Page 49 of One Bet

I’d dated plenty of girls since high school. Plenty. But I’d never been so immediately in lust and hoping for more. So ready to follow her anywhere. And I hated myself for admitting it. Really hated myself.

Dr. Klein moved to the whiteboard while her assistant handed out three-inch binders full of course material. Notes. All the information that would be on the exam, sorted and organized into categories for “purposeful studying.” With my partner and her beautiful blue eyes and smile that was brighter than the sun.

* * *

ONE VOW

CHAPTER 2

Felicity

Over the last decade, I hadn’t spent much time thinking about Finn Makenzie.

Shit. That was a lie.

I spent a lot of time thinking of his stony gray eyes, his bright smile, and oh, the kissing. Hundreds upon hundreds of hours thinking of kissing his soft lips. The skills he had with that magical mouth of his and the way his tongue caressed and teased. Every once in a while, I remembered his touch. The friction as his fingers slid on me, or the way we used to slide together, skin against skin. Usually, I thought of him after a couple of tequila shooters or immediately preceding a long, cold shower or two.

A lot of hours.

And that was the truth, but never once did I imagine him knocking on my door, wearing an easy half-smile and a coat not nearly warm enough for a Maine December. But there he was, standing on my porch, same cocky smirk, same honey-gold hair, same fuck-me body.

I’d opened the door because he came back. “Hi, Lis.”

I slammed it shut because it took him ten years to do it.

“Come on. Let me in, Felicity.”

Oh, did I mention the voice? That low timbre, the quiet resonance that made my heart palpitate and my panties all but catch fire? Even ten years later. Although, no way in hell was I sharing that piece of information with him.

I opened the door because I was weak, but I kept my voice strong because…pride. “What do you want, Finn?”

“We need to talk.”

No. Ten years ago, we needed to talk. Ten years ago, we had something to talk about. Now, we didn’t. I shut the door again.

He chuckled from the other side. “Lis, we can do this all day. I’ll knock. You’ll open the door. I’ll say something stupid, and you’ll slam it shut again.”

He paused just long enough for me to swallow my heart.

“But we both know every time I knock, you’re going to open that door.” I hated the way his voice made my heart race, even now.

“We know no such thing.” I spit the words out, hissed them even. Time had healed me, cured me of my Finn addiction. But after a minute I folded, and because he was outside and I was inside and I couldn’t see him, I could ask. “How do we know?”

“Because we’re us.”

Cured might have been a bit much to hope for. And because no one needed proof of that more than I did, I opened the door again. “What do you want?”

He moved around me then turned to provide me the full-on Finn effect. The bedroom eyes, tongue peeking out between full, extremely kissable lips, body as perfect as I remembered, maybe better than I remembered, broad at his shoulders, tapered at his waist, with long legs and an ass I could’ve bounced quarters off of. If that was a thing. Which of course, it wasn’t. But I was willing to give it a try.

“You look good, Lis.” I’d spent the morning lugging boxes down from the attic. The red bandana holding my hair back was soaked with sweat. My hoodie was a left-over of his, and he hadn’t been around in ten years of washing and drying. My jeans and probably my face had more streaks of dust than my feather duster had ever rid from my house. I aspired to good.

“You still lie like a champ, Finn.” And I hated him for it. And loved him for it. And hated myself for loving him for it. Mixed emotions were tough.

He cleared his throat and smiled as he looked around. I could feel it, the way his gaze judged everything in my home. I hadn’t taken down the picture of us at the beach, the sunrise over the ocean from that same morning, and the shadow box of memories I’d kept was still there because I was stronger than that damned box of movie tickets and photos and piece of shirt he’d worn to our wedding. And by God, the only reason I kept it in my sight line was to remind myself I was over him. Usually, I didn’t need much reminding. Well, not as much as right then. In my defense, he was usually three thousand miles across the country.

“I would’ve thought you’d moved by now.”

Could’ve. Would’ve. Should’ve. Really should’ve since I was about ten seconds from embarrassing myself by blurting out how much I missed my husband. Him. The same man who hadn’t waited two full weeks before he left me.