Page 40 of Finn

I must look sad, as conjuring up memories like those has that effect.

Finn, brow creased, touches my elbow and says softly, “Hey, I know you said you weren’t offended, but I still shouldn’t have phrased it that way. I sounded like a dick, and I’m sorry. If you really want to pay, that’s cool. We did make that agreement.”

“I’m not upset with you,” I assure him. “I was just thinking about something different. Honestly, what you said was fine. It’s true anyway.”

He seems to accept that I’m good, and we head over to the pizza place.

It’s not crowded, but we still choose a table way in the back.

Since it’s Monday night, there aren’t a lot of people out throwing axes and eating pizza. Still, two guys did recognize Finn when we first walked into the axe-throwing place.

He graciously signed autographs for them and chatted with them about the season for a few minutes. He even let them take a selfie with him.

Since all of the teams in the division have been playing exceptionally well lately, the Thunder are clinging to a playoff spot by a thread.

Finn and the two fans talked about that, and then they wished him good luck and took off.

Luckily, no one is approaching us in the pizza shop. Probably because there are only a handful of patrons.

The menus are on the tables already, tucked behind the napkin dispenser, so Finn grabs two and hands me one.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asks as we look over our options.

Perusing the menu, I say, “Hmmm, well, I’m kind of open to whatever. Do you want pizza or something different? It looks like they also have hoagies and calzones.”

I look up at him, and he shrugs. “I’m feeling pretty open too. We can share a small pizza, or, really, whatever you want works for me.”

“I’m good with pizza,” I reply, since I am.

He nods. “Perfect. Then pizza it is.”

We take a minute or so to decide what toppings we’d like, ultimately choosing extra cheese and pepperoni.

Just as we’re placing the menus back behind the napkin dispenser, a waitress comes over to take our order.

We tell her what pizza size and toppings we want and ask for two iced teas.

After jotting everything down, she steps away.

I really want to assuage Finn’s concerns that he’s somehow taking advantage of me when it’s my turn to pay, so I decide to bring up the subject again.

This time I’ll add a little more, but not too much, detail.

“Hey,” I begin. “Not to beat this thing into the ground, but can we discuss our agreement about taking turns paying?”

“Sure,” he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “What about it?”

“Well.” I tap my fingers on the table, and then I pull out some paper napkins from the dispenser so I have something to fidget with. “I just think it’s important to share with you that I have more than enough money to treat when it’s my turn. My income from waitressing isn’t all I have.”

I’d like to leave it at that, but I can tell from the puzzled look on Finn’s face that he’s about to ask for more detail.

Sure enough, he says, “It’s probably none of my business, but I did notice you live in one of the nicest townhouse complexes intown. In fact, I’ve known players who’ve lived there.” Raising a brow, he asks, “Did you, like, win the lottery or something?”

Ha, I wish it were so simple.

So as not to get further into this subject than I’d like, I reply with a cryptic “Yeah, it’s something like that.”

Thankfully, Finn doesn’t press. He just uncrosses his arms and holds up his hands. “Point taken. I promise I won’t give you any more grief about paying. In fact”—he pretends like he’s going to flag down the waitress—“I think I’ll order a hoagie, maybe two, to go along with that pizza.” His green eyes meet mine, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in their depths. “After all, you’re still paying, right?”

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