Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

His gaze shifts away. It takes him a moment to answer, as if he doesn’t know what to say, or hasn’t given it much thought. “Of course I do. She’s the mother of my child. She’s been my wife for almost eight years. But I feel something different for you than I ever did for her. Much different.” He squeezes me.

The fabric of our short history is shiny, woven with new experiences, romance, lust—most of all, possibility. A fresh start. With Nathan, the threads are stronger but faded. They’ve been holding us together a long time. They’ve endured arguments, tragedies, frustrations—but also adventures and blessings. Like the time I fought him about leaving our bed the morning after a blizzard. I pouted the whole way to Central Park, laden with a scarf, knit cap, and gloves. Nathan had insisted, and I’d grumbled. Somehow he knew what a magical day it would turn out to be. We ice-skated hand in hand, admired shop windows on Fifth Avenue, and had a snowball fight that downed me, more thanks to laughter than anything. Finn and I don’t have that yet. Instead, our magic is what could be, and a fresh start can be as alluring as a good memory. Neither what is nor what could be is better, and I understand what Finn means when he says different.

Finn releases me. “There’s one last room . . .”

“The bathroom?” I tease.

The oven beeps. We laugh. “Divine intervention,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Let’s eat. Smells fucking delicious.”

On the way to the kitchen, I think about how he used the word relationship a minute ago. I didn’t notice it at first, which means it didn’t scare me.

Finn clears off the table and chairs. I get dishes and silverware. I’m familiar with his kitchen since I set it up. It’s more than likely I know it better than Finn’s wife does.

“What can I do?” he asks as I set the table.

“Sit,” I say. “Let me serve you.”

His eyes follow me around the kitchen. I get two beers. I’d rather drink more wine, but he doesn’t have any, and when I think of going back to my apartment, my stomach aches.

I prepare two plates and set his in front of him. “Sorry there’s no greens,” I say. “I had to dump the salad.”

He grabs my wrist and pulls me onto his lap. “Say that again.”

I arch an eyebrow at him and think back. I know what he’s asking for, but I say, “I had to dump the salad?”

He shakes his head, waiting, amused.

“Let me serve you.”

“Yeah.” He cups his hand between my legs. “Say it again.”

I squirm as he holds onto me. “Let me serve you.”

He rubs my clit with the undersides of his fingers. I inhale a sharp breath as he looks from my eyes to my mouth and back. “I can think of a few ways I want to be served.”

He’s hard under my thigh. I cover his searching hand with mine and move with him. It’s nice. Easy.

He flips his hand over, laces his fingers through mine, and kisses my knuckles. “You should eat. If we keep this up, I can’t promise we’ll get to dinner.”

He doesn’t look at me. His self-control is thin, and it shows on his face. I appreciate that he stops to take care of me before himself, so I kiss him on the cheek. I try to get up from his lap, but he keeps me there with an arm around my waist. “You can stay here,” he says. “Just don’t wiggle around too much.”

I smile and elbow him lightly in the ribs, but move most of my weight onto one of his thighs. “How’s that?”

“We’ll see.” He picks up a rib and feeds me first.

I suck barbeque flavor from his fingers. “Yum.”

He cleans off the rest of the meat, groaning. After swallowing, he says, “That’s so worth not getting a handy.”

I laugh throatily, his joke unexpected. “Liar,” I say. We take a few more bites that way. My hunger is easily satisfied tonight, so I snuggle against him as he eats, but it’s hard to get comfortable against his muscled chest. “I’m guessing you found a gym,” I say.

“I’m at Equinox. I didn’t think it’d be smart to sign up where you guys go.”

I raise my eyebrows, but he can’t see me. Nathan makes fun of that gym because it has the same equipment as ours, the same douchebags, and it costs twice as much. “How often do you go?”

“Right now, almost every day. I’m making up for lost time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Between work, Kendra, and Marissa, I didn’t exercise as much as I wanted in Connecticut.” He washes down his food with beer. His body heaves as he swallows, bobbing me back and forth. He continues, “I’ve also been running along the East River promenade. Have you done that?”

“No,” I admit. I don’t add that Nathan has tried to get me to go with him, but I find jogging grueling no matter where it happens.

“Do it with me tomorrow,” he says. “If you go early enough, not many people are out. It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it cold?”

“Oh, it’s cold as fuck,” he says with a laugh, “but I’ll keep you warm, baby.”

With my fingertip, I trace a figure eight on his thigh. For some reason, it doesn’t sound grueling when Finn suggests it. It sounds fun. “Then what?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Then, we order all the breakfast at the diner. Enough hash browns to make us sick. We’re so cute when we dip them in our sunny-side-up eggs and feed them to each other that the waitress might also be sick.”

I smile hard, bursting at the seams, on the verge of laughing. “And then?”

“We’ll probably have to come back here after that,” he says. “We’ll be full and sweaty.”

“Full and sweaty?” I wrinkle my nose. “That’s how you envision us as a couple?”

“Stay with me,” he says. He looks toward the living room. “In the doorway, I’ll strip you down to nothing and carry you over my shoulder to the shower. I’ll fuck you in there. I’ll fuck you in here. I’ll fuck you all over the place. By then, it’ll be lunchtime, and we’ll go somewhere fun. You like the Natural History Museum?”

“I guess. It’s been a while—”

“It’s the best one,” he says. “It’s just fun, not pretentious, you know? We’ll get hotdogs out front and then wander around.”

“Hotdogs?” I ask. “After all that breakfast?”

“Happy people eat a lot,” he says simply.

We laugh together until his breathing evens out.

“What’s next?” I ask, shifting to look at him. “Wait—let me guess. Pizza?”

He kisses me on the nose. “If that’s what you want.”

I turn back to the table. He’s almost finished his plate, while mine is nearly full. I nod. “It’s a nice fantasy, Finn. Thank you.”

“It doesn’t have to be a fantasy. Just say the word.”

I’m not surprised by his suggestion, but what world is Finn living in that he thinks we could do that tomorrow? I love that he wants to spend the day with me, but what we’re talking about is serious, and it needs a dose of reality.

“I meant because I have to work tomorrow. You know that, right? It’s Thursday.”

“And I’m supposed to go to Connecticut.” He shrugs. “I’ll cancel. You take the day off.”

“All right,” I concede, even though I can’t since I did that today, “but then what? I can’t take every day off.”

He gets quiet. I wait for him to answer, but it becomes clear he isn’t going to.

I’ve ruined the mood, but this could be a good thing. We need see what’s behind this closed door. “What are you doing about work?” I ask.

He shifts underneath me. “If you’re worried about finances, don’t be. I used to manage money for a living. I’ll figure it out. And until I do, I’ve got savings and investments.”

“I’m not worried. Just curious.” I rub his calf with my foot to show him I’m not nagging. “You want to make a living on your photography, right? Have you made any progress since we last talked about it? What about that job you had?”

“It’s on the books,” he says, a little lighter. “I’m not sure about it, though.”