Page 81 of Chaos

A disconcerting sense of disappointment makes me twitch. “Nope.”

“Oh. He was supposed to.”

“Well, he didn’t.”

Andfuck, don’t I feel some kind of way about that.

I feel like an idiot. I want to turn back time so it’s about a minute earlier, so I can stop myself from sneaking into a room that isn’t mine and leaving a fucking present on the bed left unmade by the man only a closed bathroom door away. The same man who sat beside me on my bedroom floor not just for one movie, but for two—though I fell asleep during the second one. Who shared a mug of sweet, floral tea that tricked me into thinking things I shouldn’t,expectingthings I shouldn’t. Like, evidently, an invitation to Sally’s fucking Farm. “I gotta go, Yas.”

“Wait—Finn.”

“Don’t,” I hiss, a hell of a lot quieter than Yas’ fucking holler. “It’s fine. I don’t wanna come anyway.”

“I want you to.” Hands on her hips, she marches to the bottom of stairs and yells, “Finn Akello, get your ass down here.”

A door opens and closes, husky laughter preceding heavy footfalls. “What did I do?”

Get out of here,my instincts insist yet I find myself rooted to the spot. Fucking gulping as Finn comes into view wearing a dark red baggy sweatshirt that’s rolled up to his elbows and sits along the waistband of loose Levi’s—that lifts a couple of inches higher when he palms the top of his head.

Like he’s making damn sure I see a matching knitted beanie.

The one I stayed up half the fucking night making.

“It’s what youdidn’tdo.” Yas pokes his chest, completely oblivious to how much his shit-eating grin is making me wish I could sink beneath the floorboards. “You didn’t tell her about Sally’s?”

Finn tugs the brim of that stupid,stupidbeanie a little lower. “Yes I did.”

Liar.“No, you didn’t.”

A clean pair of brown boots thump against the ground as Finn crosses the living room, stopping a few inches short of me—a few inches not short enough. “I did.”

“When?”

“At the market.”

“You did not.”

“I did,” he insists. “Joy asked if we were going, I said maybe—if I could convince you.”

“What?” I don’t remember that. The first part, yeah, but the rest, no. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Hm.” Broad shoulders lift with utter,fakenonchalance. “Well. You were a little distracted.”

Unlike last night, I catch the shitty, smarmy,incorrectimplication instantly.

I was not jealous, I shriek internally.

Externally, I grunt and try to shove him away, but he grabs my wrist and uses it to tug me closer instead. Close enough that even if her attention hadn’t been suddenly stolen by her boyfriend entering the room, Yas wouldn’t hear Finn mumble, “Thank you.”

I flex my fingers, but I don’t shake off his light grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I know exactly what he’s talking about, and he knows it too. I don’t know how he knows I made it myself—maybe the rough edges and uneven stitching gave it away—but he does. “Must’ve taken you all night.”

“I had it lying around,” I half-lie.

I did, technically—it just wasn’t complete.

After Finn woke me up when the second movie ended and went to bed himself, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I couldn’t get my mind to shut up, to stop replaying the past couple of hours and noting every finer detail, like the warmth of the body that never wasn’t touching mine in some way or the little chuckleshe made whenever something funny happened or the density of the shoulder that ended up beneath my head or why he let me fucking drool on him for I don’t even know how long. So I started rifling through the box holding all my old knitting stuff and I found the simple, chunky, half-started pattern, and I thought it would be good practice. I thought the color would suit Finn. I thought… well, I thought it would be a nice fucking gesture or whatever. A thanks without having to actually thank him. Somethingfriendly. “It’s not a big deal.”

---