Deep Surrendering (3 page)

I told that part of myself to shut up.

Should have listened.

To keep some sort of control of the situation, I asked if we could stay at my place. Of course, I said this before I could mentally do a walkthrough and make sure I didn’t have anything incriminating or disgusting out in the open.

But Fin seemed to anticipate this and waited a few feet from my door as I unlocked it. “If you need a minute, I can wait,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“Just…don’t go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I was rather proud of my apartment, for what it was. Okay, so it was in a sketchy neighborhood and the police were frequently called, and my upstairs neighbor wouldn’t stop playing the same three chords on his guitar, but I’d done the best I could with my meager savings and some thrift store finds, and classed it up a bit.

Still, it wasn’t what Fin was used to, that much I knew. The wealth disparity between me and my friends had never been much of a big deal. I’d grown up with money, and I knew if I went to my parents on bended knee and begged them to buy me a pricey apartment and give me an allowance, they’d welcome me back with open arms.

But I didn’t want that. I’d escaped from them (just barely) and I liked doing things on my own.

After a quick dash through the place, putting things away and hiding my dirty underwear in the hamper, I made sure any other embarrassing things were tucked out of view.

“Okay, come in,” I said, a little breathless from the rushing around.

“Are you sure?” He hovered on the threshold, both hands braced on the doorway. “Are all the monsters shoved away in your closet?” I wasn’t sure if that was a metaphor.

“I don’t have any monsters, Fin,” I said, stepping backwards. I had no idea where that had come from, but I was going to go with it.

“Everyone has monsters, Marisol.” His face got serious as he took a step inside.

Yes. Everyone did have monsters.

Fin looked around and smiled. “This is… cozy.”

“Cozy is a nice word for small,” I said, glaring at him and leaning on the back of the couch.

“No, that’s not true. Cozy means…cozy. Comforting. Nice. I like it, I really do.”

“Well, it’s not much.” I was very conscious of the faded rug and the threadbare spots on the couch, and the stack of magazines under one of the chair legs.

“It’s something. It’s great.” We stood there for a moment, both of us awkward.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“That would be nice.” I moved to the coffeemaker and filled it up with water.

“How do you take it?”

“Why don’t you guess and surprise me?” I gave him a look, but he just kept exploring. “These are really great,” he said, pointing to some of the framed photographs above my television.

“Oh, thanks. I took them.” I didn’t want to brag, but I was pretty proud of how nice a composition they made.

“Really?”

“Are you surprised?” I spooned coffee into the filter. I wished I had fresh ground and a percolator, but that couldn’t be helped now. At least the coffee was fresh.

“Not at all,” Fin said, leaning close to examine one of the photographs of a child chasing a runaway leaf in the park. Her hair streamed behind her as her hands reached out, trying to grasp the leaf that was just out of reach.

Now I had to decide how Fin wanted his coffee. My first thought was black, but then I reconsidered. Fin was more complicated than that. Maybe I was reading too much into this, but something told me to grab the French vanilla creamer from the fridge.

“If this coffee is wrong, it’s your fault for not telling me how you want it,” I said as my ancient coffeemaker struggled to work.

He looked back at me and took his coat off, draping it over the couch. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

I didn’t know about that, but then I filled two cups and added identical amounts of the creamer until the coffee was a nice tan color.

Fin sat on the couch as I brought the cups over. I handed his to him, and he looked at it and then sniffed it. “French vanilla?”

I nodded.

His face split into a grin and he laughed. “That’s exactly right.”

“Really?” I was still skeptical.

“Really,” he said, taking a sip and closing his eyes in relish. “Yup. Perfect.” It was crappy cheap coffee, but he was acting as if it was nectar of the gods. He was so sweet.

We sipped our coffee in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was…cozy. I caught Fin smiling at me over the rim of his mug. I looked down and blushed. “Stop it.”

“What? I’m not allowed to admire you?” Admire me? Nobody had ever said that to me before.

“So, here’s a question for you. Are you paying attention?” I set my cup down and leaned forward. I knew I was playing with fire, but the flames were too hypnotic.

He put his cup down and leaned toward me.

“I’m paying attention to you. Only you. Your lips,” he said, reaching out and brushing them with a feather-light touch. “Your hair. Your eyes.” His hand skimmed my hair and then cupped my cheek. “You’re a fascinating study, Marisol Everly.”

“You too,” I said, reaching out and pushing his hair back. It flopped back to the same place as soon as I moved my hand, which made me laugh. My thumb traced his lips. They were lush, for a man’s. He parted them slightly and his tongue flicked out and tasted my thumb.

There was a single moment of hesitation. That suspension between standing still and surging forward.

“What about your rules?” he asked, almost making me jump.

“I think I might be able to break a few of them. For you.”

