Page 126 of Chaos

Black silk parts a little wider as a hand curls around the doorway above my head. “Can I tell you one thing?”

I blame the distracting sliver of a bare chest for why I nod so quickly.

Long fingers encircle my wrist and lift, bringing my hand to his chest and flattening it, trapping it with his own. “Always like this for you,” he murmurs, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about the racing heart beneath my palm. “Won’t stop.”

“Hope not,” I joke, but it comes out more like a croak. A desperate, shaky rasp. “Think they call that being dead.”

“Thought I was for a second when you walked down the aisle.” His touch drops to my lower back. “So perfect, baby.”

Baby. Fuck me.

“Couldn’t breathe because of you.”

“Jesus, Finn.” I laugh and that’s pretty damn croaky too, pretty damn shaky, as shaky as the hand I tap against his chest—the hand I don’t move even after his falls away. “What’s Yasmin been feeding you all night? Straight moonshine?”

“I was jealous.”

I frown at the random segue. “Of?”

“That Cass guy.” Fingers stroke the butterfly wings inked just above that damn bow. “And Adam. Thought you were gonna ask him to dance.”

He… he did? “Why would you think that?”

“Thought you liked him.”

“I've spoken to him, like, three times.”

That pout returns again. Thoughtful more than boyish now. “You smile at him. You laugh, sometimes.”

“I smile at you.”

“Hm.” Eyes briefly fluttering shut, Finn tilts his head back, and he smiles so fucking sweetly. “I like it. A lot.”

My heart all but screeches to a stop. I’m the one teetering near dead now. I’m the one who can’t breathe, who can’t move as Finn lifts his hand to my mouth, as his thumb traces my bottom lip. Mine finds his elbow, glides along his forearm to hold his wrist—to knock him away? To keep him in place? I honestly, truly don’t know.

“I really fucking wanted to kiss you.”

I inhale sharply.

His palm finding my cheek, Finn stoops until his forehead touches mine. “I really fuckingwantto.”

My grip on his wrist tightens. “You’re drunk.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Does to me.”

Everyone wants to kiss someone when they’re drunk—I always wanted to kiss someone when I was drunk. I don’t… Shit, I don’t want to be just someone Finn wants to kiss when he’s drunk. And I don’t want to kiss him when he’s drunk because he’ll taste like alcohol, and I don’t want that to be what I remember, I don’t want that detail to be the one I cling to.

“Fuck.” His hands drop, a tortured groan rumbling from the back of his throat as he cups the back of his head. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

It’s him who retreats this time, me who advances. “It’s okay.”

Finn swears again as he collapses on the edge of his bed. “I did it again. I keep doing it wrong. Shit, Lottie, I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” I kiss my teeth, not a real big fan of the pure distress twisting his features. “Relax, drama queen. You didn’t do anything.”

Like a drunk kicked puppy, Finn peers up at me with big, sorrowful eyes.

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