Skin (McCullough Mountain 2) (5 page)

No, he wasn’t.
Friends.
That’s how he
saw her. Sure, she could spend days looking at him. He was
gorgeous. But he only saw her as a friend, like one of the guys. It
wasn’t like she could afford to be picky. At the moment she had no
friends. Finnegan was it. “Sorry,” she repeated.

“Stop apologizing. Here, I’ll help you
fold.”

He lifted the laundry out of the dryer next
to the one she’d just loaded and she abandoned the wet clothes she
was handling. Her hand snatched back the stuff he’d grabbed.
“No!”

“Why?”

“My…private things are in there.”

“Ah, some of those sexy granny panty
unmentionables you told me about?”

“I should have never told you that
stuff.”

He laughed and checked her with his hip.
“Nah, I’m glad you did. You weren’t lying about the magic
spot.”

Ugh, images of Finnegan necking with Erin
bombarded her mind. “Ew.”

He chuckled.

They stayed at the Laundromat for another
hour waiting for her things to dry. When everything was folded, he
helped her carry her clothes home. Mallory slowly forced herself to
stop seeing Finnegan as anything more than a friend.

He was fun and made her laugh and she
enjoyed his company. He also had a girlfriend and that made him
off-limits. There was also the fact that she wasn’t his type, or
anyone else’s for that matter.

Once inside her apartment she awkwardly
tucked her laundry in the bedroom and shut the door.

“You’re place is nice.”

“Thanks. It’s small, but I like it.”

He went to the fridge and started rummaging
around. “Can I eat this yogurt?”

“Um, sure…” He sure made himself at
home.

The air from the window unit pumped into the
living room and cooled her skin. Her hair was flat because she
didn’t dry it. Her instinct was to pretty herself up in any guy’s
presence, but if they were just friends, why bother? It was sort of
refreshing to not have to give a shit.

“When are you going to O’Malley’s?”

“When are
we
going, you mean? I don’t
know. Not until later. Wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure.”

He plopped down on her couch, his long legs
stretching out. He was so damn tall. “You can go on Netflix and
pick something. The remotes in the drawer.”

He shifted around and grabbed the remote.
“Do you like scary movies?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Philly, where’s your
adventurous side?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Pussy.”

She stilled and slowly pivoted to face him.
“Did you just call me a pussy?”

His broad shoulder lifted. “Watch something
scary and prove me wrong.”

“Don’t be a tit. I’m not going to be bullied
into something I don’t want to do.”

He laughed. “A tit? A tit? That’s a new one.
Come on, watch a scary movie with me.”

She grabbed a yogurt and a spoon. “Jesus,
you’re needy. Fine. But when I have nightmares I’m calling your ass
at one in the morning.”

He grinned and scooted over. After he
selected a film, he settled in and peeled back the lid to his
yogurt. The credits opened and already she was nervous. There was a
doll with no eyes sitting on a windowsill while a little girl swung
on a swing and sang—her voice just the right amount of eerie and
empty. The movie abruptly stopped.

“Okay, what the fuck am I eating, because
it’s not yogurt?”

She frowned and swallowed the spoonful in
her mouth. “Yes it is.”

“No it’s not. I like yogurt. This disgusting
sludge I definitely do not like.”

“It’s probiotic.”

“Probi-what?”

“Biotic. It has microorganisms—”

“Okay, we’re ordering pizza.” He stood and
dug out his phone. He was dialing before she could get out another
word. He ordered a large plain and demanded her address then hung
up and snatched her yogurt out of her hands.

“Hey, I was eating that.”

“Not anymore.” He faced her. “Philly, do you
know what a microorganism is?”

“Yes. They fight bacteria—”

“They’re bugs. Little microscopic bug-like
things that belong on a slide in a lab, not in your stomach.”

“It’s good for you.”

“So is pizza.”

“No it’s not.”

“Sure it is. There’s tomatoes, dairy,
grains…it’s got three of your basic food groups.”

“I can’t eat pizza. I’m on a—”

He held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.
You can and will eat pizza because we’re watching a movie and going
drinking later and you can’t go drinking on an empty stomach. So
suck it up. I’m not making you eat the whole pie. Just have a slice
or two, but I need real food, not bug-gurt.”

