Snatched
Except I don’t really know where the bathroom is, so really, I’m just walking toward the back of the house. hoping to find some sort of sink or bathtub or cooler of ice I can use to splash water on my face and sober up enough to get home. Instead, I find the last person I want to see when I’m sloppy and feeling pathetic— Finn Thorne. Tucked away in a corner, a girl leaning toward him, everything about her hungry and predatory and eager. Finn is grinning— until he looks up and sees me.
“Kenley?” he asks, his voice loud in the hallway, which, compared to the main rooms of Football House, is silent as a church.
“Sorry, don’t let me interrupt,” I say, and try to smile apologetically, but I think I just glower at him. The girl casts me a dark look, one that grows darker still when he slips away from her and walks over to me.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he says, looking a little concerned. He stops a few feet in front of me, then stoops to put down the bottle of beer in his hand.
“As if you care,” I say, hating how difficult it is to sound as hurt as I truly am right now.
His brow creases. “I don’t get it.”
“You never called,” I say, my voice harsh.
He shrugs. “I got busy.”
“Whatever,” I tell him, my hand fluttering as I try to wave him off.
I tilt a little and, before I realize what’s happening, Finn is touching me. “Hey, hey…you’re going to fall if you’re not careful,” he tells me.
One hand on my shoulder, the other on the small of my back, palm so broad it covers the spot entirely. It feels like we’re dancing, and I find myself swaying a little.
Finn laughs quietly. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m tipsy.”
“You’re drunk,” he corrects me. “Where are your people?”
“Mandy is my people, and she left with her people,” I say thickly.
I lift my hands into the space between us, then place them flat against his chest. I can feel the rise and fall of him breathing, and beneath that, the thump of his heart. I press my hands harder against him, let my fingertips grip the places where his muscles ripple, lead forward and place my forehead against him—
He feels good. He feels right.
It should have been us together all night, not me alone and him with his hands all over those fucking hot girls…
What the hell am I doing? I jolt and try to pull back, but my reflexes are too slow— I swing backward and, if it weren’t for Finn’s hands on me, I’m sure would have fallen on my ass.
He’s quick to react, though; his palms move from steadying me to embracing me, watching my weight easily and holding me against him until the world stops swimming.
“Sorry,” I mumble into his t-shirt, which smells glorious and spicy. I close my eyes.
“It’s no problem,” Finn says, voice lowering a little. I mean to open my eyes, to look up at him, to step away and act like an actual adult who can hold her liquor, but instead I just lean farther against him, until I hear the quiet, breathy sounds of laughter in his chest.
“Hey. Stop it. Don’t laugh at me,” I say, and try to push him away.
“I’m not!” Finn protests, and doesn’t release me— which means I don’t have a chance of escaping his arms. I look up at his eyes, so far above me that I find myself wondering how tall he is. Eight feet? Nine feet? Eleven feet? How tall are football players? How tall are you before you’re considered a giant? How tall is the tallest giant?
“Now I’m laughing at you a little,” Finn says, and I realize I’ve been looking at his eyes for a good minute, without speaking.
“Fine,” I mutter, pulling my eyes away. “I’m drunk. Where’s my phone? I need to call SafeRide. Oh— I think I left it with that golfer player.”
“How about you sit here, and I’ll go get your phone from whatever a golfer player is.”
“He’s on the couch. He’s bringing me another drink,” I explain crossly as Finn lowers me to the ground and leans my back up against the wall.
“Then he’s a real asshole,” Finn says. “Don’t go anywhere,” he repeats, and I nod, as I lean into the wall and watch him go.
He returns a few moments later with my purse and my shoes, which apparently I’m not currently wearing. “Ready?”
“Where are we going?” I mumble, reaching up. I mean to take his hands so he can help me stand, but instead he ducks his head into the space of my arms and lifts me up into his. I don’t know that I’ve ever been carried by a guy before, and am a little mad that I’m too tipsy to appreciate the experience.