Spin

Twenty-Six

[FINN]

I listened to the same voice note a fifth time, blindly tapping my fingers against my knee. I stared out the backseat window at passing palms and dimly-lit homes along the familiar winding road, knowing we were nearing the house.

I glanced down just long enough to move my thumb to the replay button, hitting it once more. I wasn't sure what the goal was – my anger and whatever else I was feeling self-inflicted, at least to a degree.

I was so distracted, I'd not even realized the car had pulled to a stop. The driver was politely mouthing something in the rearview as I tugged out my earbud, forcing a more neutral expression.

"Gate code, sir?"

"Yeah, sorry."

We pulled up to the house and I tried my best to channel the positive feelings associated with that – comfort, seclusion, rest, Rory. I thanked the driver, slipping him some cash before heading straight for the front door with nothing more than my backpack.

There were only a few lights on inside as I unlocked the door, slipping into the foyer. I glanced around before honing in on the faint sound of typing coming from the other room, following the noise like breadcrumbs scattered upon the ground.

I hesitated in the arched doorway of the kitchen, managing to smile for the first time in hours. She clearly hadn't heard me come in, perched on one of the barstools with headphones sat atop her wet hair. Her back was to me as I strolled over, trying my best to avoid the inevitable as I gently gripped her shoulders – failing.

"Jesus — fuck, don't do that!"

I laughed – actually laughed, which felt like a miracle in itself. Rory spun around, clutching her chest with one hand and ripping the headphones off with her other. She was breathless and effortlessly gorgeous as I drank her in, wearing nothing but an annoyed expression and one of my Hanes white tees.

"Sorry."

I didn't bother hiding the dip of my gaze, the shirt sheer as ever. When I caught her face again, she was no longer frowning.

"You're early," she spoke softly, hands finding their way to my shoulders before lacing behind my neck. "Where are your bags?"

"Somewhere between JFK and LAX," I responded monotonously, gently easing my backpack to the ground. "They lost them."

"Of course they did, American is useless."

"Mm."

I let her vent on my behalf, tugging her bum to the edge of the stool so she was flush against me as I wrapped her in a hug. I was very, very aware she was merely in a thin pair of lacy underwear as she stroked my back, burying her face in my neck.

"I'm so happy you're here."

I responded physically, simply rocking her back and forth and sneaking a quick kiss to her temple. I held on for a bit, eventually letting go. I was leaning over her, gripping the arms of the barstool as I pressed my forehead to hers.

"Are you going to kiss me?" she teased, eyes on my lips.

"Want me to?"

She rolled her eyes and I chuckled, closing the distance between us. There was so much on my mind but I shut it out, needing to play pretend – just for a bit. Her lips were soft and warm and home.

"Are you hungry?" she eventually asked, though her casual expression shifted when I moved my hand off the chair. I thumbed the front of her underwear, rubbing up and down over the flimsy material. I held her gaze steady as she pressed the subject, noticeably focusing on keeping her voice steady. "Do you want me to make you something?"