Page 12 of A Little Secret
When we reach the hallway leading to the bathroom, I manage to catch up and ask, “Hey, you good?”
Finley freezes and looks down at my hand wrapped around her bicep. Fuck, I didn’t even notice I grabbed her. Not roughly, mind you, but still. Forcing my fingers to relax, I lift them one at a time from forefinger to pinky, ignoring how soft her skin is, and let her go as the crowd moves around us.
It isn’t the first time I’ve offered a helping hand to Finley when it comes to the opposite sex. Nah, screw that. It isn’t even the hundredth time. At this point, it might be the thousandth. And even though I’ve never crossed the line with her, Fin’s never been one to shy away from flirting or pretending we’re together if the situation called for it.
So why the hell did she run tonight?
She looked like she wanted nothing to do with me. Like I was a fucking pariah or some shit. Hell, if my friends weren’t here to step in, I would’ve played the doting boyfriend for any of the girls tonight, so what’s Fin’s problem?
“You good?” I repeat.
Eyebrow twitching, Finley whispers, “Yeah, I’m good.”
It’s a lie. We both know it. Or maybe we don’t. Maybe I can read her better than she can even read herself. It’s not surprising, considering the girl in front of me.
“Fin,” I warn, then glance toward the crowded dance floor. “What the fuck was that out there?”
“It was nothing.”
“I was only messing around,” I argue.
“I know.”
“Then why are you lookin’ at me like this?”
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” she whispers.
“You’re right. You’re not looking at me at all,” I growl, moving closer until she’s practically pinned between me and the rough brick wall as the bar continues filling with people. “What’s going on? Did Drew do something again?”
She rolls her eyes. “Griff?—”
“What did he do, Fin?” I demand.
“He did nothing, all right?”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she repeats. But her exasperation does me in. It taints her words, giving me way more information than she’s probably comfortable with. It’s always been this way with Fin and me, though. And maybe it’s normal. Inevitable, even. To know someone so wholly after being raised together. To be able to read their thoughts as easily as your own after spending so much time together. And right now, something is off. Yeah, shemight not admit it, but something is very wrong. I just don’t know what.
Regret floods through me as I squeeze the back of my neck, hating how uncomfortable she looks. Like she wants to be anywhere but here. With me.
“Did I cross a line?” I ask. My tone is softer but just as weighted.
Her gaze flicks to mine, and the pain in them? The fucking indecision? It shoots straight to my chest.
Fuck. She’s hurting.
Why are you hurting?
I replay what went down a few minutes ago but come up empty. Again.
“What’s goin’ on, Fin?” I push.
“I, uh,”—she stares at the ground—“I don’t want to do this here.”
Ignoring the warning bells going off in my head, I step closer until her back hits the wall. “Dowhathere?”
“Griff—”