Page 77 of Twist of Fate
Dogs.
Just another thing I gave up for Theo. I’m not sure I even realized it until Finn mentioned it. How many other things were there? How many accommodations and adjustments had I made in my life and personality to fit his?
I glance at the gold resting on my right hand while gently running my fingers through Archer’s fur. My life has been so intricately woven with his. I’m not sure I know how to just be me anymore.
“Should I be jealous?” I look up to see Finn towering over me. From this angle, he appears fifteen feet tall.
“That depends.” I grin, raising my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. “Do you enjoy belly rubs and having your ears stroked—” He cocks his head to the side, and I suddenly realize what I’ve just said. My cheeks flush in response. “Never mind. Are we leaving?”
“Just about,” he says, trying hard not to laugh. “Thought I’d come to collect you so you would have time to stop by the gift shop. You know—so you have your very own collie to take home and…stroke.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh my god.”
He chuckles and extends a hand to help me stand. I grab it, and either he underestimates my weight or the timing is off, but when he tugs, I go flying and slam right into him.
My hand comes out instinctively and lands on his chest, and holy hell…someone’s been eating their Wheaties. It feels like touching a fleshy brick wall. He is solid everywhere.
Don’t grope him.
Remove your hand, Ash.
Do not manhandle the tour guide.
I step back reluctantly, but as my eyes turn upward, I find him staring at me with a burning intensity that makes my heart—and perhaps other parts of me—flutter. His hands curl at his sides as if he’s waging an internal war, and then he lets out a breath. “Right, gift shop.”
He pivots on his heels, and before I can blink, I’m facing his back as he walks ahead of me.
I give Archer one last look. “Bye, friend.” And then I run to catch up with Finn, reminding myself that he is also supposed to be my friend.
And then I look at his ass.
Dammit.
TWENTY-ONE
Finn
PAST
Something they tend not to mention when visiting the Cliffs of Moher is that they are magical.
Okay, not really magic, per se.
However, they do have a tendency to disappear from time to time. As the bus starts to draw closer and we wind through those misty hills, I know it’s going to be one of those days.
The cliffs are not going to be making an appearance today.
I’ve been doing this job long enough to know. Honestly, any Irishman with their head could look out those windows and reach the same conclusion.
I turn on the microphone. “Looks like we have a bit of fog this morning, folks,” I tell them. I’m stating the obvious, as most of them have already noticed the thick gray mist that covers the ground like a wet blanket. “Unfortunately, this fog will also be at the cliffs and will significantly reduce visibility.”
An audible groan follows.
“Now.” I hold out my hands in an attempt to placate them. It’s really a lost cause at this point. Fog this thick will take hours to clear, and we don’t have that kind of time in our schedule. But I hate coming off as a half-empty kind of guy. “It’s possible it could dissipate.” It’s not. “And we’ll have clear skies soon.” We won’t. “So, if you want to wander around the museum or grab a bite to eat, then head out.” I give a hopeful shrug. “Who knows.”
We finally arrive at the parking lot, and everyone starts to get out. I’m grabbing my things, and when I look up, I see Ash smirking at me.
“That was a whole lot of bullshit you just tried to sell us back there.”
