Bet in the Dark (25 page)

             
Bastard.

             
I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth checking for drool, food particles or anything else abnormal. I stood up and took a step toward him before taking a step back. I didn’t really know what to do now but suddenly I was extremely nervous. 

             
“Hey,” he greeted. His eyes ran over me, from head to toes. I crossed my arms self-consciously. My v-neck t-shirt was wrinkled and stretched out and my skinny jeans were grease stained from a piece of pepperoni I dropped. Plus after the bowl of ice cream, I snagged one of his hoodies and slipped it on. I thought I would put it back before he got home, but it was so warm and it smelled
so
good. All in all, this was not my best effort. But Fin stared at me with heated eyes and a relaxed smile on his face, like he was happy to see me. Like he was happy to come home to me.

             
Ok, crazy person. That was a brain-jump that should never have happened.     

             
I cleared my throat and said, “Hey.” I fidgeted with the extremely long sleeves of the hoodie. Ugh, this was so awkward.

             
“How are the games going?” he asked from where he still watching me near the door.

             
I pulled my hair over my shoulder and ran my fingers through the tangled bottoms. I had to yank my fingers through a couple times, but it was easier than looking Fin in the eye. “Good, I think. I mean, for as much as I understand poker, no one seems to be working together or throwing the game or anything.”

             
“Good,” he said simply. I felt more than saw his gaze leave me and glance around his apartment. “Did you get enough to eat?”

             
“Yes,” I blushed deeply. He was going to think I was a pig if I kept this up. “Thank you for all the snacks and pop and stuff. That was really sweet of you.”

             
He ignored me and walked straight to the kitchen. “And the ketchup? Did you find it?”

             
“It was kind of hard to miss,” I said in a low voice.

             
Fin opened the refrigerator and then glanced back at me with raised eyebrows. I blushed deeper. He pulled out the left over pizza and put it on a plate to heat it up. There were only three pieces left and I felt really bad since it started out as a large.

             
“Is that enough food for you? I could make you a sandwich or something,” I offered out of guilt.

             
Fin seemed to take a few moments to think that over while he covered his pizza with a paper towel and put it in the microwave. “Ok, I could eat a sandwich.”

             
I rolled my eyes, but obediently walked into the kitchen and started pulling out bread, lunch meat and cheese. “I only offered out of guilt, I didn’t really think you’d say yes.”

             
“You offered to make me a sandwich, I wasn’t going to say no,” he laughed from behind me. “Besides, you should feel bad. How can someone so small, eat so much?”

             
I shrugged a shoulder but didn’t turn around. I had wondered that my whole life. In fact, I was more worried about dropping dead from a heart attack than gaining weight. Not that that stopped me from changing my diet. But, my arteries had reason to be concerned.

             
“What do you want on it?” I asked from where I was slicing cheese.

             
“Ketchup,” he answered.

             
I spun around on my heel, a huge smile plastered from ear to ear. “You like ketchup on your sandwiches too?”

             
Fin’s lips were twitching, his eyes were crinkled slightly in concern but his face was lit up with happiness. “No, I was just kidding. That can’t be a real thing. I thought you would know I was teasing you.”

             
My shoulders slumped. “Oh, I should have known.

             
“It’s just ketchup,” he argued like I shouldn’t be disappointed. And I wasn’t really, I was just hopeful to have met another true-ketchup-lover.

             
“You’re right,” I forced myself to look unfazed and turned around, back to his sandwich.

             
He opened the refrigerator and then set the ketchup bottle down beside me on the counter. “Why not? I might as well try it, since you’re making me the sandwich.”

             
“Really? You don’t have to,” I said benevolently. Of course he had to though. It was about to change his life.

             
“Make me the sandwich you would want to eat,” he answered.

             
Good answer.

             
“I’ll need pickles,” I smiled at him. He deserved my smile once more.

             
He didn’t ask questions, just pulled out the dill chips used for burgers. I finished his sandwich with ketchup smeared on one side of the bread, mustard on the other, smoked turkey, sliced Colby cheese and pickles. This was my creation, my favorite sandwich of all time. “Ta-da! The Burgerwich,” I announced with flare.

             
He eyed the plate skeptically but dutifully took it when I held it out for him. He stood next to me at the counter, readying himself to take a bite when I nudged him with my hip.

             
“You’re not going to regret this, Fin,” I promised.

             
He looked up at me from under his thick eye lashes, hovering over his sandwich. An unreadable emotion passed through his dark eyes before he just gave me a confident smirk and sunk into the sandwich. He chewed for a few sEconds before taking an even bigger bite. His head bobbed up and down with approval and he made an “mmm” noise in the back of his throat.

             
The pizza sat forgotten in the microwave.

             
“Ok,” he mumbled around a bite of food. “I’ll give it you. Ketchup on a sandwich makes perfect sense.”

             
“You’re welcome for changing your life,” I said flippantly. I turned around so that I rested my bum against the counter.