Pizza did sound delicious. She hadn’t had
any in months. Maybe just a slice. That was it. She’d have one
slice and that would be her dinner.

Argument over, Finnegan picked up the
remote, and started the movie. Mallory settled into the corner of
the couch and, while the movie drew her attention, the fact that
there was a six-foot man in her home distracted her more.

She’d grown up with guy friends. It wasn’t a
novel experience being around men. But there was something
inherently different about being there with Finnegan, on her couch,
in her home, as the sun slowly faded into golden shadows filtered
through the curtains, playing over his tanned skin and yummy,
supermodel stubble. She should turn on a lamp.

While her head remained turned to the screen
where a mother screamed and a father stalked a house with a gun,
her gaze kept drifting to the right. Her mind was very conscious of
her stiff posture. Knowing they were just friends was not enough to
let her fully exhale and slouch. Years of habitually sucking in
around anything with a penis weren’t going to be rewritten simply
because one guy declared a platonic truce.

When someone banged on the door she jumped.
Finnegan paused the movie on a startling frame of a little girl
going through some sort of exorcism and stood to get the pizza. He
had the delivery guy tipped and on his way before she could even
get her purse.

“Plates?”

Mallory handed him two plates and a stack of
napkins. He carried the steaming box to the coffee table and
flipped back the lid.
Sweet mother of cheese!

“Stop eye-fucking the pie and grab a plate,”
he said, tearing off a stringy triangle.

She sat down and mumbled, “I wasn’t
eye-fucking…”

He laughed and dropped a greasy slice onto
her plate. She eyed the slice, knowing just one bite could be her
downfall. Finnegan inhaled his first piece and tore off a
second.

“You gonna eat, Philly?”

Hesitantly, she lifted the floppy slice,
heavy with hot grease and cheese, and bit the tip. She moaned
almost sexually as the warm tomato sauce and firm crust melted in
her mouth and he laughed.

She didn’t just eat that pizza, she savored
it, eyes closed, senses devouring everything down to the warm
flavor on her tongue and the weight of the crust in her hand. It
quite possibly could have been a sexual experience, handled with
such reverent tenderness and hedonistic gratitude.

Her eyes flew open when her plate grew
heavy. Finnegan tossed another slice on her plate and ripped off
his third. Only a quarter of the pie remained in the box.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He shoveled a good four inches of folded pie
in his mouth and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked
over a mouthful.

She placed her plate on the wax paper in the
box and closed the lid. “I can’t have anymore.”

His brow lowered as he slowly chewed and
studied her for a long moment. Once he swallowed, his Adam’s apple
making a slow bob, he put his plate on the table and turned to face
her with his arm resting carelessly over the back of the couch, his
knee brushing her leg.

“What?” she asked, jerking her gaze to the
floor.

“Why do girls diet?”

“Because being healthy is important.”

His lips pressed tight. “Yeah, but you are
healthy. You run every day, your fridge is filled with rabbit food
and bug-gurt, when’s enough, enough?”

It’ll never be enough.
“I need to
lose thirty pounds.”
At least.

“Who says?”

“My doctor.”

“Why though? You’re not fat.”

She winced at his blunt use of the F-word.
“Finnegan, there is an extreme difference between me and other
girls. Don’t act like you don’t see it.”

When his focused gaze ran over her body,
pausing at every bulge and curve, she’d wished she could retract
the accusation. “But you don’t look bad.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, her ears heating
under his scrutiny.

“What happens when you lose thirty pounds?
Do you eat like a normal person and stop running?” His tone was
baiting.

“No. It’s a
lifestyle
choice, not a
diet.”

He was quiet for a long moment and she
fidgeted under his inspection. When he spoke his voice was gentle,
as though she were something fragile that could break. “Who was
mean to you, Philly?”

Her head snapped up. “What? No one.”
Liar.

He eyed her skeptically. Faces from her past
flitted through her mind. Taunting whispers of skinny cliques
sniggering behind her back but within earshot. The dress rehearsal
during high school when her costume barely covered her butt and she
pretended to have Mono the entire week of the play so she didn’t
have to wear it. The uncountable guys in college who were offended
she’d even
think
she had a right to bat her eyes in their
direction. The way her aunts made comments about how she had such a
great personality in comparison to her sister’s beauty. The night
she was lectured for ordering beer at a take out pub because the
bartender assumed she was a pregnant. So many terrible memories,
each one a sharp blade slicing through her pride, made it
impossible to answer.

