Talk to Me (8 page)

Finn

Anchor/Kiki Stuart:
I’m intrigued. How did she go about gaining your trust?

Finn:
Slowly.

Anchor/Kiki Stuart:
Doesn’t sound like the Finn Daley we know.

Finn:
See, that’s the trouble. Nobody really knew the real Finn Daley. Until she came along.

Holding my shit together during that kiss, well, I should’ve been awarded a medal.

I’m fairly sure Casey was designed to fit into my arms. She was toned, but still soft. Brilliant, but still innocent. Sweet, but spunky as hell. She was made up of the most perfect contradictions.

I had been waking up with a spring in my step, as they say. And I hadn’t even gotten into the girl’s pants. Or gotten into them again. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep it up.

After our first date, and our little tryst in the truck, we went out two more times. An impromptu street hockey game in my driveway when she came over for pizza, and bowling, of all things.

I had to keep it physical. I had to keep us moving, because whenever there was a lull, whenever it was just the two of us, all I wanted to do was touch her. Taste her. I think Casey was getting frustrated too.

When I brought her home after bowling, I think she wanted a repeat of our make out session in the truck. And the fact that I was twenty five years old and using the term
make out
was ridiculous.

Casey had been following my lead. My very slow lead. When I dropped her off, she usually reached for the door of my truck immediately. I was always forced to jump out and run to her side to grab it for her. There was something possessive in me when it came to this woman. I wanted to open her doors … and help her with bags, and push her out of the way from moving cars, and twist off all the caps to the jars of pickles she liked so much. I was a floundering idiot around the girl. When I reached her at the passenger door, she most always had already slid down from the high seat with her feet firmly on the ground, preventing me from touching her, lifting her, holding her. I was left only to link my hand in hers and walk her to the door, parting with a quick chaste kiss.

It was torture.

Last night, though. Shit, I got whipped up at the thought. Last night, she lingered.

I was teasing her about her bowling form.

“Twenty baby steps, drop the hand, and release … into the gutter again.”

“That is not what happened.”

“It is. Every. Single. Time. You’re going to need some practice.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, toying with a ring on her finger.

For a brief moment I panicked. There was something about that movement; it seemed like she had something serious to say, and I wasn’t sure I was going to like it.

“Can I be honest?” she asked.

Oh, no.

“I hope by now that goes without saying,” I said, waiting on her confession.

“I can’t stand bowling,” she admitted with a smirk.

Wait, that’s it?

“Then why did you agree to go with me?” I asked.

“Because I wanted to see you.”

It was the best thing she could’ve said to me.

“News flash, I would’ve changed plans. I was dying to see
you
, not the smelly bowling alley.”

“You were
dying
to see me?” Her eyes grew wide.

“Dying,” I said, unable to take it any longer.

I wrapped my hand around hers and it was so soft. So perfect. So incredibly erotic. The length of her fingers and trim nails — not done up in polish, but still perfectly feminine. It was delicate and soft and I couldn’t help imagining what her touch would feel like.

Bringing her hand to my lips, I kissed each knuckle, enjoying the sweet
subtle scent on the inside of her wrist. I turned her hand over and inhaled, unable to stop myself.

I wanted to do this right. I finally felt normal and I wanted to do this the normal way. Slow, easy. One step at a time. It’s what I kept saying in my head over and over again so I wouldn’t flip her over my shoulder, haul her into the house, and fuck her senseless. No, I didn’t do that shit any more. Think it, yes. I wasn’t dead for fuck’s sake. But I was a new man.

Casey’s pulse sped up and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand it. Without thinking, I pulled her entire finger into my mouth. Slow and deep and shit, she moaned.

It was time to end the night.

I pulled it back out, scraping in along my bottom teeth just to be wicked. So she’d feel as tortured as I did.

“I guess it’s goodnight,” I said, exiting the car to get her door.

This time, I had to almost drag her out.

That made me ecstatic.

“Good night,” she said, still stunned when I left her at the door.

I didn’t dare look back.

***

“Hey, can I get your opinion on something, without you acting like a complete douche?” I asked Nate the next night as we sat watching the fight.

We were both into boxing, and always watched the matches together. Partially because Nate couldn’t figure out how to special order the event on satellite.

“Not sure. Can you?”

“I’m serious, asshole.”

“Okay, don’t get your panties in a bunch. What is it?”

“When was the last time you had a normal relationship?” I asked.

“What constitutes as normal?”

Nate always answered a question with a question.

“Not your fuck sessions with the models that come into town, or the Puck Bunnies, or a bar hookup, but the last time you asked someone on a real date without planning to get laid.”

“Not following you,” Nate said
.

“Forget it.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m having a hard time adjusting to the new, improved, and oh so sensitive Finn Daley.”

“Fuck you.”

“Calm down.” He bumped my arm before turning to me, all the cockiness now gone from his face. “Last normal relationship? There was someone last summer.”

“Someone you were really into?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did you take her on dates?”

“I did, as much as I could without anyone noticing us.”

“So how long did you wait?”

“For what?” Nate asked, feigning innocence.

Nothing was ever easy with this guy.

“Don’t be a dick. You know what I’m asking. I have no idea how long I wait until I bring her to bed. I’ve never done this the right way. It’s killing me, man.”

“Shit. I don’t know, Finn. I haven’t had my share of
normal
either. You know, we could use a regular guy around here sometimes.”

“We could,” I agreed. “At least you have your brothers.”

“True, and I guess I can tell you what my brother always told me back in the day.”

“Okay.”

