Page 48 of Hands off his Dudette

Chapter 22

Anna was freaking out. How could he blame her, really? He was freaking out.

Not during sex, not while she slept next to him at night—but each day when he came back from work, he saw it in her eyes. Shit, what was he supposed to do about it? Finn found himself wishing Wren was at the bar with his college friends—but instead, he only had Caleb Holt, Christian Daniels, Mike Owens and Jacob Whyte drinking beer with him the Friday night before his brother's wedding.

None of his four closest buddies had had one successful relationship in their lives, although Christian had been married and Jacob had two kids.

He was desperate enough to ask anyway.

"So, you're saying Anna—we're talking about the same Anna here—is being weird about you guys having sex?"

"Anna, the woman who had lunch delivered for you at school during your exam?" Caleb asked.

"Anna, who files your taxes at the same time as hers?" Mike added.

"Anna, who buys you condoms when she picks up groceries?"

The guys exchanged amused glances like they were getting something that completely went over his head.

"So, what?"

He was seriously getting frustrated.

"So, has it not crossed your mind that, given the fact that she knows you better than anyone else in the world, she might be a little wary of your reputation with ladies?"

He blinked as Jacob rolled his eyes. "You've never expressed an interest in a relationship. Not blaming you—me neither. But she knows you like chasing skirts. Maybe she's just wondering when you'll get tired of her."

The notion was ridiculous—Anna wasn't a skirt he was chasing, she was Anna, his dudette. He opened his mouth to say just that, but the words didn't come out.

Shit. They might have a point. How many times had he said he was happy as he was? That he liked sampling different women and all that. All his life, he'd talked to Anna like she was just one of his friends. Of course she'd heard it all before.

The word that came out of his mouth was, "Shit."

Of course she was wary of him—how could she not be?

"What do I do?"

The guys didn't know—he didn't know.

"You can try telling her she ain't no pussy to you, but well...the words of a player." Caleb shrugged. "Let's just say I wouldn't believe it. As a rule, women never believe a word out of a player's mouth. It's the actions that matter."

He'd know. Caleb was a player in every sense of the word. Not only did he fuck just about anything—women, men, of any shape, color or height—but he also played hockey professionally. That was another level.

Finn sighed. "I'm fucked."

How the hell was he supposed to dig himself out of that hole?

Mike shook his head. "Not especially. She'll just need time to relax and see that you're serious, that's all."

Time. He could give her that.

"There's another way, of course," said Christian.

Finn was all ears. "You could just put a ring on it." He shrugged.

"That's why your dumb ass is divorced," said Jacob, rolling his eyes. "No one pops the question after fucking for two weeks."

"There's at least two dozen Hollywood celebs who have."

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