Page 136 of Chaos

“There’s been a lot of Carls.”

His expression doesn’t change. That calm tenderness doesn’t go anywhere—it spreads, infused in the fingers that tuck my hair behind my ear, in the thumb that sweeps my cheekbone. “Any Finns?”

“No,” I murmur, and God knows I’m not just talking about the name. “Definitely no Finns.”

He likes that. Yet something tells me that if I’d answered differently, he wouldn’t care.

As if I’m some delicate, fragile thing in need of ginger handling, Finn maneuvers me so I straddle him the same wayI did earlier, so there’s nowhere to look but at him. “The only thing I regret, Lottie, is not telling you how I felt a month ago. I was going to, that night at the drive-in. I was gonna explain everything. Tell you that I wanted to be more than just your friend. But then you called me your best one and I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t take that from you, I didn’t think that you would let me be that anymore if you knew how I felt, but I should’ve tried.”

“The only thing that disappoints me,” he continues, dipping to rest his forehead against mine, “is you so clearly thinking so little of yourself. And the only fairytale I’ve imagined,” he breathes in deep before surging forward, murmuring against my lips, “is the one where you actually like me back.”

I’m so warm. Flushed and glowing. Fucking shy and flustered and proud that I manage to open my mouth and let two words quietly tumble out. “I do.”

A relieved exhale warms my face before grateful lips capture my own.

Now, I get my sweet, soft kisses. The first ever given to me. No less potent than their rougher counterpart—no less intoxicating.

The human equivalent of a bottle of wine, I once likened Finn to, and I almost can’t stand the guilt that that comparison socks me with now. Fuck, what an insult, what a disservice I did him because they couldn’t be less alike.

Alcohol made me numb. Finn does the opposite.

Alcohol is my dirty little secret—Finn, his affection, his attention is worth brandishing like a fucking prize.

Alcohol made my passive, listless life more tolerable.

Finn reminds me I’m alive.

Grace shrieks when she saunters,uninvited, into my bedroom and finds me occupied.

“My eyes.” Blurring with how quickly she spins around, she covers her face with both hands and howls dramatically. “I’ll never—wait.”

Just as quick, she turns back to me. To us.

Just as dramatic, she gasps and stabs an accusing finger at the man tangled in my sheets. “That’sFinn.”

I gape dumbly, eyeing the man as if I’ve just realized he’s here, as if I haven’t spent the better part of the day lounging with him,onhim “Is it?”

The hand cemented to the curve of my knee squeezes.

My twin shrieks again. Triumphantly, I think. Clearly happy with my bed partner—relieved too, I think. That it isn’t the stranger she obviously first thought it was. And then, as is typical with pragmatic, steady Grace, she gets over it. She gets on with what she came in here for—she tells us that she’s here to gather us all for lunch with the rest of the family, minus the couple already set off on their honeymoon, and the rest of the bridal party too before they head home later.

I almost argue before I realize that I’m arguing because I’d rather stay in bed with Finn all day, and that disconcerting want scares me all the way into town.

Contrary to what my sisters believe, if the way they all eyeball me skeptically is anything to go by, I am not overcome with alcoholic lust the second I step foot in Bishop’s. I do not throw myself at the bartender or at the wall of booze behind him, nor do I drop to my knees and weep at the sight.

Nevertheless, a firm hand remains on my back and guides me past the bar. As the rest of our party squeeze into a booth, I glance over my shoulder at the woman trying her best to crawl beneath my fucking skin. “Should I sit on your lap or…?”

Unsurprisingly, Lux is not amused. “Sit down, chaos.”

“Y’know, I was thinking I might order a drink first.”

Lux doesn’t ask again; she just shoves me down onto the worn leather.

I land with a huff, sticking my tongue out at my big sister as she settles across from me and snags her son from Eliza’s grip. When Alex copies my expression, I can’t help but crack a smile. I cross my eyes and he giggles, and I laugh too.

I jolt when a chuckle brushes my temple.

Twisting to the side, my nose brushes a bicep. Craning my neck, I squint at the face hovering an inch too close to mine. “Remember what I said earlier about not being affectionate?”

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