Chapter 8: Finley

The party ended at midnight.

Trent had left an hour after the splash, dripping, with his shoes in his hand and a neighbor's beach towel around his shoulders.

Nobody had said goodbye to him.

I helped carry plates into the kitchen with my hair still tangled and my mouth still swollen.

I kept my eyes down every time one of the men passed me.

Drake wasn't there.

"He went up to change," Gabe said, without being asked.

Dean winked at me over the dishwasher, and Gabe turned pink.

When the last cup was in the sink, Finley dried his hands on a towel and looked at me.

He tilted his head toward the back door.

I followed him.

The yard was dark and warm, with the string lights still on, and the pool lay black and flat under them.

He led me across the grass to the pool house and held the door.

Inside, the air smelled of cedar and chlorine.

He didn't turn on a lamp.

The light from the yard came through the blinds in thin gold stripes.

He stood in the middle of the room and looked at me for a long time.

"You were great today," he said.

"I threw a man in a pool."

"You did not. We did." His mouth curved. "You told him he slept through it."

"I wasn't sure I was going to say it."

"I know."

He came closer and took my face in both his hands.

His palms were dry and warm and very gentle.

"This afternoon in here I barely got to touch you," he said. "Tonight I'm going to take my time with every inch of you."

"Don't make me wait," I said, in a breath.

He kissed me.

It was long and slow, his tongue sliding against mine, his thumbs stroking along my jaw, and I felt my whole body unwind.

His hands moved down my back, found the clasp of my dress, and slid it open.

The dress fell around my ankles.

I wore nothing but a pair of white cotton underwear.

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