Flesh (Flesh 1)

On the other side of the street, beyond the noise and commotion of the bulldozer, was an old motel. There was an antique shop beside it, then a big hardware store stretching back the width of the block. The interior of the building was packed to the rafters.

“You’re stockpiling like you’re preparing for a siege,” Finn said.

Santa rounded on him, face grim. “You never know, Finn. You never do know. There’s been infected gathering along the fence line at nighttime. Pays to be prepared for anything. Now, why don’t we discuss the checking you over physical y requirement? Wouldn’t do for anyone to be hiding a bite, would it?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Santa had a daughter named Erin. She showed them to their designated lodgings above the real estate office. Ali tagged along behind as Erin and Finn did the getting to know you thing. Already Blackstone gave her a bad feeling. Though that might have just been due to the company she was keeping.

Erin was a pretty, sporty sort, around Finn’s age, with shoulder-length brown hair. Womanly wise, Erin was on the smallish side and didn’t require a bra. This fact was made glaringly obvious by the thin tank top she wore.

And if Erin didn’t get her tea-cup tits out of Finn’s face, then Ali was going to start scratching shit up.

The lust on the girl’s face when Finn had stripped off his shirt for the physical had made Ali want to pull hair. She had never gotten into a catfight in her life, but apparently, there really was a first time for everything.

There was only one smal problem. Finn was flirting back.

She had never seen him so happy. He was lapping up Erin’s tales of daring deeds done on supply runs. How she must pale in comparison, sleeping with a gun under her pillow and fear in her heart.

Bleh.

Ali turned her back on their shenanigans and kept busy checking the place out. The kitchen was a small corner unit consisting of a sink and a two-ring gas stove, the bathroom every bit as elaborate and dating back to the 1960s. Otherwise, the large expanse of what had once been storage space was perfectly vacant, completed by two rickety sets of French doors leading to a veranda overlooking Main Street. It would do them fine. Whoever “them” wound up being.

Santa had taken Dan off to organize a king-sized mattress sufficient for the three of them, which had prompted much guffawing from the old man. Sam was getting great mileage out of the ménage thing.

“Al, Erin’s leaving now,” Finn announced.

What a shame.

“Bye,” she cal ed back over her shoulder, saving her “fuck you very much” for a quieter moment.

“What do you think? This’ll be okay, won’t it?” Finn wandered up behind her and leant an arm on her shoulder like she was part of the non-existent furniture.

Her skin felt paper thin and ready to rip, doubtless already worn at the edges. The scene brought her ex-fiancé to mind, horribly enough. The uncomfortable but haughty glances as he packed his shit and took off with her sister sat front and center in her head.

There’d been enough hurt and betrayal to last a lifetime. She couldn’t do this again. The need to tear Finn a new one boiled beneath the surface. But he didn’t belong to her. There was no commitment made. She had slept with him, end of story. It was just sex.

With Daniel she knew where she stood, that ground was rock solid. But with Finn …

She heard voices drift up the stairwell.

“Finn, get your ass down here and help,” Dan hollered from below. Even his raised voice calmed her down some. Her shoulders sunk back to a more normal level and left her earlobes alone.

“Duty calls.” Finn brushed her cheek with a finger and headed for the stairs, leaving her to wonder if he filed her under the same heading. Duty.

The weight of her pity party would grind her down to rubble at this rate.

Bed installed and guests gotten rid of, they spread out on the end of the mattress for dinner. Each awkward second passed slowly with her tummy pitching like she was at sea. The need to do something with the mess of emotions inside her drove her nuts. What had ever made her think she could deal with two men? The blame sat squarely at Dan’s pushy feet, except it didn’t. She’d stumbled straight on into the mess with eyes wide open.

“We need to talk,” she announced. Her voice sounded way more confident than her quivering rabbit was making her feel. Two sets of eyes rose from their canned dinners and focused on her. The desire to scurry off into a corner reigned supreme.

“About?” asked Daniel.

“This place.”

“You don’t like it?” Dan gave the room the once over and shrugged. “Babe, I know it’s not much, but—”

“No, not this room. This town. About being here.” She turned her attention to Finn. His blonde hair fell into his eyes, brushed the tops of his shoulders. Maybe he would cut it now they were back amongst society. Maybe he would put on his uniform, become someone else entirely. “Finn, I know Sam said they weren’t keen on single guys coming in, but I’m sure they wouldn’t evict you if that was what you wanted.”

Finn gave her cop eyes. “What exactly does that mean, Al?”

“You really hit it off with Erin.”

“I’m with you.”

“You don’t have to be. You’re free to choose, I won’t …” She paused, flustered. “It’s up to you.”

Finn set aside his food, moving like his shoulder pained him. “What won’t you do?”

“There are going to be other women here too, not only her,” Ali said. “You’re free to make your own choices. I won’t get in your way. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Finn blinked furiously. He sucked in his cheeks and his lips pressed tight together like it was taking a lot out of him not to lose it.

“Fuck!”

“Easy,” Dan cautioned.

“Easy? She’s trying to set me up with someone else. How the f**k do I take that, Dan? Tel me.”

“Finn—” she started.

“Don’t.” Finn stood, brushed off his hands against his jeans legs. “Thank you for your permission, Al. Can’t say what it means to me.

I’m gonna go check out their cop shop.”

She heard the thump, thump, thump of him jogging down the stairs, followed by the God almighty slam of the door at the back of the shop.

“Finn has left the building,” Dan said mildly, watching her over the top of his can of Irish stew. “Wanna tell me what that was about, babe?”