So I Married A Rockstar - Season 2

Ch. 8: Playing Game

The tennis table was leaning against a wall in the games room; I held our whiskies while Finn unfolded it, and fetched two racquets and a ball from a box on the shelves to my left.

"Are you any good at this?" Finn asked, taking back his glass and handing me a racquet.

"Not really. Are you?"

He gave me a rueful grin. "Not really."

"At least you won't make a complete fool of me," I said.

His grin widened. "Just because I'm bad doesn't mean you won't be worse."

"Oh, that's fighting talk."

We took up positions at each end of the table, and Finn tossed the ball up and down a couple of times.

"If you're trying to intimidate me, it won't work," I said.

"Do you know the rules?" Finn asked.

"Nope."

"Good. Neither do I."

"We can make them up as we go along," I said.

"Sounds like a plan."

I lost track of how long we played, and our attempt to make up the rules soon devolved into a free-for-all to see who could hit the most balls at the other. Finn absolutely kicked my ass, and I didn't care. We were having fun. We taunted and teased each other, and surly rockstar Finn seemed to have disappeared entirely.

"Okay, okay, I give up," I declared, tossing my racquet onto the table and raising my hands.

Finn cheered, pumping his fists in the air.

"I'll get you next time," I said.

"If we learn the actual rules, maybe you will."

We grinned at each other, and warmth fluttered in my stomach.

"You hungry? It's probably about dinnertime," Finn said.

"Food sounds good."

"You okay with prawns? I've got a great batch of jambalaya in the freezer."

My stomach growled, and I pulled a sheepish face.

"I'll take that as a yes," Finn said.

We stopped by the storage room to pick up the jambalaya, then headed into the kitchen. Finn fetched two folding chairs from a cupboard, set them up in front of the island, and urged me into one. He poured me another drink, then turned to the counter behind him to prepare the food.

Sipping my whisky, I studied him. He moved quickly and efficiently, grabbing a large saucepan from a cabinet and bumping the door closed with his hip, swivelling to fetch the bowls and cutlery, pulling the lid off our dinner and dropping the frozen contents in the pan.

In every interview or public appearance I'd seen, he'd had a guarded look about him, like he was constantly ready to run, and he'd worn that same expression when we'd first met, but there was no trace of it now. In some ways that was more erotic than the half-naked Finn that had got me all hot and bothered this morning.

The food heated up quickly, and Finn sat opposite me while we ate. It felt more like a date than eating pasta in the living room yesterday.

Every now and then, Finn drummed his fingers on the table, a less aggressive pattern than earlier, and my gaze was drawn again to that skull ring.

"Can I ask you about that?" I pointed with my fork.

Finn glanced down at his hand. "What, my ring?"

"Jude has one just like it."