Page 150 of Chaos

I suck in a breath, and it tastes like him. “Oh.”

Lips touch my scrunched eyelids, featherlight. “You’re not cruel, baby. I’m sorry I said that.”

I shake my head because he has nothing to apologize for, he didn’t do anything, it was all me yet he insists, “I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you, but I didn’t want to say somethingI didn’t mean. I didn’t wantyouto say somethingyoudidn’t mean.”

“Oh,” I repeat because I don’t know what else to say. I don't know what to do, and I don’t suddenly figure it out when the hands on my cheeks drop to my hips and peel me away from the window, dragging my lower body flush against Finn.

“I did not,” he starts, and I can’t see him, but Iseehim, I perfectly picture the honest, open look on his face, hear it on his tongue, “for a single second,change my mind.”

So pathetically, I whisper, “You still like me?

He kisses my cheek again, so tender and gentle. “That’s one word for it.”

Relief—that’s one word for what floods me.

And when I reopen my eyes, he’s looking at me likethatagain. The way I feared only moments ago. The way I clearly misconstrued because he says, heteases, “This is how I look at someone I like, princess.”

I squint at the little smirk curling his mouth, grumbling, “How would I know that?”

“‘Cause it’s how I always look at you.”

“Oh,” is once again all I can muster.

“I should’ve been here when you got back last night.” Long fingers smooth my hair away from my face. “I thought you might’ve wanted some space.”

I did.

I didn’t.

I have no idea what I want anymore.

“I left you something.”

I think of the wooden horse stashed beneath my pillow. A handmade sobriety chip. “Are you mad?” I ask quietly, gaze fixed on the patch of chest exposed by the gaping neckline of a loose, rumpled pajama shirt, too chicken-shit to look him in the eyes. “That I didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Finn grants me relief with a single syllable. “I wish you would’ve. Wish you felt like you could’ve. But I’m not mad.”

“And it…” Wetting my lips, I chew the bottom one. “It doesn’t change anything?”

Two fingers crook beneath my chin, lifting my gaze upwards. “What kind of asshole do you think I am, baby?”

“A smart one. With good instincts.”

“Oh, I’ve got great instincts. Wanna know what they’re telling me to do?”

“Is it dirty?”

His mouth quirks—an entirely misleading gesture because there’s nothing dirty about the way he slips his arms around my waist and pulls me into a hug. “Five seconds,” he repeats his earlier promise, and again, I don’t know why when I’m sinking into his embrace like it’s the single place I belong.

Five seconds pass and I don’t move away. I only shift to prop my chin on his chest, forcing myself to look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Have I even said that to him yet? Apologized? I can’t remember. I don’t know. I do know that I’ve never meant the words as much as I do now. “Ricky—”

He does not want to talk about Ricky.

He makes that abundantly clear with a sharp grunt and an even sharper kiss.

I don’t put up a fight. I don’t even consider it. I just tighten my grip and yank him as close as I can get him. He kisses and licks and bites, and then he changes his mind and pulls away with a certifiable growl, pressing his forehead hard against mine. “You didn’t kiss him back?”

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