Page 10 of Hearts Adrift
He’s gone back to prying the remains of his shirt from whatever it’s caught on. It only tears worse. Tension builds in his face. “No,” he says after barely a glance.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“You don’t know who I am?”
“How many more times do I—” He grunts, pulling at his shirt harder. “—have to say it?”
“Don’t you watch any movies?”
“Who has time for—urgh!—that?”
All his muscles, it’s a wonder he’s still battling with fabric that just a second ago tore like tissue paper. Isn’t that how everything in life is? Falling apart so fast until you get to that one last thread stubbornly refusing to break …
But I still don’t believe this guy. “You know who I am. You’re just pretending.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“My Wife Dies On Tuesday.”
“Huh?”
“Mourning Lightand its sequel.”
“Are these movie titles?”
“By Any Other Name.First Baker.Wingless Angels—my first break.”
“I said I don’t watch—”
“The Quiet Monster. Won five Academy Awards! Not one for acting, sadly, but I was clearly snubbed in favor of that obviousOscar-baitBreakwater…”
He finally frees what remains of his shirt, stares down at the shreds hanging from his hands, then hugs them to his chest like a blanket—a blanket he’s clutching very angrily. “I said I don’t know who you are. I think I made that clear. All I came by to do was check on you. Not snap a pic of you in a towel. That’s weird. Did you sweep up the glass properly? There’s a broom in the—I’ll do it.” He sets down the scraps of his shirt on the table and heads off to the hall. Three seconds later, he’s back. “You can really cut up your feet bad on just one stray piece of glass,” he states as he busily sweeps—or is he scolding me?
It’s crazy. Just when you think the whole world knows you, you run into the one guy who doesn’t.
I’m consumed by that fact.
And by him.
Like the existence of someone like Finn is equally the most brilliant and ridiculous notion, that someone could actually not know who I am.
Suddenly this Finn isn’t just Welcome Basket Brooke’s cute, overworked, short-tempered brother who hits a gym every time he takes a breath. He speaks to me like I’m just another pesky customer who can’t sweep a floor on his own. I can’t even describe how refreshing it is, for this one moment in time, to not be River Wolfe.
To be just an annoying pain in someone’s ass.
In Finn’s ass, specifically.
Finn’s … tight and shapely ass.
Then, under his breath yet just loud enough to hear, he mutters, “Really, would it have hurt to just call the contact number first? Before you went and shattered the window?”
I glance back at the door, as if just now remembering I’m the one who broke it. “No big deal. I can pay for that.”
My answer doesn’t seem to please Finn as he comes to a stop,setting aside the broom. “Fixing that takes effort, I hope you realize. An actualpersonhas to do it.”
His tone continues to convey:I’m annoyed and I hate you. I love it. “I’m aware of that.”
