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Which is … drumroll, please … that he’s got it bad for the tattooist.
But how bad is bad?
“Just speaking what I see, Fin.” I square my shoulders when he stops at my feet because it’s too late to take it back now and meet his hard glare with one of my own.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fin spins from me with lifted shoulders and back muscles that ripple a little too hard for just a little guitar session.
Hopping down from the case, my combat boots smash into the concrete with an echoing thud as he jams that axe into a nearby holder. “You mean I didn’t see you look right by the bartender to go find her?”
Okay, I guess I do have a death wish.
“And I completely missed how you spent the entire day being her bitch?” He freezes at my words, his shoulders filling with pumping heat that radiates off of him like a haze in the chilled warehouse-esque space. “Oh, and I totally misunderstood the headbuttI got for goofing around.”
He whips around so fast, I barely register the snarl on his face before he opens his mouth. “Goofing around with my—”
“Your what?” I push when he cuts himself off, stepping right up into his face until his labored chest meets mine. “Time to wake the fuck up, Fin.”
“Fuck you.” Fin’s palms land on my pecs in a bruising push that sends me back a step. “You didn’t see the way she shook,” he spits, his face contorted in what I now recognize as defensiveness … and, though he’d never admit to it, fear. “You didn’t see the way her fucking hands …” He lifts his and shows the vibration to his limbs as his breath rushes out of him in puffs similar to that of a bull readying to charge. “And you didn’t see the shit in her eyes when she asked me to leave.”
Nodding, I purse my lips and step back up to Fin until we’re only about a foot apart. “And when have you ever let the past stop you?”
Growling, Fin’s hands both go to his hair. “Peach, I don’t know how to be that.”
“Be what?”
“Soft,” he growls.
“Clearly.”I scoff and roll my eyes that still ache. “You don’t know how to share either.”
The sound that comes from him is feral and threatening. “Peach.”
“Oh, shut up before I fucking hit your ass back.” I pin him with a glare and point. “That’s two I owe you. Two.And you called me ‘Red’.” Shaking my head, my very clearly orangehair falls into my eyes. “That counts as a third all on its own.”
Fin stands there, his arms up and fingers laced behind his head with a laboring chest and that caged yet feral look in his eyes.
“Peach, I’m fucked,” he breathes through flared nostrils and licks his dried lips.
“Oh, Clooney.” I shake my head and try, but fail, to hide my chuckle. “You have no idea.”
Fucked on so many levels.
Just wait until he sees the barricade he’s gotta get through before he can get to the girl he really wants as his, but refuses to see how deep that shit really goes.
The knowledge of whois between Fin and Cedar should give me pause. It should concern me as his bodyguard. And I probably should warn him about the man I met in the wee hours of the misting morning with fists bigger than my head.
But honestly?
It’s payback for the headbutt.
“Now pack it up.” I nod to the guitar still sitting in the holder when his brow furrows at me and he picks it up.
“Why?”
“Just,” I sigh and shake my head. “Can you listen for once in your life?”
“Nope.” Somehow, he crosses his arms over his large chest, even with the instrument still in his grip.
“Jesus.” Reaching forward, I snatch the thing from him, which he releases easily enough, and walk it back to the case I was using as a seat.