             
Fin set his sandwich down and stared at me for a moment. “Is that what you think you’ve done?”

             
“Yep,” I mashed my lips together to hide my smile.

             
“You are so full of yourself,” he grumbled playfully. He stepped around me, resting his hands on the counter by my hips, trapping me against him and the cabinets.

             
“We have that in common,” I laughed. I put my hands lightly on his chest, warning him not to get closer. Or at least that’s what I told myself I was doing. Every time I touched the hard, sinewy muscle underneath his t-shirts I practically lost myself in lust.

             
“What else do we have in common?” he mumbled. He dipped his head down and he ran his nose along my collarbone. His touch was light, tickling and I had to tilt my head to the side against the rush of sensation.

             
“We both look good in this hoodie,” I offered breathlessly.

             
“That we do,” he agreed, moving over to the other side and paying attention to the crook of my neck. His warm breath fanned across my bare skin, his lips grazed my throat softly, teasingly, his hands moved from the countertop to my waist and he grasped me against him. Where his lips were gentle and tender, his grip was rough and needy. “What else?”

             
“We, uh,” it was getting harder to concentrate. I clutched at his shirt so that my hands wouldn’t slip around his neck like they were dying to. “We-“

             
“We both can’t stop thinking about that kiss the other day.” His voice was a rumble against my ear, low and confident. Before I could deny that, he said, “Ellie I like you in my sweatshirt.”

             
I cleared my throat nervously. He pressed a kiss to my jawline.

             
He was making me jelly.

             
“I like when you make me a sandwich.”

             
“Well, duh,” I giggled nervously. My breath was as shaky as my resolve. “Anybody would like me to make them a sandwich.”

             
He nipped playfully at my earlobe and I shivered violently leaning into him until his bite became a wet kiss, sensual…. sexy.

             
“I like you,” he finally admitted and his tone was so serious, so
truthful
that I wanted him to take it back immediately.

             
Those words were the cold bucket of ice I needed. Because no matter what I still owed him money. And even though he liked me I instinctively knew he couldn’t let go of this debt. He needed the money for something important, or necessary, and definitely soon otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to these great lengths to get it from me. He could have pursued legal methods, but that would have taken time. He could have gone to the police, or my brothers, but he valued the money over teaching me a lesson.

             
“Fin, why do you need the money? Why is it so important,” I asked, my voice as neutral as I felt right now.

             
He sighed, long and tired against my neck and then rested his forehead on my shoulder. He was defeated and he knew it. I wondered how he would answer me, but that wasn’t nearly as important as reminding me of what our relationship really consisted of.

             
After several moments of silence, he backed away from me and went back to his sandwich. “I have a down payment deadline of April twenty sixth. I have to make it or I lose something big.”

             
Vague, but truthful. I could appreciate that.

             
“And you’re seven thousand dollars short?” I pressed.

             
“I’m working it out, Ellie. It’s not really your business,” he was snappish with me. He hadn’t been short and rude since the first time we met and I felt my guard go up immediately.

             
“You’re right, it’s not.”

             
He ate the rest of his sandwich in silence and I returned to the computer. I had about twenty minutes left but the boundaries had been rebuilt so I felt safe. I was disappointed he didn’t want to be completely honest with me, but he didn’t really have a reason to.

             
This solidified that what he felt between us was just a curious attraction. I was an itch that needed to be scratched and nothing more.

             
It shouldn’t hurt, because I knew this all along, but it did. And I hated myself for being such so sensitive. And I hated the clenching in my heart that felt a little like heartbreak. It wasn’t very much, and I knew I would be able to recover easily. But still, disappointment mingled with an aching loss and huge parts of me just wanted to go home, break into my emergency stash of Snickers and crawl under the covers.

             
So in order to hide all that pitifulness, I changed the subject. “How was the meet?”

             
A few more moments of silence and then Fin finally said, “Good. I made it to the semi-finals in every one of my races. So did our four by four.”

             
“Those are tomorrow?” I asked.

             
“Yes.”

             
“And the finals are Saturday if you make it?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“Good luck.”

             
“Thanks.”

             
“So, do you want me to stay? Or can I take off? You just have to end the last two games and write in the stats. If you just save the screen shots, I can do it when I come back on Monday.”

             
Conversation had always been easy between us, even when he was yelling at me. Now everything felt stilted and forced. I could feel the tension clouding the air around Fin. And I felt small and used for every moment I hung around here. Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded Fin why I was here, but the alternative was worse. I was protecting my integrity, yes. But mostly my heart.

             
He had to know that.

             
“How about Sunday? I have some field work that I need you for.” He was pressing buttons on the microwave again, going back to the pizza.

             
“Sorry, that doesn’t work for me,” I said simply while gathering my belongings into my backpack.

             
“What do you mean that doesn’t work for you?” Fin bit out. He turned back to face me, arms crossed across his chest, stance wide. Fin was ready to attack, this stance I knew well.