Page 90 of Savage Blooms
Adam glanced again at the bartender, who shot him a wink.
“That seems like trouble,” he said, smiling despite himself.
“Good trouble,” Finley corrected. “But only if you’re up for it. Do you want me to get you her number?”
“Eh, probably not,” Adam said, trying to play his disinterest as cool as possible. Finley didn’t need to know how hard up he was for Eileen and Nicolaall the time, how much of his waking thoughts were occupied with them. There was no room for anyone else. At least, not anyone who wasn’t already under the heady spell of Craigmar. “You should get it for yourself, though. She’s hot.”
“Nah,” Finley said, putting away more beer. “I’ve got my hands full with Nicola and Eileen. Or one for each hand, I suppose.”
Adam’s smile tightened, and it was only then that Finley seemed to realize he was irritating him. Adam had nothing against a little friendly kissing and telling, so long as no one was getting hurt or being outright degraded. But he still felt a hot jolt of jealousy inside him every time Finley talked about the girls, the kind that made his fingers itch, andAdam was starting to fear that it had less to do with the girls than it had to do with Finley.
“Sorry,” Finley said. “I didn’t mean to be crass.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Adam lied, mostly because he didn’t even know why he was bothered. Being bothered over anything Finley did was stupid.
“You seem bothered.”
“Well, I’m not,” Adam bit out, then covered his embarrassment by draining the rest of his second beer.
Finley tapped his fingers against his pint glass for a while, stewing in silence. Just about the time Adam was worried that he had somehow fucked up things between him and Finley even more, that they were going to have to muscle through this entire outing in silence, Finley made a confession.
“I wish I had any way to help you, or even any words of comfort to give you about this whole sordid affair, but I don’t.
“Adam liked listening to him talk, liked the way he tossed antiquated turns of speech and five-dollar-words into otherwise normal sentences. It telegraphed so clearly that Finley had learned much of his vocabulary from reading, not necessarily by hearing those words spoken aloud in natural dialogue, and something about that endeared Adam to him greatly. Adam had always been lousy at reading: no focus, no ability to sit still. But he loved listening to people talk, especially when they used so many beautiful words.
“This story has been turning in on itself over and overagain since before any of us were born, and I won’t pretend to have confidence that it’s going to end any other way than the way it always has. So, sorry for that. Turns out I’m no good at cheering anyone up.”
“Neither am I,” Adam said.
“What I am good at, though,” Finley said ponderously, rubbing the stubble on his chin, “is drinking.”
An illicit thought, fueled no doubt by exhaustion and alcohol, flickered through Adam’s mind: the ghostly sensation of that stubble scraping across his skin.
He should really call it a night. He and Finley were getting nowhere, and Nicola and Eileen would be waiting for them back at Craigmar. But there was a treacherous part of him that didn’t want to walk away from this private moment with Finley. Adam had always craved novelty and adventure, and Finley had both in spades, but even more than that, Adam had come to respect Finley, no matter how grudgingly. He was an enigma Adam wanted to get to know better.
Intimately, if that was what was called for.
In the end, the devil of Adam’s worse nature won out.
“You know what?” he said. “So am I. Round three?”
Finley grinned at him across the table, one perfect dimple appearing in his cheek, and Adam had enough presence of mind to know at that moment that he was well and truly fucked.
They went four rounds, all told, moving from porter to stout and then from stout to double pours of Highland whisky, pacing it out by sharing a basket of chips. By the end of the night they were acting like old friends, and Finley had been jostled by passers-by in the crowded bar so many times that he had circled around the table to sit pressed up next to Adam in the bench set into the wall. The entire side of Finley’s body was pushed up against Adam, and the atmosphere was hot and close. Adam found himself short of breath, needing air.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Adam asked, and it was only after the words left his mouth that he heard the insinuation in them.
Finley swept his eyes all over Adam, and the American felt absolutely naked under his gaze.
“You’re not driving in this state,” Finley pronounced. “Want to get some night air to clear your head first?”
“I’d love that.”
“Let me pay,” Finley said, clapping Adam on the shoulders like they were brothers, like they were friends. Adam’s stomach twisted needy and hot at the contact, but then Finley was gone, counting out money at the bar and chatting with the bartender. He made her laugh, a big bright laugh with her head thrown back. He grinned back at her, all dimples and shining eyes.
Was there anyone Finley couldn’t charm?
Finley and Adam stumbled out into the cool Scottish night through the back entrance, finding themselves in asmall red-brick alleyway. They were laughing at something, Adam didn’t even know what, so hard they could barely speak. Finley leaned up against the wall of the alleyway, catching his breath with his hand pressed to his chest.
