Page 57 of Player
“I can spell McDuff, you cheeky bastard. Name’s not on the list.”
Finn offers him an unabashed grin. “Hoping you could put me on there, sir.”
“Jaysus. He’s calling me sir now.”
I hide my smile, thinking how Finn can charm hundred-year-old rust off an old iron wagon.
The man consults his paper. “Yer in luck,” he informs us. “We’ve a new cancellation.”
“He didn’t have a mouth full of metal, did he?”
The older man chuckles. “That would be him.”
“My lucky day.”
“Five hundred greenbacks?” He scoops up the money and puts it in a jar. “Better hope so.”
I struggle between laughter and a healthy dose of concern. What has Finn gotten himself into? Us into?
“Don’t give me that look,” he comments as we sink into the crowd and move toward the fighters warming up by a wall.
“What look?”
“The kind a stunner like yourself gives a fella when she’s expectin’ to be disappointed.”
“Sounds like you’re familiar with that look.”
The laugh that follows is cut short as Finn removes his shirt. Is it my imagination or does he look better and better every time he takes off his clothes?
“Eyes up here.” He drags a finger up his body to his twinkling baby blues. Completely aware of my very appreciative reaction to his body. He kicks off his shoes, his socks follow, enjoying tormenting me and loving the challenge of the fight to follow.
“You’ve done this before?”
“A time or two.” He makes a production of rolling his shoulders, making a pained expression. I’m suddenly filled with doubts. In Finn-talk, a time or two could mean anything.
“What’s wrong?”
“You were a wee bit rough on me last night.”
He’s says it loudly, earning the attention from the men around us.
I flush pink from my chest to my face. Nothing happened last night so I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. There must be something in the Guinness. Finn might be a hot Brad Pitt knockoff but our sexual history tells me his definition of rough differs from my own interpretation.
“Can you rub my shoulders, colleen?”
The men snicker.
With a mental curse at him for teasing me, I shift closer, my heart racing at his invitation to touch him. With a deep breath, I knead my fingers into his muscles.
“See the women over there,” he softly murmurs for my ears only and nods toward the lone cluster of women. “Go on over there and lay on the magic.”
Excitement takes hold of me.
“Be my eyes and ears while I’m occupied.”
“Oureyes and ears,” I correct. A rush of adrenaline rolls through me. Finally, I’m back on track and moving forward with my story. My turn to do what I do well, expose the truth along with the ugly little details that accompany it.
“Don’t be shy,” Finn voice booms. “Despite being a Yank, they’ll take to you once they discover you’re a Kennedy.”
