Snatched

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks as we walk in, dropping his bag on the floor. The room is far more lived-in now than it was the first night he brought me here. There’s a steady pile of stuff at the door— his bag now tops it— and the bed isn’t made. It smells entirely like his musky cologne rather than fresh paint. It’s not gross in the way some guy’s rooms are gross but rather, comfortable.

I turn to face him, fiddling with my hair as I do so. “I’m sort of…you said something I didn’t like.”

“Okay,” Finn says, face going more serious. “What was it?”

“At the game. I was there with my mom and sister, and on the screen you said something about not really doing names…” I trail off, waving a hand as if I can’t remember the exact words, when the truth is that I could quote them with newspaper-efficient accuracy.

Finn’s eyes widen a little; he nods, then takes a step toward me. I notice that whenever he approaches me— whenever he approaches any girl, actually— he keeps his hands where you can see them, his posture friendly, open. I think about what he said once about his hometown, about the crime and the drama, and wonder if he’s used to a world where men have to prove themselves safe. “I can see how that would bother you. I didn’t think about that when I said it. I was just trying to get the reporter to change topics so we wouldn’t get found out.”

“Yeah, I know. I get that. But it just made— makes— me feel so…disposable.”

Finn takes another step toward me, close enough now to take my hand. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry. I never want you to think you’re disposable. Actually, you’re the only girl I’ve ever been with that I think is totally not disposable.”

“That’s the most misogynistic compliment I’ve ever heard,” I say.

Finn sighs. “Fair enough.” He runs his hands through his hair. “When I think about you, Kenley, I’m only thinking about ways I can keep you around, not ways I can push you out. Shitty as it sounds, most girls I look for ways to push out as soon as they start…I don’t know. Asking questions. Wanting to get close. Wanting things that I just give to you without you even asking.”

This makes me smile— ugh, everything he does makes me smile, basically. “Really?”

“Trust me, I don’t usually talk about my affinity for Hercules with girls. It’s not exactly a panty dropper.”

I scoff. “That came up naturally.”

“I don’t usually tell girls about my family.”

“I hardly know anything about your family!”

“But you know some things. You know my dad is a deadbeat. You know my mom had it rough. You know about the town I come from. That’s a lot more than anyone else knows,” Finn says, seriously. There’s a hesitance to his voice, and I can tell that saying all this out loud stings. “Look— I put things in boxes. I put myself in boxes. When I’m with you, it feels like I’m a different person than I am when I’m with the team.”

“But you’re not. You’re great, as a football player and as my…”

“Boyfriend?” Finn asks cockily.

“Sure,” I say, flushing. “You’re the same person, and I like that person, and I know you didn’t mean it and that you were keeping us quiet, which we have to do, but still. It sucked.”

Finn pulls me to him now, and puts his arms around me, letting his hands rest on my hips. “I’m going to make it up to you.”

“How?”

“I’m going to make you lunch.” His kisses my forehead. “And then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.” My lower belly clenches in anticipation, and heat rushes to the spot between my legs.

“Sit down,” he says, and as I turn, he smacks me on the ass hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to hurt. I giggle like a schoolgirl and bound over to the couch as Finn begins opening kitchen cabinets.

“You really can cook,” I sigh as we eat at the coffee table, my feet pulled up onto the couch and resting on his lap.

He’s made green bean casserole, which I know is super easy and basic but it’s also insanely delicious and one of those things that I always want for a meal, but then feel guilty about not eating a vegetable sans cream and butter. He ordered dinner rolls from the cafeteria; one of the freshman players brought them over, along with a gallon of sweet tea. Everything had to be photographed and sent to the team nutritionist, of course, who hassled him about it via text.

“She says I have to eat all protein rich stuff tonight and tomorrow morning,” he says, shaking his head. “Which is fair.”