Page 27 of Resurrection

My glass clatters, almost tumbling from my fingers when I lean across the table. Jay rises from his seat near the door, but I wave him down without diverting my attention from the man in front of me. “My father is a lot of things, but he wouldn’t force me into this position.”

“He used to enjoy testing you—giving you impossible tasks, seeing how you’d get out.”

“And your father used to set a gun in your hand and tell you real men kill people who get in their way.”

Finn grabs my drink from me. He teeters on the legs of his chair and puts my liquid courage on the table behind him. The cheap white tablecloth shifts as he pushes the glass along the top. We’re the only people in here. The waitress, who is coming out of the kitchen with our food, gives me a puzzled look but continues to our table, the food held high on a platter over her head.

“Give me my drink,” I say.

“You’re drunk, and you’re bringing up shit that will piss me off. You’re done drinking.”

The waitress sets Finn’s food in front of him and then passes me mine.

“Another drink?” She indicates the almost-empty glass behind Finn.

“Yes.”

“No.” Finn’s voice drowns out mine, and he’s far more intimidating than me.

She scurries away. She’d better bring my drink.

We eat in silence for a moment before I throw back my chair, storm around him, grab the glass, and chug the last bit.

When I pass him, he snakes his arm out to my waist and tugs me into his lap. Our eyes connect and my breath catches in my throat. The slightest movement forward will reunite our lips, put me out of my misery. He’s hard beneath me, straining to be released. “You need to stop drinking.”

“Why?” My gaze flicks up to meet his and then I focus on his lips, willing him to close the distance.

“We agreed months ago we weren’t doing this.” His voice is gruff, and he’s so still beneath me I wonder if, like me, he’s afraid to move.

“Did we?” The words are whispered between us. My fingertips brush his brow.

“You’re right.Yousaid we weren’t doing this again.”

“Maybe I misspoke.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I am.”

Finn shakes his head. “You want no-strings sex? I’m game.” He slides his hand into my hair, loosening my bun. “But I’m not fucking you while you’re drunk.” Finn brings my forehead to his. “I don’t want to be a regret in the morning when you’re sober. Not again.”

“What I said to you that morning—”

“Doesn’t matter if you meant it. You said it. Not again. We do this, you make the choice stone-cold sober and you understand it’s just physical.”

I climb off his lap and stand, straightening my clothes. His words shouldn’t burn. But they do. A hot iron pressed against my heart. I sink into my chair on the other side of the table and pick up my kebab, pulling it apart with my fork and fingers. The silence between us is all-consuming.

“You don’t want me, Carys.”

With an annoyed sound, I drop my fork, letting it clatter onto my plate. “I’m old enough to decide what I want.”

“Okay,” he says while he chews. “What do you want?”

An excellent question. One I haven’t let myself consider too closely. On a very immediate level, I want to get laid, by him, and the sooner the better. Beyond that? I can’t say for sure. A long time ago, I wanted so much more, first from Finn, then from Eric, but I couldn’t secure the connection. I would be so close, and happiness would slip away. So, I stopped hoping, stopped wanting.

“Come on. If you’re old enough to know what you want, spit it out.” Finn sets his fork on his plate and leans closer. “You want me to clear this table? Fuck you on it while Jay watches?”

Yes.

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