Skin (McCullough Mountain 2) (13 page)

He huffed. “You aren’t acting like it’s
okay.”

“It’s fine, Finnegan. Let’s move on.”

He caught her elbow and she froze.
Electricity zinged up her arm and her insides quivered. He sucked
in an audible breath and released her. “I just want you to know it
won’t happen again.”

Relief was quickly followed by a sense of
disappointment. “Good. Did you want a tuna melt? I make them on
mushrooms.”

“Sure. Sounds delicious.”

He abandoned the kitchen and she exhaled.
The television clicked on and her mind focused on making their
lunch. The weighted silence over the TV was tedious and she never
forgot he was sitting only a few feet away. Was he watching her?
She was too chicken shit to look.

When lunch was done, she popped it in the
oven for twenty minutes and collected her basket. “I’m going to put
these away. I’ll be right back.”

As she was slipping her panties into a
drawer Finn’s phone rang. Her hands stilled and she stopped
breathing to listen.

“Hello? Hey. I don’t know, probably.” He
sighed and sounded stressed. “Erin…”

Mallory’s stomach knotted. Why was she
calling him? Was that why he’d been MIA all week? Did they get back
together? Was that the main reason he was sorry he kissed her?

“I’m not going through this again. I can
give you a ride to drop off your car, but next time you need to—”
His words cut off abruptly, then in a softer voice. “I know. Me
too. Yeah.”

The apartment was quiet and then the door to
her bedroom squeaked. “I have to go,” he said, standing in her
doorway.

“Oh. Okay. Is everything all right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I just have to give a
friend a hand with something.”

Friend? Don’t lie to me, Finnegan
McCullough.
“All right.”

She shut her drawer and he shifted. “Do you
wanna go out tonight?”

She hesitated. “Where?”

His shoulder lifted and dropped. “Maybe
catch a movie, grab something to eat. We can see if anyone’s
hanging out at O’Malley’s.”

“A movie sounds good. Nothing scary,
though.”

“Big baby.”

She smiled. That was the first thing he said
that made her feel like they were normal again. She could do
sarcasm. She was a master at it.

“I’ll pick you up around seven, how’s that
sound?” he asked.

“Good.”

He left and the oven beeped. He never got to
have lunch.

* * * *

That night they went to the Cineplex and saw
a raunchy war film with lots of bombs and explosions. Getting past
the concession stand was no easy task, but she managed.

Finn held an enormous bucket of greasy
popcorn that smelled orgasmic, but she was fully enjoying her
bottle of water. “I have something for you,” he whispered, the soft
musk of his woodsy cologne tickled her nose and sent quivers to
other parts.

“You do?”

He shifted in his seat, lifting his hips.
Her eyes locked on the way his zipper curved outward over his jeans
and she quickly darted her gaze to the screen.

“Here.” He produced a yellow apple from his
pocket.

It was just an apple. There was no call for
trumpets and doves, but that’s exactly what filled her mind. As
though a magical light from heaven shone on that little piece of
fruit as angels sang, she stared at the offering and wanted to cry.
He’d thought of her and brought an apple, knowing her well enough
to predict she wouldn’t let herself snack on the junk they served
at the theater.

His eyes moved under the thick dusting of
lashes as he waited for her to take it. Her breath came in low
pants as she simply stared at it. That stupid piece of fruit would
be her undoing. He wasn’t allowed to do nice things like that if
they were to remain platonic.

“Thanks,” she said, hoping her voice
disguised how much the gift meant to her.

He smiled and faced the screen. As she bit
into the juicy Golden Delicious, he sipped noisily from his
Slurpee. On the screen, people died and tanks blew up, but nothing
was as entertaining as the replay in her mind of him offering her
an apple.

When the movie let out, they walked through
the dark lot and found his truck. He opened her door and she
frowned. He needed to stop doing nice things. Guys at home didn’t
open doors. Even Joe, Ally’s husband, who doted on her whenever he
had the chance, never opened Ally’s door.

“Wanna grab some dinner?”

“Sure.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

Your body.
“Salad.”

He shot her an exasperated look. “O’Malley’s
does a grilled chicken Caesar. Wanna go there?”

