Page 10 of Three Bossy Boyfriends
“I heard Marvin McDonald passed you over and hired some big-shot company from here in Charleston when he built that bigger warehouse in Honeysuckle Harbor.” She winces. “That’s too bad for someone everyone in town likes.”
Yeah, well, fucking Marvin McDonald is a dick. “Marvin is a businessman. He had to make the decision he thought was best. It wasn’t personal.” Though it fucking felt personal.
“I heard you got a pretty nasty case of chickenpox at age twenty,” she says, leaning in and propping her chin on her hand. “That’s really unusual.”
I narrow my eyes. We had definitely referred to that as a Finley. “Yep. But bounced back and I am healthy as a horse now.”
Her eyes track over my shoulders and biceps. “I guess that wasn’t enough to keep Chelsea interested, though, huh?”
Fucking low blow. Chelsea was my longtime girlfriend, who broke up with me after three years and a very near proposal. I met her freshman year of college. She ran off with her college history professor.
“Chelsea is very married with a daughter now,” I tell her calmly. “I’m very happy for her.”
While I agree that Chelsea and I are better off without one another, yes, we had referred to that breakup as a Finley too.
“Okay,” Christopher breaks in. “I’m sure there will be time for you to reminisce about your past. How about we talk about the case?”
Lord, I hope there’s not time to reminisce about our past. That will make me look like an asshole to Christopher, and there’s no reason to rehash it with Finley.
“I just wonder if maybe Tucker would like to have me removed from the case,” Finley says. “I tend to bring him…bad luck.”
I lift both brows. “You do? We’ve barely spent any time together. How can you say that? It’s not like we were friends or hung out.”
Is that a dick thing to say? Yes. But she’s so calm and cool and seemingly unaffected by seeing me again. In fact, she seems to know about all of the debacles in my life since high school and is pleased. I sigh. It’s hard to have secrets in a small town. I assume her parents or sisters are aware of all of those things.
“I cursed him,” Finley says to Christopher. “I’m the reason all those bad things happened to him.”
Christopher frowns. “Excuse me?”
I roll my eyes. It sounds so stupid when it’s said out loud. Even by her.
I can’t believe she just told her boss that.
She sits forward and rests her folded hands on the tabletop. “I cursed Tucker ten years ago. I’m afraid that me working on this case might be detrimental to the outcome.”
I study her across the table. Finley looks bored.
Dammit, why does she have to be so beautiful? I remember from high school that, despite her all-black clothes, hoodie pulled up over her head, and the tattoos she drew on her pale arms, as well as her perpetual frown, she was pretty. Scary, but very pretty.
Now she’s a knockout. Her body is tight and toned, and her face, without the constant scowl and eyelashes that always reminded me of spider legs, is absolutely beautiful.
I know and still see her sisters regularly. They work at one of the best restaurants in the area, conveniently located in my hometown and run by their brother. Frannie and Fiona are bubbly, curvy blondes. But I’d use the word ‘cute’ to describe them. Finley is not cute. She’s beautiful.
My gaze drops to her hands, marveling at the medium-length nails painted a pale pink. And then I see the peek of ink from beneath the sleeve of her blouse.
A real tattoo. Not a crazy picture drawn with an ink pen during math class. My gaze travels up her slender arm. Does she have more? I’d bet good money on it. Maybe there are some piercings as well.
And suddenly, I am wondering about everything that is underneath Finley’s polished, put-together exterior.
And okay, I let myself admit for the first time in ten years that I wondered about what was underneath her creepy exterior back in high school.
Until the curse, I figured there was something else going on with her and wondered if she needed someone to talk to.
But then I made the mistake of poking that black cat and getting hissed at and scratched.
Still…what makes this girl her?
“Tucker?”
