game.”

Finn points to his chest emphatically. “Me too.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to shake off a bad memory. “It was my ex’s favorite game to play. After a while, I started picking up on the little tells that I’m in trouble. Starting with”—he gestures to the space between us—“she wouldn’t let me touch her.”

“Oh, hey—no.” I reach over to squeeze his knee. “Okay, I just…look, I feel guilty.”

He raises his dark brow. “Why?”

“Because all we do is talk about my needs. I promised to help you with your business and I haven’t been doing that. Every time we’re around each other, we seem to—”

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