He smiled and moved his hand to hold the back of my head. “Then if we’re going big, we should go hard, don’t you agree?” My muscles tightened with the words “big” and “hard.”

It had been a while since I’d had anything that was big or hard, other than my bunny vibrator, and lately it just hadn’t been doing the job.

But rules. I had rules. I had….

“Yes. Big and hard,” my mouth said just before his lips closed over mine.

I knew he was only in town for three weeks. I knew he had a job that caused him to never be in the same place for more than a few weeks. I knew that I knew next to nothing about him, just what I’d learned in the past twenty-four hours and what Rory had told me.

There were so many reasons to tell him to stop when he kissed me, but when those reasons went to battle against the feel of his lips on mine. The heat his touch ignited, and the things he awakened in me that I’d thought were dormant. Or at least they’d been in hibernation for a very, VERY long time.

One of the reasons I had rules was to weed out the guys who were worth it. It was so easy to tell them that I didn’t kiss on the first date, then they would “have to run to the office,” and would subsequently never call me again. Self-preservation. Or maybe heart preservation.

And then Fin showed up. I’d known that Rory, Sloane, and Chlo were setting me up with him from the first moment that Rory mentioned him, but I’d been willing to go for it, unlike all the other times they’d tried to set me up.

This didn’t feel like a set-up. It felt like….

His hand on the back of my head, pulling me close so he could kiss me harder. His lips, firm and demanding, but hesitating before he pushed, letting me come to him first. His other hand on my waist, pulling me so our bodies were almost completely connected.

Rules. What rules?

I separated my lips at the flick of his tongue, letting him in. For two practical strangers, we certainly had kissing chemistry. You never really knew when you started talking with someone if you would have verbal and physical chemistry.

This was more than chemistry.

I heard noises coming from my throat, and we were both gasping in between kisses. The closer we got, the closer we needed to get. I wanted to devour him.

It didn’t take long for our hands to start working at removing our irritating clothing. I was working on getting the buttons on his shirt undone, cursing each and every one of them for impeding my access to Fin’s skin.

And then there were two hands pushing me away and his mouth separating from mine.

“Marisol, if we don’t stop now, there won’t be any stopping.”

Really? I hadn’t figured that out. My hands were still pulling at the buttons on his shirt.

“Marisol.” His hands gently removed mine from his shirt. What was he doing? What happened to big and hard?

I finally looked up at his face. His hair was all over the place, his lips were red and swollen, and his eyes were dark and hungry.

“What?” I wanted to kick myself for the way I snapped at him, but I was worked up and he’d put the brakes on. If I stopped and thought about what I was doing, I knew that I would remember all the reasons why this was a bad idea and why I shouldn’t continue with it.

“I think we should stop.”

And as soon as he said it, I realized he was right. What the hell were we doing?

“Of course,” I said, leaning away from him. I was grateful we were on the couch, because I didn’t think my legs would have supported me.

“I…I think I should go now,” he said, practically leaping from the couch, snatching his jacket, and throwing it on.

“You don’t have to leave, Fin.”

“No, no. I do. I’ll call you later. Bye.” And before I knew what was happening, he was slamming the door and I was sitting on my couch with bruised lips and a shattered ego.

“So he just left. Took off,” Chloe said, using her hand to mime a taking off motion.

“Pretty much,” I said. This time I was the one with my head on the table. “I mean, I thought if anyone was going to freak out, it would be me.”

“Maybe you’re more alike than you thought. Interesting. But back to the leaving. Everything was going okay, right?”

“Better than okay.” It was one of the best first dates I’d ever had. I finally lifted my head and stared into my latte. Bad idea. The barista had made a foam heart. I grabbed a spoon and swirled until the heart was no more.

“Look, why didn’t you call Rory or Sloane about this? You know I’m kind of the last person to ask about guys.” While this was true, it was also true that Chloe gave good advice. And she didn’t have a lot of dating history with men to cloud her judgment.

“But you’re my bestie. My homegirl. My boo. I talk to you about everything.” That made Chloe smile and give me a bite of her chocolate-filled croissant.

“And you’re mine. I have no idea what is wrong with him, but he sounds like an idiot. Maybe he had a problem with his equipment? Maybe he’s got a crooked penis.” Her eyes widened at the thought.

“I could deal with a crooked penis. It’s the leaving without an explanation that I can’t deal with. If he had just said, ‘Marisol, I’m sorry, but I have a crooked penis and I’m ashamed of it and I need to go,’ that wouldn’t have been a big deal. It’s the not knowing that is driving me crazy.”

I’d called and texted Fin, but hadn’t heard back. I’d had a mad idea of going to his hotel, but that seemed a little too Crazy Stalker Girl, so I decided to go out to brunch with Chloe instead. And mope.

“It’s probably something I did. It usually is.” I took a gulp of my latte, burned my tongue, and then choked.