Slip of the Tongue (Slip of the Tongue 1)

It feels good to break into genuine laughter, and to have him join in. I realize I’ve come to expect his intense responses, so poking fun at ourselves is welcome. “Please tell me you understand we can’t leave our spouses of years for each other. You’ve known me two weeks.”

“In my mind, I’ve known you much longer.” He smiles down at me before we start walking again. “And, we can do whatever we damn well want.”

“We can . . . but should we? It isn’t fair to them.”

“No, it isn’t. It also isn’t fair that he’s had you for so long when it should’ve been me.” Without missing a beat, he adds, “Should we go to Quench? Finish the conversation we started ten years ago?”

“Definitely not,” I say. “They know me and Nathan there—” Gisele’s sweet, unassuming smile comes to mind, and my mood darkens. Her young teeth are too white for a coffee shop. “They know us as a couple.”

Finn grunts. I sense his irritation when he says, “I’ve always thought of that as our spot, Sadie.”

“What about Marissa?” I ask, steering the conversation back on topic.

His back goes straight. “Marissa?”

“If there’s any reason to stop this, it’s her.”

“Marissa will always be my priority,” he says. “That doesn’t mean I have to be unhappy, does it?”

“No.” I can’t help but think of my brother. Andrew is stubbornly unhappy. He’d rather that than risk getting hurt again, even if he won’t admit it. I worry about the message he’s sending his daughter. “I guess not.”

“I’m a good dad. Falling for someone else doesn’t mean I have to lose my little girl.”

His matter-of-factness stubs out any argument I could come up with. The man knows what he wants. He wants Marissa. He wants me. I, on the other hand, can’t possibly think that far ahead yet. “I don’t know, Finn.”

He shrugs. His shoes scuff the concrete. Even in my highest heels, I only come up to his chin. “I don’t expect you to. It’s not exactly something we can work out overnight. But it’s important to me that you know everything I’m thinking.”

It’s a refreshing change, someone letting me in, even if it isn’t Nathan. But my true relief is that Finn doesn’t need anything from me at this moment.

We wind through the streets, going nowhere until we come to a natural stop in front of a vintage clothing shop with artwork in the window and heavy metal on the speakers. Finn seems drawn by the music. Inside, we gravitate to the same watercolor nude hanging over a rack of clothing. The woman is hunched forward on the floor, her legs spread under her. She’s shades of pink with reddish nipples and an opaquely black bellybutton. Even though she covers her crotch with a hand, her fingers are cracked, as if we’re being spied on. The same black hair on her head sprouts around her slender fingers.

“Help you with something?” the clerk asks.

“No,” we say loudly and in unison.

Finn stares up at it. Quietly, he says, “I can’t get it out of my head—fucking you. Not last night or this morning or even now. Your perfect tits. An ass I can get a handful of.”

“Don’t talk like that.” It’s too much. His words make me dizzy, unsure of my self-control.

“You have the body of an angel,” he continues. “Or a devil. I haven’t decided.”

I shift my eyes from the painting to his profile. “Is that a compliment?”

“No,” he says, looking back at me. “It’s trouble.”

TWENTY-ONE

On Nineteenth Street, Finn wants to know what the next showing is. The theater clerk barely looks up from her computer, either tweeting or looking up movie times. “There’s one starting in five minutes,” she says.

“Is it good?” he asks.

“Of course. It’s great.”

“Honestly,” he says. “What’s the truth?”

She checks over her shoulder before she says, “Total crap. It’s a box office bust.”

“Perfect.” Finn takes out his wallet. “Two adults for the box office bust.”

Minutes ago, Finn had me hot and bothered in the middle of a vintage shop. I’m not sure I can sit still for the next two hours. “Finn—”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Warmth surges through me. He’s caught me off guard. I can’t be his sweetheart, but this woman doesn’t know that. Finn looks about as delighted to call me that as I am to hear it. I decide to shut up. “Nothing.”

He grins. “Good.”

But as soon as we enter the popcorn-scented lobby, my loose muscles pull as taut as guitar strings. Finn asks me if I want something. I tell him I hate popcorn, and he looks pleased with each piece of information he gets. I don’t hate popcorn. I hate the way it stirs my memory and my guilt, both of which are better off buried.

We walk side by side into the dark theater. His knuckles brush my wrist, and I get an actual electric shock from the carpet. My hairs stand on end. I realize he’s going to touch me when we sit down. That’s why we’re here. To do more of what we did yesterday.

Him, flipping me over on the couch—first, onto my stomach to explore me from behind, then onto my back when he was ready to fuck.

His teeth, grazing the arches of my feet.

His hands, spreading me apart for his mouth.

“You all right?” he asks.

I’m hobbling. “Yes.”

We stop at the top of the aisle. A trailer for an action movie shakes the theater like an earthquake. My eyes adjust. The empty theater. Finn leads me to the middle of the very back row. He seats me on the inside, closest to the wall. As soon as I’m there, he whips off his jacket and huddles over me. He runs the tip of his nose along the shell of my ear, breathes hotly on my skin. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” he says, pushing my coat off my shoulders. I wiggle out of it. “You have no idea.”

The memory of him inside me stings fresh—hurts, even, but in a good way. I put my hand directly on him and feel how hard he is. “I have some idea.”

He says my name through gritted teeth, as if the smallest thing will make him explode, then pushes me flush against the back of the seat. He kisses me hard, but I’m in the middle of my own feverish storm. I give it right back to him. I scrape my hand against the bulk in his pants.

He mirrors my movements and massages the seam of my jeans up against my clit. His fingers work fast from the start. I see stars right away. The stiff fabric and his urgency annihilate my control. I lose my breath, unable to continue kissing him.

He chuckles. “Already?”

“You can tell?” I ask.

“You freeze up before you climax.”

My hand is splayed across his crotch. My shoulders are nearly at my ears. My thighs shake from the pressure. I whisper, even though we’re alone, “You’re going to make me come here, in public?”

“Eventually. We still have a couple hours.” He covers my mouth with his again. We make out like we’re both starving and the other person is food. He pops open my jeans but doesn’t touch me where I want. His hand is under my sweater, skipping up my stomach, yanking at the underwire of my bra.

I pull him closer by his shirt. He’s nearly in my seat, hungrily exploring every inch of me, when voices startle us apart. I bang my spine against the armrest. An elderly man and woman shuffle into view, and then down the aisle. A group of girls enters behind them and sits a few rows in front of us.

“What the fuck,” Finn hisses.

I’m also panting, but somehow I manage a laugh. “Did you honestly think we could be alone in the middle of Manhattan?”

“I have a hard-on the size of fucking Manhattan.” He throws his head back against the cushion and looks up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

“Not as sorry as I am. I’ve got to sit through a shitty movie with the goddamn Empire State Building in my pants.”

I giggle a little harder, but my glee fades quickly. Now I’m thinking of the way he plowed into me last night with his building of a cock, gave me all of it, even though he knew it could hurt. “How big are you?”

He looks sidelong at me. “I don’t know.”

“Liar. Every guy knows.”

“Not me.”

I don’t believe him. Nathan is equally shy about being well endowed. He’ll joke with me, whispering about his cock in public to make me blush. But when I tease him about his size, he shuts up.

Finn and I get comfortable. He pulls my leg over his and throughout the movie, absentmindedly rubs his hand on my thigh. I have no idea what’s happening in front of my eyes. I’m turned on and confused, a dangerous combination. I think I could justify anything right now, including getting arrested for indecent exposure.