Sometimes I really fucking hate that I can read people so well, because my guys clearly think my new plan is crap. They’re kind enough not to say it out loud but the damage is done. By the time I head home in a cab, I’m popping antacids, in a foul mood, and slightly drunk.

Chapter Seventeen

Chess

* * *

Finn isn’t there when I get home. And I have to laugh at myself because I’d expected him to be. After all my huffing about independence and the chokehold of living with someone, I hate that I come home to an empty place. Oh, irony, you bitter bitch.

I find his note on the kitchen counter.

Went to Rolondo’s house for dinner. Didn’t want to text and interrupt your friend time.

See? Totally giving you space. ;-)

-F

At the bottom of the note, he’s drawn a smiling stick figure of a guy wearing a crown and holding a football and… I lean closer, peering at the drawing in the dim light, then let out a spurt of laughter. “Sick, sick man.”

Stick figure Finn also has an enormous stick dick. And it is clearly happy.

Grinning wide, I hold the note to my heart in a moment of complete sappiness then secure it to the stainless steel fridge with a fleur-de-lis magnet. Happy dick King Finn can now rule over the kitchen.

His note has cast out some of my sorrow. But not enough. It’s too quiet in the condo, the hum of the fridge highlighting the fact. I help myself to a glass of red wine and take it to my room.

Changing into pjs, I eye the bed with trepidation. Finn’s room is just down the hall in the far corner of the apartment. I’ve seen it. Of course I looked. But I’ve never really been in there. It felt like a threshold I’d dared not cross, as if entering it would make the temptation of Finn more real.

Picking up my glass of wine, I head for his room. It ridiculous how my heart rate kicks up, as if I’m trespassing. The room is dark, illuminated only by the light coming in through the massive arched windows facing the river and the one looking toward Jackson Square.

Creeping like a thief, I make my way across the wide space and flick on a bedside lamp. Like my room, his has a fireplace on one wall, but his room is double the side of mine and painted a rich, deep red. The color is too dark for me, but it feels cozy, like a cocoon. A king size bed of weathered wood and natural linen padding takes up one wall, while a sleeping couch takes up the other.

The TV is arm-mounted over the fireplace and I can imagine Finn pulling it out and making it face the bed so he can lie down and watch his beloved sports highlight shows.

It feels strange now that I’ve never visited him in here. He’s certainly popped his head into my room enough times to see what I was up to. Although, I always got the impression that he was vaguely disappointed that I hadn’t been naked. The imp.

I turn on the other bedside lamp and look at the artwork on the walls. There isn’t much, a few abstracts on the wall by the couch, a large black and white abstract with a splash of gold paint running through it over the bed. On the wall next to the bed, there is a large, framed picture of Haystack Rock in Oregon. A bit of landscape, which, I realize with a little jolt was featured in Goonies.

I stare at the picture and another frisson goes through me. Of all the pictures to have. Dust has settled on the edge of the white frame, so I know it isn’t new. It’s been there a while, sitting right where Finn could look at it while lying in his bed.

I turn away and investigate his bathroom. “Jesus.”

It is a palace. All white marble, a huge free-standing tub that could hold two people, a glass walled shower that could accommodate three. The toilet has its own room, and throne jokes run through my head as I close the door.

Over the tub hangs a glass chandelier fashioned to look like a sailing ship, a bit of unexpected whimsy that I love.

In all the pretty, he’s left his brush on the counter next to three tubes of various men’s hair products, and his toothpaste lays open by the sink. I fight the urge to cap it up and put it back in the little gray cup that holds his toothbrush. I’m not here to tidy.

The closet is just as impressive. Dark gray walls, white woodwork. Rows of dark suits, polished leather shoes, and then an entire wall of athletic shoes. He has drawers and drawers of casual clothes. A section devoted to athletic wear and gear. The place smells like him, lingering with the cologne he sometimes wears. The space is so big, he’s only taken up half of it.

The other half could be yours. Look at all those empty shelves and lonely rods, waiting for clothes to hand on them.

I swallow down a sip of wine and then turn around and leave. I don’t stop until I’m in my own, smaller room. I love this space. It’s comfortable, with a bathroom that, while perfectly done, is small enough to find in most homes.

Finn’s space is like a dream. Big and bold, it speaks of the highest echelon of wealth and privilege. His sheets are fine linen, his duvet cover is cashmere. I can’t even afford a cashmere throw. I glance at the cream-colored throw at the end of my bed and snort. Because it is cashmere, and it is Finn’s.

Am I really freaking out over Finn’s money? Or is it just a convenient excuse? I think about James and New York. James won’t be here anymore. My sounding board is leaving me.

With a sigh, I plop down on my bed and wrap myself in the throw. “I’m a goddamn mess who is talking to herself.”

I decide to ignore my brain and settle down with a good book that proves increasingly hard to read. My concentration is shot and my self-pity is ridiculously high.

I’m close to maudlin by the time Finn finally comes home. My heart gives a little leap when I hear him open then close the front door. He’s here. Finn will understand. He’ll give me a hug and let me cry on his shoulder. He’ll tell me everything is going to be okay.

He walks right by my room, not even glancing my way, even though my door is open and the light is on. I watch him pass, my mouth hanging open.

For a moment, there is only silence in my room and the sound of him tromping into his. And then the yelling starts.

“Chess? Chessssss! Chester!” He’s so loud, I fear the neighbors will call the cops.

“Jesus,” I mutter, then call out. “What?”

Footsteps stomp and then he appears in the doorway, a big scowl on his face. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”