Finn clears his throat and takes a large bite of his fish. “So,” he says around a mouthful. “Dating sucks for you?”

“You saw the horror of the last one.”

“Yeah, that was painful.” Snickering, he bites into a fry. “How is Edward, by the way?”

“His name isn’t Edward. It’s…” Fucking hell.

He grins.

“Evan,” I announce with a near shout as I remember. “His name is Evan. And I haven’t talked to him since. Thank God. He told me he lived for skin.”

“That’s kind of creepy, Chess.”

“I thought so too.” I take a bite of fish, then swallow it down with cold beer. Heaven. “Sad thing is that wasn’t even my worst date.”

Finn grabs the tabasco and dashes some on an oyster. “All right then. Give me your worst.”

“Only if you tell me yours.”

“I don’t have dates. Only hookups.”

“The lazy man’s date.” I munch on another bite.

“True,” he says with a laugh. “But if you want to hear about them, I’ll tell you.”

“We’re really going to do this?” I ask. “Go full girlfriend mode?”

Finn shrugs lightly. “Hey, if Kevin Costner can paint a woman’s toes in Bull Durham, then you and I can exchange horror stories.”

“Worst date I’ve been on…” I close my eyes and lift my face to the warm sunlight before looking back at Finn. “It started out fine. Guy was attractive, witty—”

Finn makes a dubious noise. I ignore it.

“The conversation was flowing, but he kept looking over at the bar. Finally, I glance that way and notice a woman watching us.”

“He was checking out another woman while on a date with you?” Finn snorts and shakes his head. “Fucking douche move.”

“Yeah, if only.” I can laugh about it. Now. “I assumed the same. But dude is horrified at the assumption. No, no, he tells me. It’s totally okay. The woman is his wife.”

“What, like his ex?”

“No, his wife. They liked to watch each other be with other people. And was I into the idea of coming back to their house? Because I looked like the type who would be.”

I smile at Finn’s shocked expression.

“Well that’s…” He huffs out a laugh. “Fucked.”

I shrug and sip my beer. “It’s not my kink, but whatever floats their boat. I’d have appreciated a little upfront honesty, though.”

“You’re not really selling this whole dating thing, Chess.”

“I haven’t even mentioned the guy who came back to my place, locked himself in my bathroom for an hour and tried to have a conversation with me through the bathroom door while he was…indisposed.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t one of my teammates?” he asks, snickering.

“You’re not really selling hooking up with football players.”

“Not if they play defense,” he says blandly, but then winks. “Those guys are freaky.”

“I’ll make sure to tell them you said that.” I munch on a fry. “Okay, your turn.”

Finn sits back and the sunlight caresses his skin, making the angle of his jaw both sharper and warmer. And I find myself wanting to paint him, capture the way he dominates the space around him without even trying. His presence is immense and effortless. Compelling.

I haven’t painted since college, but my fingers remember the feel of the brush. A picture is taken in one click and then it’s over. To paint someone is to linger over them, live in their skin for a while. I miss that intimacy.

My distraction ends when he finally speaks. “Let’s see. Two stick out in my mind. There was the time I got up to use the bathroom—“

“Oh my God, please tell me you didn’t get all Chatty Kathy with your date while in there.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, that exactly what I was going to say. How did you guess?”

“Right. Sorry. Go on.”

“I thought my…er…date was out for the count, so I didn’t bother fully closing the door.”

I eye him warily, having no idea where this is going.

“So there I am, taking a piss, when this hand, holding a phone pushes past the crack of the door—”

“No!” I lean in with a gasp.

Finn nods. “Yeah, she was trying to take a picture of me.”

“Peeing?” I plunk back in my seat. “What the hell?”

Finn smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what I said. She claimed she was just curious, and that she wasn’t going to show anyone.”

“What a freak.”

“Total freak. But that’s not the worst one.”

“I’m almost afraid.”

Finn takes a long drink of his beer as if to brace himself. “There was the chick who started crying during sex.”

“Because you were so bad?” I tease, with mock horror.

“I left myself wide open for that, didn’t I? But, no, chuckles. I’d barely gotten started when she starts sobbing, like full out snot-fest, chest heaves.” His lips twist. “I was fucking horrified. Was I hurting her? Was she traumatized?” Slowly, he shakes his head. “Between sobs, she says she just couldn’t believe Finn Mannus was fucking her. That she had ‘Finn Mannus’s dick in her.’ And, maybe, could we film it?”

I’m gaping. I don’t know what to say. He’s fidgeting with the edge of his napkin and giving me a pained smile as if he wants to make a joke out of this, laugh it off, but can’t summon the energy. And why should he? I get that hookups aren’t going to be the most meaningful encounters. But those women were using him. Blatantly.

“Hey,” he says in a low voice. “I didn’t tell you those stories to get you to feel sorry for me. They’re supposed to be funny.”

I swallow hard. “Do you find them funny?”

He winces, lifting one, big shoulder. “When I told the guys, yeah. We laughed our asses off. But when you look at me with those big, pained eyes? It feels…shitty.”

With a breath, I shake myself out of it and rest my arms on the table. “You’re not allowed to feel shitty.”