Page 33 of Spark
"Wait," I beg before he can make a promise or commitment he might not fully be prepared to keep. "I’ve been thinking a lot this week about how the limits on my time have caused issues in some of my relationships this past year and a half. Friends have drifted away, and the last guy I dated couldn’t deal." I stumble over that last word, weighed down by a heaviness in my chest and limbs. Finlay already means so much to me, and I’m scared that my not being available enough will drive him away. "I’m doing the best I can, but for some people… I guess that ends up not being enough. And I try to understand, I really do. But with you, I just… It’s going to be this way for a long time, and I don’t want you to…"
"I’m not going anywhere." A blade of steel runs through the certainty in his voice and the stubbornness etched onto his features. His hand tightens around mine. "We’ll make it work. I don’t like that you’re so exhausted, but maybe we can make that a little better too. Maybe I can stay over at your place some nights during the week? We can have dinner and spend time together and let you get to sleep on time. And we can spend Sundays together like we have been."
His words give me hope. I can’t bear to tell him now about my Sunday catch up naps, not after what he’s said. Finlay is worth losing that sleep. I refuse to miss out on those precious hours with him, and will do everything I can to make our relationship work. "I like that idea. I could come to your place too. Help you with some of those home projects."
The faint lines at the corners of his eyes deepen with his smile. "I can’t ask you to spend your Sunday afternoons or Tuesday evenings laboring over the same things you do from Monday through Friday. That’s hardly a break and your body needs time to recover. Especially since you’re on your feet so much with the other job."
"Being with you gives me energy. I’d like helping you." I do want to help him. My muscles feel lighter, almost weak with the unexpected release of tension his acceptance has granted me. I sag into the solid wall of his chest as the relief sinks in. "I like the idea of us working together on a project, showing you how to do things, and making sure they’re done the correct way to avoid problems down the line." And a small, selfish part of me hopes that if Finlay sees something in his place that we’ve worked on together, that he’ll think of me.
He studies me for a minute and then he smiles and rakes his gaze over the length of my body. "When you put it that way, I can’t refuse. After all, I really like yourequipment."
My dick jumps at the emphasis he put on his last word, and I laugh, grateful for the shift in tone. "I guess I could say something about using my hammer or drilling you… But since we’re in a public place and I don’t see anywhere private enough to drag you away and do anything about it, let’s just say I can’t wait to get inside your toolbox later."
Laughter lights up his features. He slips his arms around me and holds me close and his breath feathers over my ear. "Work-related sex jokes, I’m so proud. You’re perfect."
Warmth and happiness as refreshing as a cool stream on a hot day rushes through me. I fold him into my embrace. He’s the one who seems perfect. And I’m lucky.
The house lights dim and then flare back to bright. I’m reluctant to let go of Finlay, but if I don’t, we’ll likely end up standing out here in the lobby kissing all evening and miss the show. I’m not against that idea, but I don’t want to make a bad impression on his grandmother. "We need to find our seats."
He nods, but instead of stepping away from me, he slides one of his hands up my back and into my hair. I lean into his touch, caught up in the intimacy of the moment and the way his embrace makes me feel safe, desired, and treasured. "After the show, will you come home with me? Spend the night? Have breakfast with me in the morning?"
I want that, so freaking much. To see where he lives, to get a feel for what his space reveals about him, and to hold him all night long. "What would you say about my having a change of clothes in my truck just in case you asked?"
"I’d say that I love how prepared you are. And I can’t wait to show you how happy that makes me." He kisses me again, with a softness that weakens all of my defenses and gives me hope that what we’ve started together is turning into something solid and real and sustainable.
Then he takes me by the hand and leads the way to our seats.
Chapter Nine
Finlay
Handinhand,Ilead Mateo to the round table in front. The tables are set up for two to four people allowing for an expansive view of the stage which is draped in heavy ruby velvet. As pleased as I am to have Mateo here, I can’t wait to get the heck out. Taking him home, taking care of him, taking him, are all-consuming thoughts, and every one of my nerve endings is sparking like a welder’s torch.
Languidly, his thumb strokes the knuckles of my hand. I don’t think he realizes he does this, but it’s something I’ve come to treasure when we’re together. The easy back and forth of his skin sliding against mine is like a small secret meant only for me.
“Here we go.” I point to a table with “Davidson” printed in bold silver script on a black place card. I’m not going to lie; I'm a little scared. The last time Aileene, Cam, and I were at one of Gran's shows, Mrs. Perez—an eighty-three-year-old former Rockette—had a wardrobe malfunction ala Janice Jackson and Justin Timberlake's 2004 half-time performance. Minus the nipple shield. To this day, I have nightmares of being accosted by wrinkled nipples.
A shiver skewers me.
“You okay?” Mateo bumps my hip with his.
I guide him to his seat and kiss his temple. “Just remembering the last show.”
He grins and tips his chin toward his wine. “Am I going to need another one of these?”
"Either that or several therapy sessions," I say, only half-joking.
The lights flicker on and off as Cam, Aileene, and a tall, lean guy with short ebony hair and square-rimmed glasses approach. Cam pulls a chair from one of the nearby tables and wedges it between Aileene and me. I push at his bulky shoulder, and he pushes back.
“Where’s your date?” I flick his earlobe and he swats my hand away.
“I didn’t think this was Olive’s vibe.” He looks cagey, like he’s hiding something, as he gulps down his gin and tonic. “Are we ready for this?”
“No,” Aileen and I say at the same time. The two of us shudder in unison, and Cam laughs.
"Mateo and Fin, this is my… friend, Zeke." The apples of Aileene’s cheeks brighten and I make a mental note to find out more from her later.
Zeke nods and waves, the thick silver rings on the middle finger and thumb of his right hand don’t match the blue plaid shirt and nerd vibe he has going on. “Nice to meet you.”
