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

I’m not. Why the hell is he?

When I don’t respond, he leans over and kisses my chest, my neck. When he straddles me, my cock responds because it can’t resist him. I can’t resist him. “What are you doing?”

“Let’s try this again, Kinkaid.”

Our kiss is long and slow, almost tender—more like a first time than our first time was. Without a word, he opens another condom, rolls it down my shaft and lowers himself on me with a soft moan.

I roll him over, looking into his eyes as we take each other back to the edge.

When I come, his mouth is on mine so I can’t say the words that are trying desperately to escape my lips.

I love you.

But I fall asleep with them still lingering in my head.

A sound cracks through the room and Miller is off the bed and jumping into the nearest pair of sweatpants before I realize that what I heard. It sounded like a small explosion.

“What the hell?”

“Fred’s house!” Miller shouts, racing out the bedroom door, his bare feet pounding down the stairs. “Call the fire department!”

I juggle my phone and my pants, flames from across the street tinting the room with hues of orange and gold while I give the address to the operator.

I glance out the window and see a shadowed figure running toward the burning house. I know it’s Miller and I bolt after him down the stairs, desperate to catch up.

He’s going to run into that damn house.

I cross the threshold of the front door and hear Diane and Heather scream Miller’s name from the other side of the street. They’re waving frantically, with Fred between them in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, Dix cuddled close to her chest.

Her eyes are wide and filling with tears.

Miller, thankfully sees them and runs over, pulling Fred into his arms.

“Is your sister inside?” I hear him ask as I run up to join the group, my bare feet slapping the asphalt. Miller glances at me, his expression grim but ready.

She shakes her head, crying too hard to speak. I step closer and send a questioning glance to Diane, whose face is twisted with rage.

“Fred’s sister and her boyfriend were home tonight,” she says through gritted teeth as she stares at the burning house. Flames have started to lick out the front door. We hear a loud whoosh, followed by glass shattering which makes us all flinch in surprise. Miller immediately starts urging them back across the street, further away from the fire.

Once we’re standing on the grass in front of Miller’s house I look back at Diane, “We heard them screaming at each other from across the street,” she says bitterly, her eyes still fixed on the flames. “Fred was in her room, but she thinks they were cooking something on the stove because the fire started in the kitchen. While she was trying to put it out, they got in his car and left her behind.” She hugs Fred protectively and gently pulls the sobbing girl’s head to rest in the crook of her neck as Heather rubs her back. “Just left a fifteen-year-old girl alone inside a burning building.”

Motherfucker.

Miller looks at me over the sobbing teenager, his expression furious.

I get out my phone, knowing exactly who I need to call.

Hopefully he’s forgiven me by now.

Chapter Eight

Guinea Pigs and Barbecue

“How’s Fred holding up?”

Royal and I are sitting at the bar on the far side of Finn’s pub while Miller, Austen and a handful of her friends and family help set up for her first official Thursday night GPP.

Miller told me it was originally called a Guinea Pig Party—when it was just a family gathering where Austen could try out new products on her siblings and gossip—but she’d decided to change the meaning of the initials for its public debut. I think she’s already scrapped Girl Power, Great Powder, and Getting Paid Party so far. She’s supposed to be holding a family vote today.

If anybody’s asking, I thought it was fine the way it was. But then, I don’t spend much money on face creams.

“Fred’s a champ,” I tell Royal, twisting the cap on my water bottle. Yes, water. There’s no way I’m drinking alcohol again for a while. Not here at the scene of the crime, anyway. “We’ve been more upset this week than she has. Even when they found her sister, she kept her cool. Thanks for calling in that favor by the way.”

“Of course, man.” He pats my shoulder sympathetically. “That’s what brothers-in-law are for. Especially when they work for the real-life equivalent of Batman. I’m only sorry about how it turned out.”

Yeah, about that. Fred’s sister is a drugged-up waste of space, in my opinion. One who, even after seeing her boyfriend put in jail, has no desire to clean up her act, or maintain her status as Fred’s legal guardian.