Page 86 of Chaos

It’s not until a beat of silence has me glancing sideways, until I realize Carmen’s gaze is focused somewhere else, onsomeoneelse, that I wonder, just for a second, if maybe she wasn’t talking about the horse.

“Mind if I join you?”

Briefly, I consider telling Adam that yes, I do mind. If I were in a bad mood—if I were in aworsemood, I should say—I probably would.

As it is, though, I kind of feel sorry for the poor guy. He’s spent the past hour by the firepit watching his loved-up friends reenact a scene straight out of a Hallmark movie. I’d have to be a real monster to send him back out there. “Knock yourself out.”

A vision of relief, Adam flops down on the other end of the sofa. “What’re you doing?”

For that dumbass question, I almost rescind the invite.

Deadpan, I hold up myknitting needles. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “It looks like you’re knitting.”

“Bravo.” Although,tryingto knit would be a better description. I really thought it would just all come flooding back to me and I’d whip through my little project in one shitty shark movie. Alas, at the rate I’m going, it might take me the entire genre.

“Excuse the fuck out of me,” Adam quips playfully. “But you don’t exactly strike me as a knitter.”

“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.”

He hums a noise of assent. “You did good with Ruin today.”

I barely did anything with Ruin today. The prime objective was getting him to join-up under Carmen’s watchful eye, but his mood was so off, I don’t think an entire bag of sugar could’ve calmed him down. He didn’t attempt to trample anyone to death though, so I suppose that’s a win. “And that surprised you?”

“Am I gonna get a knitting needle through the eye if I say yes?”

“Possibly.”

Adam laughs, slouching a little, and I use the handful of minutes he takes to get more comfortable as a chance to study the man I’ve barely spoken more than five words to.

He’s a quiet guy. A nice guy, from what I’ve seen. He kind of reminds me of my brother’s friend, Kate, the steady voice of reason that holds a friend group together. But he’s got a little of another friend in him too, the one me and my sisters all had our own individual crushes on—Nicolas Silva, dripping charm and well aware of it.

He’s good-looking too. Light brown skin, olive green eyes, a slightly slimmer, but no less strong, build than some of the other hands. No, he’s not hard to look at all.

If I was looking.

Which I’m not.

Literally, when his head lolls towards me and I hurriedly drop my gaze to the ball of yarn in my lap. “You gonna knit your stallion a blankie?”

I blow out a minorly amused breath through my nose. “Shut up.”

“You’re like a little old woman.”

Untangling one of my crossed legs, I stretch it out to kick him on the thigh. He yelps, a noise that masks the sound of someone else coming downstairs, a noise I mimic a second later whenfingers suddenly wrap around my ponytail and yank. “Will you quit doing that?”

Unapologetic, Finn flashes me a tight smile. As he strides into the kitchen, I track him, brows slowly pulling together because something seems… off. He’s banging around in there like the cabinet doors have personally offended him, and even though he must feel me watching him, he doesn’t meet my gaze, not once—if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was steadfastly ignoring it.

Quiet snickers erupt from the other end of the couch.

My eyes narrow. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Yet the chuckling doesn't stop as Adam slumps, shaking his head, one move away from slapping his fucking knee. Instead, he gestures at the TV. “Is this the one with Jason Statham?”

Still eyeing him suspiciously, I hum a yes.

“You got a thing for old, white, bald men?” he teases. “That’s your type?”

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