Page 68 of On Thin Ice

Of how he’d once said,You want him? Don’t let him get away.

“Noted,” Finn said, amused by even the possibility of throwing that comment back into his dad’s face.

“And don’t tell me how it goes, after,” Morgan said.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.” Morgan paused. “And I meant it. You’re playing great, Finn. Keep it up.”

After Finn hung up, he told himself firmly and at length that thekeep it upwas not a threat and not a reminder, but instead, it was Morgan attempting to be supportive.

Jacob would probably tell him to stop wondering which it was and just decide whatFinnwanted it to mean and then move on.

He wanted to take the advice. More than anything.Then do it, that Jacob voice in his head murmured.And while you’re at it, come over tonight looking so good I forget my own name.

Finn grinned at the mirror.

“Sure thing,” he said.

Finn was late. Less than five minutes, yes, but it felt like a fucking eternity.

You should have picked him up. You should have driven to the college and picked him up.

Jacob paced in front of the restaurant, knowing he should go inside—Mark and Sophie were already at the table, waiting—but he didn’t want to. Not until Finn got here.

But after he’d texted the address, Finn had sent him a thumbs-up.

Whyhadn’the insisted?

The truth, despite insidiously worming its way through his consciousness, was still hard to acknowledge:if you picked him up, this would feel more like a date than it already does.

It wasn’t like last night hadn’t felt like a date. An impromptu date, maybe. He’d picked Finn up and driven them somewhere and then driven them back. Finn had even managed to make it out of the car with only a friendly smile and an agreement to see him for dinner, tomorrow night.

Finally giving up on the last bit of his self-control, Jacob pulled his phone out of his pocket. Apparently it wasn’t cool to actuallycallanyone these days, but he could text. Make sure that Finn was on his way.Make sure he’s okay.

But before he could do anything other than pull their text convo up, a car pulled up to the curb and the back door opened.

Jacob’s grip on his phone tightened as the figure emerged from the car.

Finn was undeniably attractive, every single day, no matter what he was wearing.

He looked gorgeous in sweats, a hood pulled over his windblown curls. Sweaty. Exhausted.

But this . . .

Jacob’s breath came in unsteady pants.

What is he trying to do to me?

He was terrified of the answer.

“Hey,” Finn said, tilting his chin up and meeting Jacob’s eyes straight on.

Jacob wasn’t proud but he fucking stared.

The gray suit with its faint hint of check fit Finn like a glove. It framed him, flawlessly tailored to his shoulders, to his arms. Jacob’s gaze skittered lower, his sharp intake of breath loud between them. The pants were slim, tracing the curves of his thighs, his legs, his calves. If he turned around, Jacob had no doubt the fabric would cup his ass like it had been painted on.

And underneath, the moss green knit polo was thin and clingy, drawing attention to his pecs, his chest, his abs. The color made his eyes glow, brought out the slight reddish-gold tinge of his curls.

---