“How much have you lost so far?” he asked.
She blinked, considering his question.

Why was he so curious? She had no tears on
the subject of her weight. Tears didn’t count for calories shed so
why bother? “Fourteen.”

“So you have sixteen to go?”

“No, I have thirty to go.”

His brow lifted nearly to the soft hair at
his temple. “That’s a lot of weight to lose. Why is that your magic
number?”

She leveled him with a stare and sighed.
“Fine. Here goes. I haven’t been small since I was twelve and even
then I thought I was fat. My hips were always a bit wider than my
friends and my legs a little thicker and my boobs a little bigger.
Every year I gained ten pounds like clockwork until I started
fanatically counting everything I put in my mouth. I’m overweight,
but I’m an expert dieter. When I crossed two hundred pounds I
panicked. I didn’t always utilize the healthiest solutions. I’ve
done pills, shakes, starvation, cleanses, nothing but produce, and
things too dangerous and shameful to mention. Nothing worked.”

“All that quick fix infomercial crap is
bullshit. That’s why.”

She stared at the carpet, her fingers
wringing on her lap. “I hate what I see when I look in the mirror.”
Her voice cracked. “It hurts sometimes, physically hurts, when you
see yourself and despise it so much.”

The warm weight of his palm pressed into her
knee. She couldn’t look at him. She was too afraid she’d find pity
in those sharp, blue eyes. Her voice was a low whisper as she went
on. “When I saw my doctor last spring, he scared me. My family
doesn’t have a great medical history and he basically assured me
that if I didn’t do something I was going to die.”

He scoffed. “That’s a little dramatic. You
know the difference between God and doctors, Philly?”

“What?”

“God doesn’t think He’s a doctor.”

She laughed, but barely. “He’s right,
though. I’m not healthy. I’d love to be skinny, but I don’t think
that’s realistic. But there’s a part of me that felt like such a
fat failure walking out of that office I just wanted to prove that
doctor wrong when I went back for my next check-up. I saw the
arrogant way he looked at me. He thinks I’ll fail and I don’t even
have the track record of willpower to claim he’s wrong.”

“You’re way too hard on yourself.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” she snapped, turning
her glare on him. “Look at me, Finnegan. I don’t look like a
healthy person. I saw your girlfriend and all those other girls at
the pub the other week. You have no idea what it feels like to
always be the biggest person in a room.”

“Mallory, you were
not
the biggest
person in the room.” His voice was sharp and anger swirled in the
depths of his denim blue stare.

“You don’t understand. Look at you! How
could you understand?”

“You think I don’t have insecurities?” He
demanded. “You think I don’t look at myself and see things I hate?
You’re crazy if you do. Everyone hates some part of himself or
herself. Jesus, I can’t even have a functional relationship.”

She scoffed. “At least you have a
relationship.”

“Half the time I think Erin despises me. She
breaks up with me almost every month. She never compliments me, but
has plenty to say about how I come up short.”

Then why are you with her?
She didn’t
understand why people settled for less than what they deserved. So
many times she blamed her unyielding standards for her sentence of
singledom. It made no sense that a man like Finnegan McCullough
should suffer a dysfunctional love life.

“Sometimes I think I’d be happier without a
girlfriend,” he quietly admitted.

“Then why don’t you break up with her?”

He shrugged, his gaze focused on the ground.
“I’m afraid to be alone. My whole family’s nuts. Being around them
is like being stuck in a biblical outbreak of locusts. They’re
everywhere. It’s overwhelming, but they all seem to know their
ranks. Colin’s the good boy. Kelly’s the rake. Sheilagh’s the wild
child. Kate’s the maternal one. Braydon’s the student. And Luke’s
the…” He shook his head. “Who am I? All I’ve ever done is log the
land under my dad’s shadow. That’s all I’ll ever be. And men like
that, they marry and have a league of children so someone can carry
on their legacy when they’re too old to do it anymore.”