Page 50 of Player
Clarissa
Iawake to the sound of whistling. Prying my eyes open, I find Finn at the foot of my bed.
“Up and at ’em, sunshine.”
“What time is it?”is all I can manage. My head is heavy, and my thoughts are groggy, the effects of four pints of Guinness claiming their price. I can’t remember the last time I was this hungover.
And how long has it been since I had that much fun?
After throwing the fight and escaping the angry mob, Finn pulled me into a different pub closer to our hotel. We relaxed, drinking and joking and teasing each other. It’s a comfortable pattern we’ve fallen into.
Finn’s great company. He’s wickedly smart. Easy on the eyes. Infuriating.
I see why a respected agency like the CIA would recruit him.
“You’ll feel better after a good run,” he informs me.
I groan, then struggle to sit up. “Are you for real?”
He winks. “As real as it gets, colleen.”
“Come on. Shake it off. I want three kilometers under my belt before daybreak.”He gestures to the nightstand, and I turn my head to find a tray with a plate of eggs, coffee, and two aspirin. “Ten minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I could tell him no, lay back in bed, and nurse this wicked hangover. But whether it feels like a steel container from the ship has landed on my head, the challenge in his tone has me moving.
“That a girl,” he comments, closing the door behind him as he breezes out of my room.
I eat then dress in new sports-leisure wear—a sleeveless shirt, shorts, socks, and sensible running sneakers. Hair up in a ponytail and a hint of mascara, and I’m good to go.
Finn rakes his eyes over me as he stands to greet me in the downstairs foyer, and then we’re off.
An hour later, I’m ready to kill him for the relentless pace he set.
We’ve stopped for a break. I’m crouched over and breathing hard when his sneakers come into eyesight.
“You kept up well.”
Between pants, I bark out, “Enough with the sarcasm.”
He chuckles. “I’m impressed. Most would have told me to feck off a few kilometers back.”
“Maybe I’m saving up my curses for a rainy day.”
He offers me his hand and then tugs me upright.
“What are we doing, Finn? Drinking. Fighting. Running a damn marathon. This isn’t a vacation. We,” I gesture between us, “have a job to do.”
“Truth?” he asks. A simple word, but one that carries a lot of weight.
“Of course. I detest liars.”
“Even if a lie sits better in the ol’ ears?”
Where is he going with this?
“Even if a lie protects you?” he insists.
I roll my eyes. “What’s with the twenty questions? You offered the truth. Give it to me straight.”
