It felt good. Right. And if that makes me an ass—hell, it does make me an ass—it makes me a happy ass.
“Fine,” Finn mutters, grudgingly agreeing to drop the subject. “All too happy not to discuss Yvonne, but don’t think you don’t have about a billion questions to answer about your tenant.”
Jenny.
Just like that, my thoughts go from bitter relief to…
Want.
I want that girl.
And yes, I’m well aware that she’s playing with me just as assuredly as I’m playing with her, but that doesn’t change the fact that all I really want to be doing right now is finding out if her legs are as smooth and toned as they look and if she’s as wet as I want her to be.
My guess is yes to both, and I quickly transition to thinking about my mean, ugly Aunt Shelley in an effort to keep my twitching cock from turning into an all-out boner in the middle of a crowded bar.
Finn snorts as he accepts the two beers from our waitress with a wink. “Knew it.”
“You knew nothing of the kind,” I say, taking the beer.
“Shit, dude, Jenny Dawson is living in your house.”
“Keep your voice down,” I snarl.
His eyebrows lift. “Seriously?”
I shrug, trying to hide the fierce and unexpected surge of protectiveness. “She made you sign that NDA. You could get sued.”
He studies me. “Which reminds me, you signed yours twice. Under two different names. She really hasn’t figured it out yet?”
I shrug. “She’s on some bullshit she calls an information diet. Trying to hide, to cut herself off from the media while she works on her next album.”
“If the girl can’t handle the shit people are saying, maybe she shouldn’t have fucked a married dude.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue that there were two parties involved. That Shawn whatever-his-name-is was there too, and nobody seems to be giving him more than an indulgent eye roll before smearing shame all over Jenny.
I keep quiet, but my face gives me away, and Finn lets out a knowing chuckle. “Ah, man. She’s got you.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter.
“That’s why you don’t care about this Yvonne bullshit. You’ve got your dick all tangled up with a hot pop star.”
I jerk my chin at the pool table. “We going to play, or what?”
“Nah, this is far more interesting,” Finn says, shifting his body so that he’s leaning against the high-top table as he studies me. “She as hot in bed as she looks?”
“She’s one of the richest girls in the country. You think she’s going to sully herself with the guy she thinks is the handyman?”
“Far as I can see, she sullies herself with just about anyone.”
My fist clenches, and for the first time since eleventh grade, when I wanted to beat Finn to a pulp for making out with the girl I had a crush on, I want to give him a bloody nose.
Finn’s smarter now than he was when he was sixteen, and immediately recognizes this, lifting his hands in surrender. “Hey, man. Easy. Didn’t know it was like that.”
“It’s not like anything, asswipe. I barely see her. We’re just…coexisting.”
“?’Kay.” Finn shrugs. “So you haven’t gotten in her pants yet.”
“Nope.” Not yet.