Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

My heart doesn’t beat—it throbs like an open wound no bandage could hold together. Who could possibly have Nathan’s attention? Finn’s wife was beautiful and funny—why would he want to kiss me when he has her?

Even if I could stomach the thought of confronting Nathan tonight, I can’t. It’s his night out, and he’ll be at Brooklyn Bowl. Still, I can’t help hoping, as I make my way home from work, that he’s waiting there for me. That he regrets turning me away this morning.

I’m steps away from my apartment when the door to 6A opens behind me. “Sadie.” Finn’s urgency echoes in the hall. I stop. Nathan hasn’t said my name with that much emotion in a while. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.

It may be the wrong man. It may be the wrong apartment. But I got my wish. There is someone waiting for me after all.

NINE

“Let me explain,” Finn says.

I don’t turn around. I can think more clearly if I don’t see him. “You have a family.”

“Yes, but—”

“You lied.”

“No,” he says. “I tried to tell you after our walk to the dry cleaners, but you shut me down. You knew I had something important to say, and you didn’t want to hear it.”

I keep my eyes forward, unsure who’s at fault. A few more steps, and I’d be home. Ginger is most likely waiting in the entryway. Sometimes, I think she hears me coming from the elevator. “You should’ve told me anyway,” I say, but I hear the waver in my own voice.

Finn’s door closes and latches shut. He comes up behind me. “Let’s not do this out here.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“You know why.”

I ball my fists. If I press him, whatever’s between us will no longer be unspoken. Deny it as I might, the fact remains that Finn’s here and Nathan isn’t.

Finn takes my elbow.

I glance back at him, startled by the warmth of his hand, the way it melds with my skin. “Where are they?” I ask.

“Not here.”

“Where?”

“Home.”

I shouldn’t have turned. Now I don’t want to look away. I’m reminded of how nice it is just to be near him. “You locked yourself out,” I say.

His green eyes mellow. He digs into his pocket, opens his fist, and shows me a key. He leads me to his door, keeping his free hand on me as he unlocks it. His hold is authoritative. Strong. I let him pull me into his apartment.

He slides my handbag over my shoulder and puts it on the ground. He goes for my coat, but I stop him.

“You’ll overheat,” he says simply.

After a moment, my shoulders ease. I let him take it off. Entering his apartment is like nearing the equator.

“Can I get you a drink?”

I don’t know why I’m here. I’ve never been very good at denying myself, and I’d rather be here than in my empty apartment right now. I walk farther inside. Sunlight is dying, streaming reddish-orange rays through the open window. A draft flaps the cover of a paperback on the ledge. In the center of the room, propped on a sideways wooden crate, is a record player.

“Kendra never let me get one,” he says from behind me. “If it’s not the latest thing, it’s better left in the past. Everything in New York is old to her.”

The record sleeve has grayed, worn edges. Janis Joplin’s Greatest Hits.

I turn and look at him across the room. I think he’s keeping his distance. “So what is it?” I ask.

“What?”

“You’re separated? Getting a divorce?” I cross my arms. “Mid-life crisis?”

“Worse.”

It’s getting darker. A car horn blares in the street.

“None of the above,” he says. “We’re fine.”

Instantly, I understand how that’s worse. Finn and I both have other places we should go and try to be happy. “You’re not separated?”

He shakes his head. “Like anyone else, we have our issues. But once things are wrapped up at the house, she and Marissa move in. I came early to set up the place, and, to be honest,” he pauses, “to get some alone time.”

“When?”

“End of the month. After Thanksgiving.”

My nails bite into my palms. “But you wanted to kiss me.”

“You didn’t want me to?”

Though I’m not always up front, I’ve never been much for lying. “I did,” I admit.

“You’re not separated, either. You’re not having doubts about Nathan.” He pins me with a look. “Are you?”

“No,” I say too emphatically.

“So why am I the bad guy? This isn’t one-way. We’re attracted to each other.”

I open my mouth to deny it, but we both know it’s true. I’ll only sound defensive. Adults should be able to talk about these things. “Fine,” I agree. “But you should’ve told me about them. You weren’t wearing a wedding ring.”

He shows me his hand, where there’s still no evidence of his commitment. “I don’t wear it while I unpack. I’m alone in my apartment. I wasn’t trying to trick you.”

I rake my hands through my hair. “It doesn’t matter. You have a child.”

“Would that have changed how you feel?”

“Yes,” I say. “I wouldn’t have—”

“What?”

I didn’t come over here last night with any intention other than helping a new friend. Would I have told him, days ago, he couldn’t walk me to the dry cleaner because he has a family? No. It was innocent. Now I know the truth, and I’m still here.

Sweat drips down my temple, and I swipe it away. “What now?”

He crosses the room and stands in front of me. His presence is palpable, like a stroke against my arm or a hand around my neck.

He reaches out. I struggle with my protest, but he just picks up the record and slides it out of the sleeve. “It’s been a while since I did this,” he says.

I study his face, but he’s focused on getting the vinyl on the player. The song warbles a little before it plays. He shuts his eyes and moves closer to me, as if it doesn’t count if he can’t see. “Nice, isn’t it? ‘Ball and Chain.’”

He’s referring to the song, but his smug irony isn’t lost on me. I don’t respond. The wrinkles around his eyes deepen as he smiles. His beard is darkening to dirty blond as it grows in. Suddenly, I can’t remember the exact shade of his irises, if they’re pine trees or emeralds.

“Finn.”

He opens his eyes. They’re a rich forest green, but his pupils expand, turning them dark. Looking down his nose at me, he sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s close enough to nudge me with his elbow. “I bought this at a thrift store tonight. After Kendra left.”

“Will she be mad?”

“She’s already mad. Where’s Nathan?”

“None of your business.”

“I answered your questions.”

“I didn’t hold a gun to your head.”

“Is he home?” he asks.

I frown. Not answering isn’t any better than lying, but I can’t peel a yes from my mouth. It’s not true.

“Stay,” he says. “Have a drink.”

“It’s a million degrees in here.”

“You don’t mind.”

My huff comes out a sultry exhale. “I don’t?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

He’s even closer now. Close enough that it really does feel like it might be a hundred or more degrees in here. He presses the tip of his shoe into mine like a kiss. I could easily move away. I have half the living room behind me. “Are they coming back?” I ask.