I watch him disappear down the hallway, and I can’t help but realize how this stings much more than my actual breakup did. Which doesn’t make any damn sense since Ash and I barely got started with whatever it was between us. But goddamn, if there isn’t a dull ache in the center of my chest as I turn off all the lights and pad into my room, climbing into bed.
What the hell is up with that?
Chapter 24
Ash
“Ash…” Tucker peers up at me as he comes to a stop beside me as I finish filling my water bottle.
“What’s up, little man?”
“I wanna draw,” he announces firmly.
“Okay, then let’s get you some paper and colored pencils, and we’ll draw.”
“Wanna draw horses.”
“Do it. I love that.” He smiles, and it makes my chest warm. God, I love this little dude so much already. “How about we go down to the barn, so you can look at the horses while you draw them?”
His eyes widen as he jumps up and down. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”
I chuckle at his excitement. “Okay, you go get dressed out of those jammies, and I’ll gather all the supplies we need, pack some snacks, and let your dad know what we’re doing, and we can meet back here in ten. Deal?”
“Deal!” Tuck shouts, already halfway down the hall.
I purposely start with the gathering of the supplies first, finding Tucker’s Lion King backpack in the hall closet. Stuffing it with a couple of sketch pads and the crayons and colored pencils—because if I know Tuck at all, he’ll want a variety—I head into the kitchen, setting it on the counter as I get to fixing some sandwiches. I decide to go with ham and cheese today, because I’m a bit peanut butter and jelly’d out, which I didn’t even think was possible. The lunch box is in the pantry, so after I grab that and a couple of bags of goldfish, I open the freezer for an ice pack out, setting it inside the pale first before I load in the food. Sandwiches, crackers, apples, some pineapple I sliced last night, and because I’m the coolest nanny ever, I top it off with a baggy filled with double-stuffed Oreos.
Once I’m finished, I zip the lunch box, shoving it inside the backpack next to the coloring supplies before zipping that too. I pull my phone out of my pocket, my insides twisting as I unlock it and find the text thread between Finn and me. Since the night in the living room two weeks ago when I officially put a stop to our little tryst, if I can even call it that, we haven’t spoken to each other much, except in a professional manner.
Which is fine.
Professional is good. It’s safe. It leaves no room for error or slip-ups.
But I can’t help but feel like it’s a cold war within the four walls of this house. It’s awkward, and I hate it, despite it being my decision. A decision I still stand by, even if it fills me with guilt. When I told Finn we needed to pump the brakes, I saw the hurt on his face, even if he tried to hide it. I saw it, and then he had to go and tell me he didn’t agree with it, but he’ll respect it anyway. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, though. For him, this is lust. It’s experimenting with this new discovery of his. Purely physical, nothing more. My guilt makes no sense. It’s not likehe had actual feelings for me or wanted to pursue anything on a deeper level.
This is a prime example of being damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Everything I did with him riddled me with guilt for my sister and the betrayal I know she’d feel, yet putting a stop to it—for very good, valid reasons, might I add—fills me with guilt for an entirely different reason. I can’t win.
Ever since that night, Finn hasn’t been his usual grumpy self, which makes me feel worse. In the brief times when we do communicate, he’s nice to me. No eye rolling, no jaw clenching. Finn’s being a perfectly appropriate and kind boss, and I fucking hate it.
I hate the way I still want him. The way I still replay the times we hooked up over and over obsessively, like they were life changing or something.
I hate the way those memories make me harder than anything.
What I hate the most, though, above all else, is the fact that it’s become abundantly clear in the last two weeks that this isn’t some little crush and it isn’t purely physical for me. I have feelings for Finn. Real, deep feelings that have no business being there. And no matter how much I refuse to believe it or give the thought space in my mind, I’ve started to fall for him.
But that’s crazy…isn’t it?
How can I feel so strongly about somebody I met not even that long ago? How can a handful of nights spent talking and listening to music, and a couple of intimate moments lead to something likethat? I can’t be feeling this way, it makes no sense. Not only that, but it’s pathetic. He’s off limits. Unattainable.
Leave it to me to fall for somebody I can’t have. Not gonna lie, that kind of tracks for me and my luck with men.
I shake my head free of all the self-deprecating thoughts and type out a message to Finn.
Me: Heads up, Tucker wants to channel his inner Leo DiCap and paint (draw) the horses like one of his French girls. We’re heading to the barn for the afternoon.
Setting the phone on the counter, I grab Tucker’s water bottle out of the cabinet and fill it up with ice and water before refilling mine too. My phone buzzes, and my heart skips a beat at the sound, knowing it’s Finn. I drag in a deep breath and pick it up.
Finn: Won’t pretend to know what the hell that means, but okay. Have fun.
