One for the Money

He touches me everywhere. His hands come up to the sides of my neck. They delve back beneath my dress. They skim down my hemline. He groans when he reaches my breasts. He’s as wild as those fighters in this moment. And it surprises me, exhilarates me. I feel just as much adrenaline now as I did when I realized Wagner was going to win. Finn is fighting now but I don’t know whether he’s fighting for me or fighting to hold himself back.

His hands go beneath my skirt, and I wonder if he’ll do it. If he’ll take me down to the dock and fuck me here in public in front of anyone who might walk by. It should embarrass me, it should make me recoil, it should make me push him away, insist that he stop, but I don’t. I don’t even think I would stop him if he took it that far. I think it might happen. That’s how drunk I feel on him, how lost I feel on him.

That would be an escape. No one could deny it. Public sex. What has this come from? What has this come to? I want everything.

“Maybe we could go…” I say, breathless. It turns into a moan when he finds my nipple. When he pinches it between two fingers. My head falls back in wordless pleasure.

I meant to say, Go back to my place. Get a hotel room, any private space. Because I want everything from him. I want everything with him, and we won’t have time in public.

That seems to be a recurring theme with Finn.

Why is he running out of time?

His phone rings. I feel it before he notices. It’s buzzing in his pocket. For a minute, he’s still kissing me, his tongue hot on mine, his hands locked around the back of my neck. I’m grinding shamelessly against him when I feel that mechanical vibration.

“Finn,” I gasp.

His whole body goes stiff. “Fuck,” he mutters and reaches for his phone.

“Hughes,” he says, his hand still on my neck.

A woman’s voice comes over the line. I can’t make out the words, but it sounds urgent. And I can see the tension cross his face. The excitement from the fight, the arousal from kissing me, goes out of his face. “I’ll be right there,” he says, and then he shoves it back into his pocket.

He tugs my dress back into place, his expression distracted.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, but it’s a blatant lie. We’re back to pretending. “I have to get home.”

“Can I help?”

He doesn’t seem to hear the question as he tugs me back along the water’s edge toward the warehouse. He still helps me over the loose gravel. He’s solicitous but efficient, and I sense the urgency in his actions. It makes a shiver run down my spine.

“Finn. What happened?” I ask when we’re inside the car.

He looks at me as if he’s remembering I’m here for the first time. “I’ll get a cab for you,” he says. Then he seems to realize that we’re at this warehouse in a seedy part of town. “A limo. Fuck,” he says again. “I’ll take you back to my place. Then I’ll send you home with our driver.”

“Okay,” I say, because I don’t want him to worry about me.

Once he has a plan, he’s all motion again. He’s getting us into the car, pulling us out of the spot, steering us to the city at the very edge of the speed limit.

He runs a yellow light, then nearly misses a red.

Something’s wrong. I can tell that from the set of his jaw, from the worried frantic look in his eyes. He shouldn’t have to plan one more thing right now. Not a car, not sending me home. If something has happened with his dad, I can help. I can at least be there with him. Sometimes that’s all you can do for another person.

“I’m going in the house with you,” I say, taking over.

It’s what I’ve always done. If something’s wrong, I help fix it. Like Finn said, I do it morning and night for my family. Which means I can help him now.

Finn gives me a bemused look. “No, you’re not.”

He’s not sure of me. And why would he be? Our relationship is fake. I don’t know anything about him other than his good family name. Other than he’s fun at parties. Other than my mother likes him. “Let me help,” I say, gently.

He shakes his head, but it’s not really a refusal.

I recognize the look because I’ve seen it in my brother Leo. In my other brothers. Even my father. It’s the look of a man stretched beyond his capability. Rare but made even more acute by how infrequently it happens.

No one can help. That’s what the little shake of his head means.