Counterfeit Love

"The best of friends," Finch declared, dropping an arm playfully around my shoulders.

Something amazing happened.

I didn't flinch.

I didn't yank immediately away.

If anything, I leaned into it.

It sounded impossible. If you had told me just two moments before, I would have said it couldn't happen.

But it could.

It did.

"I can see that," my mom said, eyes even more curious than before as they traveled along Finch's arm, taking in where it connected with my body.

"And what's with the face paint?" she asked, nodding to Finch's cuts and blood.

"Oh, just taking down a bully. Saving the day. Being a knight in shining armor and shit," he told her, losing some of his tension.

"Not a great training day, huh?" Mom asked, eyes knowing. I struggled with a lot of the men who she employed. But Jake most of all. Because he reminded me of someone. Because when I sparred with him, it sometimes got hard separating the past and the present. Because Jake didn't seem to care about being careful with me.

"It's not the worst one we've had," I admitted, shrugging.

To that, she nodded, letting it drop. "So where are you two kids heading?" she asked, and I was pretty sure she had been waiting years to be able to say such a mom thing to me.

"Well, we are supposed to be going to grab coffee and take a drive down by the ocean," Finch said. "But, apparently, this goddess here wants to play nursemaid first."

"That cut by your eye needs butterfly sutures at least," Mom informed him. "There are some in the locker room," she added, nodding her chin toward the back doorway. "Nice seeing you again, Finch. Make sure you keep those cuts clean," she told him, walking off into her office.

It wasn't over, of course.

She would bring this up to me as soon as possible.

For the first time ever, I was starting to regret not getting my own place outside of Hailstorm. I would never be able to avoid her there. And, clearly, I needed to avoid that conversation. At least until I could wrap my head around it. Maybe fall onto my therapist's couch about it.

"Come on," I urged him, ducking down to slip under his arm, making my way ahead of him, trying to ignore the way I missed the weight on my shoulders, and the a surge of disappointment coursing through my system. "Sit here," I demanded, slipping back behind my defenses as we made our way into the small first aid and locker room that that led off into two separate locker rooms for men and women.

There was an emergency kit in the first locker, one without a door.

I reached inside, grabbing everything I would need, then making my way back to Finch who had tossed out the lollipop stick, and was watching me as I moved around.

"I know, I know," he said as I soaked a cotton pad in alcohol. "This is going to sting."

But he hardly let out a hiss as I quickly mopped up the rapidly drying blood on his lip, then made my way up, doing the best I could with his eye seeing as it was still bleeding, very much needing the sutures my mother had mentioned.

"Alright. Those will hold. Let me just clean this up a little more," I told him after sticking them in place, feeling Finch's fingertips gently resting on my hip.

I didn't brush them away as I swiped the last traces of blood off his face.

"What? No kiss to make it better?" he teased, smile light and warm, eyes dancing.

He didn't say it to prompt me to do it. I felt I knew him well enough at this point to tell. And maybe that was precisely why I felt myself lean forward. Why I didn't give it a second thought as my lips pressed beside the suture by his eye.

His gaze was on mine, intense, as I pulled back slightly.

There was a tight feeling in my chest as the urge suddenly overtook me--foreign, a little scary, but undeniable.

My head shifted downward, eyelids fluttering closed as I pressed a kiss to the very outside of his lips near the split.

I couldn't have been prepared for the impact of it.

I mean, how could I?

The jumping pulse, the flip-flopping belly, the light, floating sensation in my chest, the intense aching between my thighs.

At that realization, I jerked away, stood back straight, gaze down on Finch. And his eyes were looking at me. Intense. Curious. Fiery.

"Well," he said, a bit awkwardly--if a man like him could ever be referred to as 'awkward'--and clearing his throat. "I feel all better now. We ready for coffee and intimidation?"

"I, ah, I need to change," I informed him, tripping over his foot in my rush to grab my bag out of my locker and get into the women's locker room where I went into a small changing room, pressing my back against the wall, sliding down until my knees pressed to my chest.