Page 60 of Scythe & Sparrow
CONFECTION
Rose
“Well?” Fionn asks as I enter the RV and plop myself down on the small couch across from the dining table. He sets a pile of black yarn aside and regards me with a worried sweep of his gaze. “What did José say?”
“The police are treating it as an accident, apparently. There’s nothing really to say otherwise. Chad’s kind of known for being a local piece of shit and has an arrest record as long as my leg, so something makes me think they’re not going to look too hard once they find a shit ton of drugs in his system.” I sigh and rap my fingers across the surface of the table. “We won’t open this weekend. So, I guess I have a few more days off. Maybe not the worst timing.”
Fionn simply nods in reply and watches as I blow out a long breath. It’s been four days since the Chad incident, and though it seems like everything is going to be fine, it still feels as though a turbine has lodged itself in my chest, like the blades keep spinning in the wind but the energy has nowhere to go. Part of it mightbe nerves, sure. Anxiety for the unknown. The risk of getting caught. But another part of it is sheer excitement. The residual thrill. Getting away with something bad but so very, very good. And it unleashes all kinds of dark and dangerous magic in me.
“Everything all right with you?” he finally asks, and I realize I’ve been smiling to myself, probably a grin that seems diabolical. Though, judging by the way Fionn narrows his eyes and watches me, I don’t think he minds.
“Yeah. I um … just …”
“Have an itch that needs to be scratched?”
I snort a laugh. He’s still trying to bite down on a smirk, but he can’t help but let it curl one corner of his lips. It’s so fucking sexy that my core twists with immediate need. “That sounds so wrong, given the circumstances.” Fionn’s head tilts as he tries to decipher my meaning. I wave his confusion off with a flap of my hand. “Speaking of which, is that my sex swing you’re working on?” I ask with a nod to the yarn sitting on the table.
“Maybe. Thought it should be a high-priority project.”
“Yeah …” I say, letting the word linger as my imagination takes me to all sorts of scenarios, all of which involve Fionn and Tencel bamboo yarn.
“You sure you’re okay?” Fionn asks. His eyes narrow in an assessing gaze, but I can see a hint of amusement in their depths.
I clear my throat and shrug. “Just pent-up energy.”
“Maybe you should set up the treadmill.”
“Actually,” I say, uncrossing and recrossing my legs, a motion Fionn’s eyes snap to, “I was thinking a run outside might be a good idea.”
“Okay … Want me to join you?”
“Yes and no.” I get up again, and I feel the confusion in his gaze linger on me as I pull off my long-sleeve top, leaving my tank top behind. My weight shifts from side to side, my muscles already tense with anticipation. “I, um … didn’t get to say thank you after you helped with all that whole … impaling situation.”
Fionn’s brow furrows and he lifts a shoulder. He’s trying to look nonchalant about it, as nonchalant as he can, I guess. “It’s okay.”
“I mean, I wanted tothank youthank you.”
I can see the exact moment my words assemble themselves in his brain. Fionn’s eyes darken and fix to mine. His muscles tense. His pulse pounds in his neck. He starts rising from his seat, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
“Hold up there, Doc. I didn’t say I would make it easy on you. This is a circus, after all. I thought we should have a little fun. And trust me when I say it’s something you’ll enjoy. You’ve even said so before.” A lazy grin creeps across my face. I take my time. Examine my chipped nail polish. Blow out a long, long,longbreath. My gaze flows up the length of his body, from his socked feet to the jeans that hug the curve of dense muscle in his thighs, to his tapered waist, to his biceps that seem to challenge the hem of his shirt, to his neck that shifts with a swallow, and finally his eyes. Those eyes that are nearly black, locked to me as if soldered to my face.
I saunter one step closer.
“Close your eyes,” I whisper.
Reluctantly, he does.
“No peeking.”
He crisscrosses his heart. I snort a laugh, and he grins.
“You’re not so innocent, but nice try.”
“I swear. Doctors never lie.”
“Sure. Well, use that big doctor brain of yours and count to thirty for me, and then open them.” One of his eyes cracks open as he gives me a scrutinous look. “What did I literally just say?”
“Okay, okay,” he concedes, raising his hands in defeat. “One … two … three—”
