25
Finn
Four dayswithout a word from Hope and fuck, I miss her. This morning bit the bullet andtexted her to invite her over for dinner. I don’t often cook, but here I am—cooking for Hope.Fucking women. Steam rises from the pot of boiling pasta. I lean over,watchingthe bubbles for a second before I take it of the eye, drain it over the sink, and dump the noodles into the sauce. On my way out of the kitchen, I grab a bottle of wine and take it to the dining room table, filling the two glasses before I place the bottle in the middle of the table. I inhale as an uneasy feeling creeps through my stomach. Why the hell am I nervous? This is Hope.
The doorbell rings.The doorbell rings?Since when has Hope used a doorbell?Iwipe my hands over my jeans and walk to the door, pulling it open to reveal Hope ina dressthatclings to everyfuckingcurve.My eyes drag over her body, my dick swelling with every inch of her skin my gaze passes over.
“Finnley,” she says as shewalks past me into my apartment.
"It's good to see you, queenie."
She cocks a brow and a little smirk plays over her pretty lips.“Careful. Stop being a miserable bastard and I might start to worry about you.”
"Uh-huh."
"Whatis that smell?"She tilts her head back, sticking her nose in the air.
"Food. I cooked dinner."
She whirls around, narrowing her eyes at me. “Cooked?”
I grin. “Yes, cookedwithoutburning.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me all those times I was bringing you food, you could cook?” I shrug and she huffs. “Well, that’s just extortion.”
“Ifitmakesyoufeelbetter, Idon’t cook as well as Poppy.”
“Touché,” she mutters.
I go to the kitchen and dish up the spaghetti, taking it to thedining room table nestledin the corner of the front room. Hope sits down, glancing at the food in front of her before looking up at me with her eyebrows raised."What?"I ask.
"Nothing. I'm mildly impressed. It normally takes at least a dick pic to impress me."
Unfolding my napkin, I glare at her. "You are so classy; you do realise this?"
Shesmiles. "My mother would agree with you."
I laugh. "So, class runs in your family?"
She snorts and picks up the glass of winein front of her. "I'm Irish,Finnley."
"Right..." I twist the noodles around my fork. "Pikey," I mumbled under my breath before I shove the spaghetti inside my mouth.
"Fuck you.” She smiles innocently and shoves some noodles into her mouth. "Oh my god," she says between chews, holding her hand in front of her face. "You can cook." She swallows. "Damn, if we weren't friends I'd bag and tag you faster than a rat up a drain pipe."
I laugh and accidentally suck food down my throat, choking. I grab at my throat, trying to force thelobof noodles down.Hope's not evenpaying attention,just cramming her facewithmore spaghetti.
"Don't die,Finnley.I needyou,"she says smirking. "Doris had to cancel bingo tomorrow night. Her glaucoma got bad."
Shaking my head, I manage to swallow the food. "Nope. Not happening."
She folds her arms over her chest. "You owe me,Finnley."
"What for?"
"Youknow what!" She grits her teeth. I swear to god, she looks like she's going to kill me.
"Iamnotgoingtofucking bingoagain.I saidI wassorry and that's a site more than mostpeople get."
