Page 58 of One Last Encore

"Ingrid," she corrected stiffly. "I’m a friend of Beck’s."

Finn let out a low chuckle. "Friend, huh?" His gaze flicked over her, amusement dancing behind it. "Beck doesn’t have overnight guests. Especially ones who, you know… stay."

Something smug flickered in her chest at that, but she stomped it down.

"He was drunk," she said, arms crossing. "I put him to bed, and he convinced me to stay. Platonically."

Finn let out a slow, exaggerated hum.

"Huh. That’s weird." He tapped his chin. "Because Beck doesn’t do platonically. Like, at all."

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, he did last night."

Finn’s grin turned razor-sharp. "Did he?"

Her stomach dipped. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He stretched, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Just saying… you’re already a first."

Her brows pulled together. "A first?"

"First girl he’s been obsessed with enough for me to personally step in and speedrun his love life."

Ingrid blinked. Obsessed felt like a bit much.

Beck didn’t seem like the type to fixate on anyone. Maybe slightly interested. Mildly intrigued at best. Whatever this was between them, she highly doubted it was anything new for him. He probably had girls draped over him on a weekly basis.

She crossed her arms. "Is that why you pulled that stunt last night?"

Finn shot her a devastatingly smug grin. "Bringing together two lost souls. A true humanitarian effort."

"Excuse me?"

"I wanted to see if you were serious about my best friend. You took the bait." His grin widened. "Worked better than I could’ve imagined. You climbed him like a damn theme park ride."

Heat flooded her face. She wanted to argue, she really did. But she had walked straight into his trap. And now, in the unforgiving, high-definition horror of daylight, she couldn’t believe it. She had actually climbed on him. Straddled him. Ridden him like a prize-winning show pony. Oh God.

And she couldn’t even blame alcohol. She’d had, what–two drinks? Spaced out over hours? That wasn’t liquid courage; that was just hydration with a bad decision chaser. Meanwhile, Beck had definitely overindulged, which only made her deeply humiliating lack of self-control even worse.

She felt slightly embarrassed. No, scratch that. Deeply, existentially embarrassed. Because she hadn’t even needed an excuse. No drunken stupor. She had done it because she wanted to. Who even was she anymore?

Beck seemed to pull this version of her out like some kind of magician, flipping a switch that turned her into a creature ofpoor life choices and zero self-preservation. And the worst part? She liked it.

She could still feel his hands on her hips, the way his gaze had burned into her the whole damn time. Oh, her brain wasn’t just replaying it, it wasdirectingit. Slow motion. Full surround sound. Dramatic close-ups.

It was ridiculous. And, unfortunately, way too effective. Because now, she was tingling in places that had absolutely no business tingling.

Focus, Ingrid.Remember ballet? The thing that required discipline, dedication, and, oh yeah, actually showing up to the studio?

She was slipping. Missing training. Laying in a man’s bed like some sort of reckless, undisciplined degenerate. What was next? Ignoring your warm-ups? Drinking non-skim milk? This was a dangerous path. And at the end of it?Totaldepravity.

She exhaled sharply, pointing an accusatory finger. "I can’t believe you set me up."

Finn just smirked. "And I’d do it again."

She huffed. "I think I hate you."

"Winnie the Pooh, please."

---