Page 25 of A Little Secret

“I could hear you just fine, and you obviously heard me, or else you wouldn’t have done your self-care. Am I right?”

She scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Pouring the coffee into her mug, she turns around and faces me fully. “And I’m serious about using the shower instead. I don’t want to hear…any of that.”

“Why? Does it make you curious?” I challenge.

Another laugh escapes her. “Hardly.”

My mouth twitches. “To be fair, I didn’t know you were still awake. And I didn’t say your name, but you sure as shit said mine.” I shift closer, crowding her against the counter. “Pretty sure Drew would love that, wouldn’t he?” My attention falls to her mouth. Fuck. She looks so…touchable like this. High, messy ponytail. No make up. Only a baggy t-shirt swallowing her curvy frame. My hand itches to reach out and grab her waist, but I fist it at my side instead. Bending closer, I breathe out, “Don’t worry, Fin. It’s our little secret.”

Avoiding my gaze, she huffs, “Look, it’s not my fault I’ve been particularly…amped up lately. And you might be able to hook up with any girl you want, but my boyfriend is across the country, so you’ll have to forgive me for taking things into my own…hands.”

I scoff. “Trust me. I don’t mind at all. But next time, all you have to do is call me, and I’ll lend a helping hand. Or was it my mouth you wanted?” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “Honestly, I should thank you.”

She glares up at me. “Why?”

“I get it now. Why Drew feels threatened.”

“He doesn’t?—”

“He does. And he should. Because if the girl I was dating imagined someone else while fingering herself, I’d feel pretty fuckin’ threatened, too.”

Her eyes pop. “Excuse me?”

“Why haven’t you broken up with him yet, Finley?” I demand.

“And what were you thinking about, Mr. High and Mighty?”

“It doesn’t matter because I’m single.”

“So you weren’t imagining a girl who’s in a relationship?” she challenges, bringing the coffee to her lips and taking a sip.

This girl drives me nuts. I fight the urge to throttle her pretty little throat and reach for the mug in her grasp instead. She gives it up without a fight as I steal some of her coffee, holding her gray eyes over the rim of the cup, and set it on the counter next to her hip.

“Guess that’s our little secret, too. Right, Fin?” I push away from her. “I’m going to the gym. I’ll be back in an hour. You good until then?”

“Why, of course.” She bats her lashes. “I have my fingers for company.” Lifting her hand, she wiggles them back and forth. “Toodle-oo.”

Smartass.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FINLEY

There isn’t much waitressing one can do with a bum foot. The good news is my dad shares ownership of the restaurant with his friend, Rowdy, so he barely batted an eye when I told him about my little accident and promised he’d find a replacement for me for the foreseeable future until I felt better. Seriously, the man’s a saint. It also doesn’t hurt that I know a few of the other waitresses have been begging him for more hours, though, so really, they should be thanking me.

My nose scrunches as I grab Frankie’s food from the freezer with two fingers and hobble up the stairs to my bedroom. To be fair, I’m being dramatic. My foot’s fine, but I called in sick anyway. Who wouldn’t milk an injury if they had one? The frozen peas from last night helped a lot with the pain and swelling, which is kind of annoying, considering the culprit behind the idea. Still, I’m trying to be the bigger person and not be a bitch about it…to Griffin’s face, anyway.

Carefully, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the covered terrarium on my nightstand. With a deep breath, Ipinch the edge of the towel and lift it up, tossing it on the ground on the opposite side of the room as a shiver races down my spine.

Puffing out my cheeks, I mutter, “Come on, Finley. You can do this. It’s only a frog. A measly. Slimey. Little frog.” I almost gag but swallow it back. “You got this. You can do it.”

Yes, I know I’m talking to myself, but at this point? I really don’t care. Clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I untwist the cap on the mealworms and peek inside, gagging as the stench hits my nose.

“Okay, I’m gonna puke.”

I twist the cap back on and take another slow, cleansing breath through my mouth until I realize if I breathe through my mouth, I’ll be letting the tiny mealworm particles touch my tastebuds, which, in a way, is like I’m eating the mealworms firsthand, and?—

I grab the lined trash can beside my bed and puke, my stomach heaving what little I’ve eaten into the plastic barrier until there’s nothing left inside of me.

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