“Okay.”

On the way to the bar they listened to the
radio. Finn liked country and that seemed fitting. The lot was full
when they parked and while she opened the passenger door of the
truck, he held it, and shut it.

“Th—thanks.”

The pub was busy. He directed her to a booth
in the back and she tried hard not to tense as he placed his warm
palm just above her butt.
Breathe and knock it off!

Kelly waved and sent a waitress over. She
was perky and everything Mallory was not. “Hey, Finn, what can I
get you guys tonight?”

Yup, you’re just one of the guys…

Finn ordered a burger for himself and a
salad for her. “What to you want to drink, Philly?”

“I’ll take a Cosmo.”

The waitress raised a brow and jotted down
their order on a little pad. What? Did people not do martinis
around here?

When the waitress left, Finn reclined in his
seat, his arm draped over the back. He had great, rugged hands,
creased at the knuckles, and sort of permanently beaten up from
work.

Oh my God, there is something wrong with
you! Stop looking at his hands!

She pulled over the little rack filled with
sugars and began shuffling and reorganizing them. The waitress
returned and plopped down Finn’s draft and her martini. Her fingers
curled around the glass as she brought it to her lips for a sip.
“Hoo! That’s got a kick!”

Finn chuckled. “Should I be preparing for
another evening in your bathroom?”

“Maybe. You know I’m an awesome toilet
pow-wow talker.”

He laughed. “Pretty much.”

A man walked by with a large speaker and she
frowned.

“There’s a band tonight,” Finn said,
obviously catching her confusion.

“What kind of band?”

He arched his neck to read the chalkboard
behind the bar. “Gridlock 64. They’re great. They do a little bit
of everything.”

“Country?”

“More rock and stuff. This place will be a
madhouse once they start.”

She sipped her Cosmo. “Do you dance?”

He laughed. “I try not to.”

“Not unless someone’s chasing you?”

“No, when something’s chasing me I run. I
usually only dance if someone’s shooting at my feet.”

She grinned. “I’ll get my gun.”

Their food was delivered and by the time the
band took the stage and opened with a familiar alternative rock
ballad, they were finished eating and the crowd had doubled. The
waitress refreshed their drinks and they watched as people began to
fill the area where tables had been pushed back.

“Did you want to dance?” Finn shouted.

“I don’t have my gun.”

He grinned. “We’ll call it a favor. You’ll
owe me one.”

She eyed the stage and the crowd. The band
was singing
Friends in Low Places.
“I don’t know how to
dance to this.”

People passed as they watched the crowd.
This was the busiest O’Malley’s had ever been since she’d started
coming there. She wondered where all these young people hid
throughout the workweek, because she didn’t recognize half of them.
The band must be great. Everyone seemed to have come out to hear
them play.

The song ended and the crowd cheered. “How’s
everyone doing tonight?” the lead singer asked over the microphone.
“How ’bout we start this night off with a social. If you got a
drink, hold it up. If you don’t, get one. Now lift it up and when I
say drink, everyone drink. Drink!” The people cheered and the bass
and guitar player folded into a rhythm. “Now let’s have some fun,
Center County. We’re Gridlock 64 and we’re here until one, so tip
your bartenders and servers and come out and dance.”

Blue lights transformed the stage as steam
coiled through the dancers. They had a great sound, a nice,
alternative twang. Finn stood. “Come on, Philly, let’s see if you
can dance in those shoes.”

She’d worn her tangerine pumps with black
pants and a plain, black shirt. They weren’t the best for dancing,
but she’d done her fair share of clubbing back in the day. She
could hold her own.

The ‘dance floor’ was packed. Finn slipped
behind her as they found a niche to claim. She moved to the beat
and burst out laughing when she saw Finn’s moves. They were from an
era way before their time.

“What are you doing?” she shouted over the
music. It was much louder this close to the stage.

“What? This is my signature move. How about
this? I call this the lawn sprinkler.”

He clamped his hand on the back of his head
and extended his other arm outward, ticking it slowly in clockwise
motion then drawing it back like a sprinkler.

