Not A Temporary Love | Finley & Harlyn #1

Chapter 10

Again, I think of Finley. Why can't I get this boy out of my head? Why can't I stop thinking about his freckles and his hair and his smile and the way his eyes light up when he explores a new place? Why can't I stop imagining him here? I can see him giving me those wide, scared eyes he always has when there are a lot of people around. With Max's coaxing, maybe he'd bob his head reluctantly. Instead, Elly drunkenly pulls Francesca over. I dance with her, because Elly won't let it go. And she's drunk. And she looks so happy when I put my hands on Francesca's waist. Francesca goes along with it, but I can tell she's not super into it either. As soon as Elly disappears to get another drink, I drop my hands.

"Sorry," I say into her ear. "Elly's a bit...pushy when she's drunk."

She smiles. "It's ok. I actually need to get going. Get my sister home."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," I say.

Elly reappears, another cup brimming. "Why aren't you dancing?" I give her a look. "You like her, don't you?" I flash a worried glance at Francesca, who has one eyebrow quirked. I'm hoping she can't hear us, but her face says she can. "Then dance with her."

"Elly..." I say. She wobbles a bit, and I grab the cup from her hand. "Elly, I think it's time to leave." She shakes her head and grabs for the cup, but I set it on a table out of her reach. "Nope. You're done."

"You need a ride?" Francesca asks. I give her a sheepish smile. I can't really imagine even a ten minute car ride with her now. Not after this.

"No, it's ok. I'll just walk her home," I say.

Francesca shakes her head. "I insist," she says. "I think she needs to get home soon."

I look at Elly, who's dancing again, stumbling into my side. "Yeah, you're right."

She tells me where she parked and goes off to find her sister. I drag Elly back outside and find Francesca's little green car. I lean Elly against it and wait until Francesca appears, hauling her sister - who's protesting so loudly I wonder if the houses across the street can hear. The doors unlock, and I help Elly into the back seat as Francesca does the same. Francesca's already starting the car when I hop in the passenger seat. And before I know it, we're outside Elly's residence hall.

I help her up to her room and wait patiently while she fishes her keys out of her pocket. She grumbles about cutting her fun short, but she's almost immediately asleep when I tuck her in. Francesca's sister is also knocked out in the back seat when I get back to the car.

"All good?" Francesca asks, putting the car into gear.

"Yeah. Thanks again. For the ride," I say. "And I'm sorry. For Elly. She, er, likes to meddle." I'm hoping she catches my drift, and by the look on her face, I can tell she does.

"It's ok. I already knew you had a crush on me," she says.

"Er, well, that's good." I swallow. "I mean...not good. I'm not good at being discreet, am I?"

"You do tend to wear your heart on your sleeve," she agrees, glancing in the rear view mirror. "Don't worry. It comes off as sweet. Not creepy."

"That's good." I tell her where my house is, wait a few seconds, and then say, "I want you to know I don't...you know...anymore."

She flashes me a smile. "I know. I could tell when you seemed really reluctant to dance with me." I breathe a laugh. "And it's all good. I have a boyfriend so..."

"Oh really?" I ask, the knot in my stomach subsiding significantly.

"Yeah. We, er, went out a few times last term. And we made it official right before break. He took me home for Christmas." She smiles sweetly. "Sorry. You don't want to hear about all of my gushy stuff." We pull up in front of my house. "And we're at your house. So now you don't have to."

"It's ok," I say. "It's nice to hear about people's happiness." We sit in awkward silence for a second. "Right. I should head in. I have plans in the morning. Thank you for the ride. Good luck with..." I peek at her sister in the back seat. "Her."

"Thanks. And you're welcome."

The house is dark when I enter, and I fumble a bit to get my shoes and coat off. I make it to my room without too much noise or stubbing any toes. Comfortably in bed and only a little buzzed, I type out and send a message to Finley.

Me:
Home safe.

I don't know how I got into the habit of telling him I'm home, but it's nice to let someone know.

Finley:
good. How was the party?

Me:
Fine. Would've been better with you there.
Me:
And max.

Finley:
I'm afraid I'm not very fun at parties.

Me:
I doubt that. Have you ever been clubbing?

Finley:
Excuse me?
Finley:
You know who you're talking to right?
Finley:
I'm not old enough back home to legally drink.
Finley:
I can't go clubbing.
Finley:
Also have you met me?

I laugh.

Me:
I have actually. And I don't think you give yourself enough credit.

Finley:
Not when it comes to this. My dance moves? Non existent.
Finley:
My social anxiety? Top notch.

Finley's mentioned his anxiety before, but I've never asked him about it. I don't even know what I would ask, if he would want me to ask him about it. I want to. There are so many questions in my head about his life and every little thing he's ever dropped into a conversation that I should start writing them down. At the top of the list: What are my feelings for him? It's the question that's been at the front of my mind since Brighton. But Finley Bowers is simply a puzzle that I need more pieces to solve.