“There he is,” Trin stage-whispered.
Bailey worked hard not to look his way. “Really, Trin. I’m not the least bit interested in…” But then she heard his deep laugh and it compelled her to take a peek.
The redhead did have big boobies. But despite her tiny waist, her hips were definitely fat. Hah. At thirty, Finn had developed a taste for tall fat women with hair the improbable color of a tequila sunrise. That was the problem with men-they never once considered that no real female had breasts that big or hair that red.
Or maybe the actual problem was that they didn’t care.
Pigs.
The fake redhead had a loud voice too. “I know you must be a seal,” she declared.
Fat, stupid woman. Pig, not seal.
“A one-eyed special ops?” Finn countered. “Guess again.”
Oh. Navy SEAL. Since they trained at the nearby base, Bailey now could see where that guess came from. As if Finn would be in the military, though. She knew his rebel’s soul better than that.
Bailey bent to Trin’s ear. “What does he do, do you know?” At the other woman’s measuring glance, she hastened to add, “Not that I care or anything.”
But before her friend could reply, from the corner of her eye she saw that Finn had dis-octupied himself from Tequila Sunrise and was moving away from her. Moving in their direction. Bailey muffled a squeak of alarm and scurried away, this time with Trin in tow.
She took refuge in the feminine hygiene aisle, where the only masculine thing in sight was a display of condoms. A sudden memory seared her brain. Sitting in a car in a drugstore parking lot, trying to melt into the passenger seat as Finn went inside for the necessities. He’d come out, reached into the brown bag, and tossed an item into her lap, right there in front of God and everybody. She’d nearly cried in embarrassment.
Then looked down at the big bag of Reese’s minis he’d purchased as well. “Never say I don’t do foreplay,” he’d said with a grin, settling beside her.
But his foreplay had been better than chocolate and peanut butter. Of course, they’d had years of foreplay before they’d actually had sex. First kiss to hours of kissing, to caresses over clothes, to caresses under clothes. Hours of that, too. Then all clothes off. He’d come to her more experienced in the kissing and touching department-certainly less shy about bodily responses to such-but she presumed they’d discovered the actual act together.
That first time had been on a blanket in her back garden, with the warm summer darkness draping over them. She’d been afraid and eager and then uncaring about whether it was right or wrong or the right or wrong time for them to become lovers. He’d already made himself familiar with that mysterious territory between her thighs, a frequent traveler of all the hills and valleys and every little bump in between. Before, he had always touched her there with his lean fingers, his eyes on her face, watching for her reaction.
And she, being a dumb girl, had thought it was important to show no reaction at all. Good girls-even good girls who played on the wild side with their bad-boy boyfriend-wouldn’t gasp or cry out or show the pleasure that was shooting from his stroking fingers to run in rippling trails of tingling heat up her spine and down the backs of her legs. She wanted to arch into his hand, but wouldn’t that look slutty? So she would close her eyes and bite her bottom lip, tensing her body against the tremors of bliss.
That night, he’d done more. He’d bent his head to touch her with his mouth. In half agony, half excitement, she’d screwed her eyes shut tighter. How could he? Why would he? It felt so incredible. So good! Don’t let him know!
And so she’d yanked him up by the shoulders. The unexpected movement had caused him to collapse on top of her, his erection pressing against that wonderful wet place that he’d set to pulsing. He’d groaned-no concern about sluttishness from him, weren’t boys so lucky?-and she’d loved the sound of it, and she’d so loved him, and she was so afraid of letting him know that she wanted his mouth back right there, that she’d whispered, “Oh, Finn,” and shifted the tiny bit that took him to the entrance to her body.
And bad-boy Finn had surprised the heck out of her by practically leaping into the air. “Condom,” he’d gasped and dived for his pants. That’s when she’d figured out that like Boy Scouts, even bad boys were always prepared.
She was still pulsing, still loving, still battling her body and its responses so that when he’d come back to her, latex-protected, and uttered a breathy “Are you sure?”-that she was. In part to hide from Finn all that he could do to her with a simple touch.
“Earth to Bailey, Earth to Bailey.”
Landing back in the present, she jerked her gaze down to Trin. “Sorry, I was drifting.”
Trin snorted. Amazing how such an indelicate sound could come out of such a delicate-looking woman.
“What?”
“Dreaming, more like. I’d love to pursue what about, but I have to get going. Adam hasn’t been sleeping more than a couple of hours without waking up, and he’s due for another dose of kiddie cold stuff in twenty minutes. Sick babies make Drew panic.”
Bailey frowned. “I thought I heard he was a pediatrician.”
Her friend waved a slender hand. “Like I said, sick babies make Drew panic.” She started up the aisle, hurrying in the direction of the checkout stands.
Hurrying off with the answers that could put all Bailey’s questions to rest…and then maybe Bailey herself. It had to be close to one in the morning and she’d been up since before seven. With all these questions about Finn still clamoring in her mind, she’d never get any sleep. She trotted after her. “Trin, wait!”
The other woman turned around, but continued to pedal backward. “What?”
“Finn.”
“Finn? What about Finn?”
The smile on Trin’s face told Bailey she was enjoying making her beg. Some things never changed. “I’ll tell Drew what you did on your seventeenth birthday,” she threatened.
Trin had a dimple when she grinned and she was still moving toward the stands. “Unless what?”
Bailey hustled to keep up. “Unless you tell me everything. What he does, how long he’s done it, who he’s with, who he was with. The works, Trin.”
“The 411 on the F-I-N-N?”
It was cruel to treat an old friend so. “Yes,” Bailey hissed, then her voice rose. “I want to know what’s up with his eye, and what he…”
Her voice trailed off as Trin’s shoulder blades bumped into someone. Someone with muscles, an eye patch, and a wide manly chest. Trin squeaked, spun around, then shot Bailey an apologetic look.
“Hey there, Finn,” she said. “What an, uh, coinky-dinky.”
Coinky-dinky? Bailey stared at her friend.
Trin made a wild gesture in her direction, so wild that her arm whapped Bailey in the stomach. “Here’s, uh, Bailey. You remember her. Bailey Sullivan.”
Make that breathless Bailey. Speechless Bailey. But a Bailey who could still hear perfectly well. And see that cold stare that Finn leveled at her.
“If you’re interested in knowing everything about me, GND,” he said, “you’re about ten years too late.”
GND. If he wanted to slice her through with anything more than his chilly look and those flat words, then that was it. It was the nickname he’d given her before she’d left him, before they were lovers, before they’d ever even kissed. It reminded her that first he’d been the sulking boy she’d made smile and that once she’d been his pesky Girl Next Door.
The one who had grown older, fallen in love, then run away from him. The one who was perfectly willing to run again, leaving behind the Merlot and the cheese straws, as well as her oldest best friend and her very first boyfriend.