“You wait until you have the worst case of blue balls. We’re talking painful. Throbbing. Heavy as a sack of marbles. And then.”

“Then?”

“You wait another week.”

“Well, I think I reached that point two weeks ago.”

“Then I’d say you’re good to go.”

Hmm, good to go.

We went back to the fight. I was thinking about being
good to go
with Casey when something about Nate’s words came back to me.

Hey.

“Who was it?” I asked.

“Who was what?”

“The girl, you dick.”

Nate drank a beer and I slugged down one of the green smoothies that Mia brought over for me. It actually made Nate gag.

“Kiersten,” he admitted, before answering my next unspoken question. “I didn’t tell you about her because I didn’t want to jinx it. Nobody knew and it was nice, you know? To have it all to myself for a change.”

“Kiersten Reynolds, as in Max’s daughter?”

Max Reynolds was our financial planner. He handled a lot of the players’ money. Hell, he made it so I’d never have to work again. He was a genius and knew exactly how to talk to young guys. Most of us wanted to spend it all. Many of us did. But thankfully, Nate and I got hooked up with Max right when we signed with the Wild.

“That’s the one,” Nate said.

I couldn’t hold in my laughter. Max would have Nate’s ass if he knew he was sniffing around his daughter.

“I can’t believe you kept that from me. And I know your bank account is still in great shape, so I’m assuming Max never found out.”

“Nope. I wish he did though. In some ways. Kiersten ended it because she didn’t want to sneak around anymore, and she knew her dad would be furious.”

“So that’s it.”

“That’s it,” he said. “I wish you better luck, man.”

DEVELOPMENT (n.):

When new facts of a story come to light.

Casey

Another date with Finn, and another night of restless sleep. After my drunken episode at the bar, Finn had only kissed me once. Something I desperately wanted to change.

I was too embarrassed to tell the truth about my memory of the bar night — that I did remember what happened in the supply closet.

Oh, how I remembered.

I also worried that maybe I didn’t do it for him like he did for me. Otherwise how could he stay so composed and in control when all I wanted to do was jump him every chance I got?

Still, I hadn’t given up on my story, even though parts of me wanted to. The optimist inside said,
not yet
. I was convinced that I’d get things out of him sooner or later.

Sooner, if I could get him into bed, but who knew this guy moved at a glacial pace? Jesus. I got to third base with Joey Miller by my third date.

When I was seventeen!

Not that my story was the only reason I wanted to get Finn horizontal. Far from it. Despite my best efforts, I was falling for the guy.

I continued to spend most of my free time in the newsroom and edit suites, reviewing the archives, reading, and researching. Hoping to find a lead half as good as the Finn Daley story to pursue. It just wasn’t happening.

When we were together, I searched for evidence, anything to give me an indication about what happened last year. Though the entire time, I was irrationally hoping it was nothing of consequence. Finn mentioned not being well, the difficult relationships he had with people, but that was it. Even when I pushed, he wasn’t talking.

So far, I had managed to review the history on his computers. I also read his text messages, and looked through files in his office. I came up empty-handed every time.

I had even thought of ways to get a urine sample to test for anabolic steroids or HGH. Anything. I was desperate.

Until the day he picked me up to go to the movies, and I found my first legit clue. Finn was pumping gas because his truck was on E after his visit with family earlier that day.

I wasn’t even in sleuth-mode. Actually, I was searching for a piece of gum. But there it was. On the console. His checkbook, propped open with a folded piece of paper stuck inside. With Finn’s back to me in the car, I slid the paper out and opened it. It was a financial statement with a lot of zeroes at the end of it — a receipt for the care of Grace Daley.

My hands started shaking as anger boiled under the surface. This was it, the secret, or at least one of them.

Finn Daley had an illegitimate kid. A kid he was paying through the nose to keep it quiet. A kid living without her father. Working to keep my own emotions in check, I took a quick photo of the document with my phone and put everything back as I found it.

Finally, a break. After all the work and time, I had something. It may not be the reason Finn retired, but it was still a story. So why wasn’t I happy? I should’ve been shaking my ass, dancing a goddamn jig. Instead, I felt nothing but disappointment about this latest development, and dread about what I’d find next.

Because where there was smoke—

I couldn’t think straight, and had no idea what my next move should be. There was no choice.

After the movie, I dialed the station and got The Mole on the phone for advice.

Finn

Anchor/Kiki Stuart:
She thought she had something on you, didn’t she?

Finn Daley:
She sure did. In her defense, she did find out something very important. Just not what she originally thought.

Casey was acting even more strange after we went to the movies. We had made so much progress, and then all of a sudden, it seemed like we had never been further apart. Trouble was, the more she fought me, the more I wanted her.

The next morning my phone rang first thing.

“Has Mia been over yet?” Nate asked when I picked up.

“No, she doesn’t come on Tuesdays.” I had given him my schedule many times. Didn’t matter. He could never keep it straight.

“So you’re not blissed out?” he asked.

“Hardly.” Thoughts of Casey had messed up my sleep again.

“I guess that’s better. I’d hate to ruin your good mood.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“The newspaper is fishing again. Really fucked it up this time, though.”

“Tell me,” I said, as my stomach churned.

“It was in the gossip column.”

“Go on.”

“Okay, it doesn’t list you by name. But it does say they are following a story about a local hockey star paying off his baby mama to keep quiet about an illegitimate kid. There’s some financial information included and promises for more on the story as it develops.”

“Why do you think it’s about me?”

“Because the amount listed is exactly what you are shelling out each month, and the columnist ended the article by writing,
poor Grace.
”

“Shit.”

“I know.”