Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

“Go ahead,” he says.

“It’s nothing. Just . . .” I push up my sleeves. I want to relax tonight, and I can’t do that while there’s an elephant in the room. It’s best we fess up to our mistake and move on. “Last week.”

“Right. That’s what I was going to say.”

I nod. Kissing Finn was wrong. I repeat that sentence in my head to avoid remembering how it felt. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

I blanch. My next sentence was going to be, It won’t happen again.

“I mean, I am sorry,” he says, bringing his plate to the table. “Kind of. Not that it happened, but that it’s happening like this.” He gestures between us. “I wish things were, you know . . . different.”

I cinch my eyebrows. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He forks some broccolini into his mouth. “I do.”

Well. I don’t know what to do other than watch him chew. Am I supposed to agree? Sure, Finn is jaw-droppingly attractive. Just being around him makes me feel warm. Welcome, even. Light. Happy? He likes me. My mood has improved since walking in the door. But the truth remains beneath the surface. It won’t last. Just because I feel better now doesn’t mean I’d trade the life I have to kiss Finn. That is, if I still even have that life. Nathan can, and might, take it all away. Maybe he already has, and he’s just trying to figure out how to tell me.

“You’re sad,” Finn says.

I look up from staring at his wood table. “I’m fine.”

“No,” he says as if he has a direct line to my thoughts. “You’re sad. I can tell.”

With my hands in my lap, I spin my wedding ring around my finger. Finn looks at me intently. If he wants me to say Nathan has made me sad, I can’t. Not to him. An admission like that to another man would be more intimate than a kiss.

“I came over here to ask you a favor,” I say brightly, remembering how excited I am to be able to give him work. “A photography thing.”

He frowns. “You need coaching in the art of changing the subject.”

“That could be,” I admit, smoothing my hands over my thighs.

“I’ll allow it. For now. What’s the favor?”

“Headshots.” I roll my eyes. “It’s stupid, really. My boss wants them for the website. Now that I’ve been promoted, I have my own About Me section and everything.”

“Your own section, huh?” He takes a bite and nods at me. “So what’s your picture now? A question mark?”

“A silhouette with a bowl haircut,” I say, deadpan. “No wonder business is slow.”

He smiles as he chews. “Sadie?”

“Yes?”

“You make a mean steak.”

I grin. “Thanks.”

“I’m happy to take your photo. Honored, really.”

“You’ll get paid, obviously.” I smack my forehead like a sitcom character. “Duh. I should’ve led with that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I could use the practice. How’s this weekend?”

“Are you sure? It’s so soon.”

“Absolutely. Let’s do it.”

“Great,” I say with relief. Amelia won’t be on my ass about it. “Where?”

“I get to choose?”

“She said to ‘have fun with it.’ I have no idea what—”

“I’ll take care of it. Come over Saturday morning. I’ll look at your company’s website and get a feel for things.”

I get a business card from the pouch on my key ring and slide it across the table. “Here’s the info.”

“Amelia Van Ecken Communications.” He studies it, flips it over. “We’ll get a picture for your card too.”

I wave my hand. “Our marketing girl handles that stuff.”

“Insist on a picture. It helps for clients to see a face.” He swallows some food and takes a swig of beer. “Especially yours. I’d buy anything you were selling.”

I try not to smile. “I’m not really selling anything.”

“Then I’d believe anything you said.”

I scrunch my nose. “If that’s true, you need lessons in the art of the poker face. Your cards are showing.”

“Sorry, Sadie,” he says. “I don’t play games. Not with something this serious.”

His comment hugs the line of flirtatiousness. Is he referring to my work? Or us? Either way, I’ve been down this path with him. I know where it leads. A suggestive comment becomes an inside joke becomes a kind of intimacy that opens the door for more. My conscience has enough to deal with. Not only did I kiss another man, but now I’m back in his apartment, planning to spend more time with him. “I should get home,” I say.

Finn sits back in his chair. He keeps ahold of his beer by the neck. “Isn’t it bowling night?”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.”

I don’t move. Just because I should doesn’t mean I want to.

He rolls the base of his bottle over the wood a few times, and then stands. He puts his dish in the sink, and on the way back, opens the fridge and shows me a Heineken. “Have one. It will help.”

He could be referring to the heat, but I think he means my problems with Nathan. Staying in this chair isn’t as bad if Finn doesn’t technically ask. I’m comfortable in our own little world. Nathan doesn’t even know I’m here—and would he care? What do I have to go home to?

He pops the cap and gives it to me over the table. I take a longer drink than I intend. And he’s right. It does cool me down.

“What did he say about the lipstick stain?”

I put the bottle down too hard, and he flinches. The fact that Nathan and I aren’t speaking makes the topic a bit difficult to broach. Finn is the only person I’ve told. I’m beginning to regret that I did if he means to hold me accountable. I’d rather forget the stain ever existed. After all, Chin-Mae returned the tie good as new.

“Sadie,” Finn prompts.

I read the Heineken label. It’s a product of Holland. Interesting. I’d thought it was a German beer, yet it’s right there on the front. Shows how little I pay attention. I look for that number, the one that tells you how much alcohol is in the beer.

“The alcohol by volume is five-point-two percent,” Finn says. I don’t hide my shock over his mind-reading skills. He takes the bottle out of my hands and puts it on the table. “I asked you a question.”

I don’t look at him when I answer. “I haven’t brought it up.”

“Why not?”

“Because I trust him,” I say. “And I don’t want to set him off.”

Finn cranes his neck to get me to look at him. “Does he have a temper?”

“No,” I respond immediately when I realize what Finn must think. “Not at all. Just a lot on his mind.”

“Have you found anything else that indicates . . .?”

I almost wish he’d finish his sentence so I’m not forced to fill in the blanks. Anything to indicate Nathan’s cheating on me? He’s fallen out of love with me? He’s unhappier than he’s ever been? I pinch my eyebrow between my nails until my eyes water. I pick up my beer with a look that dares Finn to take it away again.

“I don’t know,” I say. “A couple times he’s come home smelling like smoke when he shouldn’t. Like he stopped by a bar after work, or during lunch.” I wait for Finn to tell me I’m paranoid. He stays silent. “I met this girl,” I continue, “at the bowling alley. This woman. She’s a girlfriend of one of the players. Wednesday nights, wives are invited to the games.”

Finn’s forehead creases. “It’s Wednesday now. He never told you?”

“He did. I turned him down to watch TV, and because I think he’s more relaxed when I’m not around.”

“Why?”