Page 198 of Cross the Line
When I walked back into the apartment with Bee after I left Auguste’s place, everything was eerily calm. Eli and Finley were lounging on the couch with a movie, and I was too afraid to be the asshole who came in and blew things up. Now, I keep falling into these moments of abated torment where I want Finley to yell at me, to lash out so that we can clear the air and be done. But, like Eli’s said, maybe it’s in my head. Maybe I’ve got misplaced guilt.
Who the fuck knows anymore?
“Drink?” Eli asks, his hand threading with mine, giving it that familiar squeeze that pulls me out of my head.
“I got them already,” Finley says, glancing across Eli at me.
I miss her smile—that big, all-consuming one I love. Every time she looks at me, I keep waiting for it, but it never comes. And I’m suffocating here. I’m dying without it.
“They’re at the table Paige and I commandeered. She’s so nice, by the way,” she says of Dylan’s baby momma. “Kind of blows my mind that she and Dylan aren’ttogethertogether.”
“Yeah,” I chuff as she pulls backward in the direction of the restrooms, and Eli asks, “Where you going?”
“I’ve drunk my weight in soda tonight,” Finley chuckles with a wiggle. “Be right back.”
“Yeah, I think I need to go, too,” I say, quickly following her before Eli can stop me.
His stare is boring into my back. I can practically hear him cursing me out in his head. Because maybe this isn’t the right place or the right time, but I’m fucking buzzing on the adrenaline from the game and thatdamn corker of a goal. I want to celebrate and have a good time with him and our girl without feeling like I’m walking on eggshells.
A few women leave the bathroom after Finley walks in. I know there are only three stalls in there, and I got a peek at the empty interior when the first two held the doors open for the last woman.
Slipping inside, I turn the lock on the first door and then on the second, too. It's not necessary, but I’m chickening out, and it’s something to do to distract the urge to walk back out.
It doesn’t have to be an argument. Just need to talk shit through. Clear the air like grown-ups…
“JJ?” I spin to find Finley standing in the doorway of the middle stall. “What are you doing in here?”
“I…” I try to swallow my nerves, only to choke on the lump in my throat. “Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t take it. I?—”
“I’m not mad at you.” The curt tone of her reply says otherwise.
“Fuck, don’t lie to me, either.”
Dropping her gaze to the floor, she focuses on washing her hands more meticulously than a fucking surgeon.
If she’s not mad, my name’s not Jayden.
“Fin…”
“God, I’m not mad at you, Jayden!” She spins so fast that her wet hands spray me. “It’s not you, it’s…”
“I wish I could have told you, but?—”
“It wasn’t your place to. I know. I get it. I’m glad he had you to talk to.” I watch her flap her hands under the dryer before giving up and using a washcloth instead.
All the while, I take in her slender figure in those skin-tight jeans I love, all swallowed up by my jersey.
She’s fucking perfect and I’m fucking dying.
“You’re glad. Glad?” I hate that word. It’s the middle ground between happy and pissed when you don’t want to commit to either. “You’reglad?”
“Yup.” When she attempts to walk past me, I stand in her way. “JJ…”
“We’re not leaving until you talk to me.”
“They’re going to break down the door… people will see us leave together…”
“Oh, the scandal,” I retort, gripping her hips as I lean closer. “It’s my name on your back.”
