Page 32 of Seas the Dating Coach

I chase after Finn, unabashedly capturing his mouth while my hands grip the shirt over his stomach as if it’s made of the finest silk. Finn, it seems, needs little encouragement to continue our practice session. One of his hands slides into my hair, expertly tilting my head as he deepens the kiss. Light fragments and refracts behind my closed eyelids, leaving blazing phantom streaks in its wake. This is so different from anything I’ve experienced before that I don’t know how to catalog it.

Finn’s pace remains unhurried. It’s almost as if he’s relishing every small touch, every sensation. He gives me time to absorbeach movement, and when I reciprocate, a soft sound of encouragement vibrates his chest. I feel savored and priceless, but not fragile or incapable. The way Finn is kissing me spurs the impulse to take, to demand what I want. It’s new and dizzying, but suddenly, my hands fisting Finn’s shirt feels like a waste. Why would I touch cotton when I could be exploring the hard panes of muscle from hours of dedicated gym time?

I release the fabric, my fingertips pressing firm and sliding upward until they’re just below where I’d take his chest measurement for a garment. A surprised inhale slips into Finn’s mouth as he breaks the kiss. Our gazes lock, and a thundercrack slices through the air, leaving thick electricity trailing in its wake.

My brow tightens. The forecasted summer storm isn’t supposed to hit Wilks Beach until Thursday. I glance up, expecting clouds but seeing an open, endless sky. Maybe the skull-shaking sound was a figment of my imagination? Maybe Finn is such a good kisser he gives women auditory hallucinations?

Quite possible.

Finn’s gaze falls to my fingertips, transfixed. A surge of power zips through me at his open-mouthed expression. He’s even more breathtaking with a glimmer of devastation alighting his dark beard scruff, his thick eyelashes flickering against his tanned cheek, and his firm chest rising and falling beneath my touch.

Good gracious, he’s a pretending pro. I feel like if I were to slide my palms over his heart, it would be his end—plain and simple. Before I can test the theory, Finn steps beyond my grasp, wiping his mouth with the back of his fist.

“Was that your first kiss?”

I want to joke, say something flippant that will make the both of us laugh like we’d been doing all night, but all I can manage is a simple “No.”

An emotion flits over his cheekbones before Finn tucks it away. Disappointment? No. That doesn’t make sense. Why would he be disappointed?

Finn slides his hands into his pockets, his roguish smile tugging his lips. “I’d say you’re well prepared for your first date now.”

A sensation of déjà vu overwhelms me, my brain racking to remember when I’d seen this before. That slight glimpse of a vulnerable underlayer before Finn threw charm upon it. It’s undeniably intentional, and I suddenly want to dig into what Finn is hiding like pirates searching for buried treasure.

“Right.” My forced chuckle sounds as hollow as it feels. “Thanks, Coach.”

I’m rewarded with a tiny wince before Finn composes himself. There! I wasn’t imagining it. My gaze drifts off while I think of why Finn would be unhappy…

Oh my goodness!

It has to be me.

I must be a terrible kisser.

That’s why he’s frowning now that it’s over. I probably slobbered all over him like an untrained puppy, and Finn was so accurate with his portrayal of Atticus that I didn’t even notice. My skin flames, and I nearly rip a hole in my dress pocket, searching for my key.

“Thanks again for everything,”—I turn my back, failing twice to put the key into the lock—“but I need to get to bed. Long day tomorrow. It’s prom season, and well, you don’t know what that means, but it’s busy.”

“Vivian.”

“I love sequins as much as the next girl, but they make alterations so much harder.”

The sensation of the lock releasing beneath my shaking hand almost makes me sob. And I plan on crying—hard and messy—but not until I’m safely behind not only this door but the door to my shop. I’m going to burn through an entire box of tissues in five minutes flat.

“Vivian.” This time, a firm hand grips my wrist and flips me before I can turn the handle.

How it’s possible for Finn to be breathing harder now than he had while kissing is unfathomable. His gaze bounces all over my face, his grip on my wrist loosening but not yielding.

“What is it?”

I shake my head at the soft question, pressing my lips tight and willing my eyes not to spill their sheening tears.

“Please tell me.” The tender way his free hand frames my face sends goosebumps over my skin.

I hesitate, goldfishing for several heartbeats. “It was bad, wasn’t it? My kissing.”

Finn closes his eyes with a hard exhale. “No.”

The honesty in his gaze when Finn focuses back on me steals my breath. “It was good.Too good.You made it easy to get swept up in that kiss, to forget who we are, but it’s my job to make sure no lines get crossed.” He releases me and steps back. “We’ve got a good thing going here, helping each other out. My colleagues are finally regarding me with something other than disdain, and you not only talked to Atticus today, you got his phone number. That’s huge.”

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