Two Weeks and a Day (Finn's Pub Romance 2)

We.

My laughter fades, but I’m still smiling down at him. “Deal.”

I think I stare long enough to make him uncomfortable, because his cheeks flush and he starts to turn back to the sink.

I reach for his arm, halting him mid-flight. “Hey. I’m sorry I was late. And drunk. That’s not how I wanted our reunion to go down.”

He shrugs, but doesn’t look directly at me. “You had a shitty day. It happens.”

“But I didn’t want it to. Not when I already owed you an apology for the Robbie thing.”

Miller steps back out of my reach and rolls his eyes. “Forget about the Robbie thing.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget Robbie the Fucknugget. Or his groping hands. That night was the catalyst for me. The thing that made me realize how far gone I actually was.

Getting him to admit his sins to Miller made me feel righteous. Punching him made me feel even better. I was protecting my best friend from a married, closeted jackass, after all, right? I was the hero.

And while Miller did kick him to the curb as soon as he found out the truth, he didn’t exactly thank me or see me as his knight in shining armor.

“You were following him? Asking questions at his school? Why? Do you know how weird that is, Brendan? I’m a grown man and you’re not my father. Who put you in charge of my virtue? You, of all people—the one who has sex with anyone alert enough to give their consent.”

I tried to listen instead of acting like a damn deviant, but while he paced the room telling me off, I couldn’t stop staring at the crack of his ass visible above his loose-fitting boxers. I was dizzy with how fast my dick had come to attention, and I knew in that moment I’d never reacted so violently, so passionately to anyone. But I didn’t have an answer for why I’d been so determined to get dirt on his boyfriend.

I care about you, wouldn’t have been enough. You deserve better, was true, but not what I really wanted to say.

Mine. It kept repeating in my head until I finally understood what it meant. It was a lot to grapple with. Too much. I didn’t react to it as well as I should have.

“Someone needs to look after it. You nearly gave it away to that weaselly fucker, and you didn’t even like him.”

“I liked him enough to invite him over.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you’d care that he was a cheater. I had no idea you were good with being a piece on the side.”

“Of course I care! All I’m saying is I can deal with my relationships on my own.”

“Relationships? You’ve never had a relationship. Have you ever even sucked a dick? You’re wound so tight I’m surprised he got your shirt off.”

I’m not going to lie. Things got progressively worse after that, until Miller had enough and decided to kick me out as well.

I was pissed and frustrated, but even then I knew I’d crossed a line. And I’d done it because I couldn’t face what I was feeling for him. Not at the time. And backwards as it sounds, I couldn’t come back to make things right until I made sure I knew that it was real.

“Fine,” I finally tell him. “We won’t talk about it. But I’m sorry for hurting you. And for not coming back sooner.”

He pats my arm and offers me a weak version of the pouty smile I love. “Let’s start fresh this morning, okay? What happened before, everything that happened last night is just erased. Clean slate. Deal?”

I frown. He wants to erase everything that happened last night?

There’s a tinge of panic in his expression that gives me my answer. I’m not sure how I feel about that but I won’t push it. Yet. “Clean slate.”

He beams in relief. “Great. Now go shower while I clean this kitchen before Royal gets here. The place is a mess.”

It isn’t. But Miller is a little OCD about keeping things clean. “Sounds good.”

As I head up the stairs, I’m trying to decide how to approach things now that I’m back to square one with this clean slate idea of his. I know last night was a little out of control. Miller was surprised and unprepared. He never handles that well.

Aurelia once told me that Miller’s need to control certain aspects of his life had to do with her illness. “I’ve been all he’s ever had. All he knows. He can’t heal this thing inside me. He can’t stop it. So what he can fix, what he can control, he must.”

His house. His job. His nice reliable Hyundai. The retirement savings account he started when he was seventeen. Miller Day is the most responsible, in-control thirty-year-old I know.