She laughed. “You’re going to have to stop
doing that, right now.”

He shrugged and went back to his horrible
impersonation of she didn’t know what. It was like Emilio Estevez
dancing in
The Breakfast Club
, but on crack and mingled with
parts of The Hustle. He was hysterical and made it tempting to stop
caring what others thought and just let loose and have fun.

“How about this one,” she said. “I call it
the shopping cart.” Her feet marched in place as one hand steered
an invisible cart and the other arm reached for invisible items on
a shelf, pretending to plop them in the cart.

His head tipped back as he laughed.
“Awesome! Remember
Thriller?
” He went into full zombie
lurch.

Invigorated, she jumped back, held out her
hand as the other one swatted out several air spanks. Finn turned
and did an Apache-like-booty dance. Even when he was acting like an
ass, his ass looked great.

“I call this the SpongeBob.” She started
kicking her legs out like a little Russian soldier. They’d fallen
into a full-blown dance off.

“This is the lawn mower,” he yelled as he
bent like he was repeatedly yanking a cord. Her face hurt from
smiling.

She busted out her sweetest surfer moves and
jerked to a halt when someone’s hands were suddenly fondling her
butt. Her gaze snapped behind her where some drunk guy was
laughing. Finn’s smile morphed into a death stare.

“Hey! Hands off!”

The guy held up his palms and thrust his
hips. “Aw, come on, dude. She’s got plenty to go around.”

Mortification gutted her as she caught the
asshole’s words shouted over the band’s music.

Finn took a deadly step forward. “What the
fuck did you just say?”

“Finn,” she said, used to those sorts of
comments, but her voice was suddenly small and he didn’t seem to
hear her.

The guy said something back and Finn towered
over him, pushing her behind his broad back. She pressed against
him, trying to break them apart, but the band was killing it and
the throng of dancers crowded her to the point she could barely
move. No one seemed to notice what was happening.

“Apologize,” Finn growled.

She tugged on his shirt. “Come on, Finnegan.
Let’s go back to the table.” He ignored her.

“Yeah, go back to your table. You’re
probably hungry from staring at her muffin top all day,” the guy
said and she flinched.

Finn looked back at her quickly and the pity
she recognized mixing with panic in his eyes slayed her. She
blinked back tears of humiliation and whispered, “Let’s go.”

His lips formed a thin line and he scowled,
but thankfully nodded, and exhaled. Assholes were everywhere. She
was used to it.

“Hey, tonight when you’re tapping that, you
might want to try some fantasy play. I highly recommend the
Princess Leah in the gold bikini. She can be Jabba the Hut.”

“Motherfucker,” Finn hissed and turned. The
next thing she knew people were screaming and the asshole was on
the floor.

She panicked and turned to the bar just as
Kelly was leaping over the counter. He pushed her aside and yanked
his brother back. She couldn’t take anymore. Everything erupted
into absolute chaos and she forced her way through the dancers and
rubberneckers to escape to the bathroom. Once in there she locked
herself in a stall, dropped to the seat, and started to cry.

Her fingers struggled to pull a reasonable
length of toilet paper out of the jammed dispenser, which only
upset her more. The music stopped and all she could make out was
the sound of people talking. Hopefully Kelly broke it up before
anyone got hurt.

She glanced down at her feet. They were
slightly swollen from dancing. The entire evening was a waste.
Sometimes she hated being her. She’d been having so much fun,
really enjoying the live music, and then some dickless ass-clown
had to molest her and call her names.

The names she could take. No matter what he
said, it didn’t erase the fact that he’d had his hands all over
her. He’d obviously seen her as an easy kill and was offended when
she—the chubby girl on the dance floor—rejected him. But it wasn’t
what he said that hurt. It was the fact that he’d said those things
in front of Finn.

She’d heard it all. Guys at school used to
call her peanut butter because she was extra chunky. Once, at a
party in college, some bitch sang Carole King’s
I Feel the Earth
Move
the moment Mallory walked in. People had beeped when she’d
backed up, called her Fat Sajak, blubbers, and worse. She was
immune.

The door opened and she sucked in a breath,
trying to be invisible.