CHAPTER 025: Just Breathe, Sloane
~~SLOANE~~
***
I’m trying so hard not to steal glances at Knox from across the room. At first, everything was a blur–Myopia doing what she does best. I eventually caved and put my glasses back on. Squinting wasn’t doing me any favors, and I need a clear view of my target.
Knox is the only person not dressed like he’s about to attend a Gatsby–themed funeral. No tux. No tie. Just his signature black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, paired with black pants that somehow make him the sexiest man in the room. He’s lounging in his chair, and his fingers are idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard. The movement makes me remember how the strands felt on a very sensitive place, one that’s currently tingling in anticipation of him turning on the device between my legs.
“She doesn’t look happy,” Finn says beside me.
I blink, forcing my eyes away from Knox. “What?”
“Delilah. She doesn’t look happy. Which can only mean she doesn’t want to get married, and therefore I can get her back. If only she’d just spare me a glance.”
Right. I’d totally forgotten why he came here.
My eyes drift back to Knox, who lifts his glass and drags his tongue slowly along the rim before taking a sip.
I bite my lip.
“Are you even listening to me, Sloane?”
“I am.”
I turn to him. He’s watching me, his gaze shifting from Knox to me with a tight–lipped frown.
“No, Sloane,” he says.
“No, what?”
“We’re not having this conversation again.”
“What conversation?”
“You know what.”
I exhale. “Finn, can you just focus on Delilah? Try to get her to look at you. I’m not in the mood.”
He doesn’t answer for a while, just sits there, jaw tight, fingers laced together in his lap. His knee bounces, and every now and then, his eyes move toward Delilah–then away, focusing on me again (or the side of my face at least). I know him enough to tell what this is. He’s seething. Delilah won’t look at him, but I also have a feeling it involves me as well. If there’s one thing Finn Hartley doesn’t handle well, it’s being ignored.
“I’m standing up. I need to talk to her right now,” he says.
“Talk to whom?
“Delilah.”
He starts to rise, and I grab his arm, yanking him back down.
“Have you gone mad?” I hiss. “You can’t go to her on her rehearsal dinner. What is wrong with you? Her fiancé is right there. Her entire family is here. Hunter knows she was cheating with you. Just being here is already a bad idea. Don’t make it worse.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, and he leans closer. “You’re right. I forgot myself. I’m supposed to be ignoring her. This is why I like having you around, Sloane. You make me think better.”
I stare at him.
Of course, he did all that to get a rise out of me.
I look away.
Eventually, time passes and the speeches begin Successfully unlocked! jokes. The person on the podium right now is a friend of Hunter’s, someone who introduced Casper esviously drunk and fumbling with his words, but the audience find him amusing enough to laugh.
I zone out most of the things he’s saying, half–listening as he slurs through compliments and toasts that clearly weren’t rehearsed. He’s swaying a little, gripping the mic like it might run away from him.
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But na avton gets a hundred percent back on when thear Tve always had a crush on your girlfriend, Hunt She was the *back Pain high school Ask the Hartleys
People Rogh. Now the warm kind, but the awkward kind that fills silence when no one knows if a line was meant as a joke. A few quests glance around, confixed. Others shift in their seats or murmur behind raised hands.
pase in Flan stiffens like someone’s just poured ice water down his back. His hand, resting casually on his thigh a
ponent aga, etenches into a hat.
Across the room, Knox lowers his glass mid–sip. His brow creases, eyes narrowing at the stage with a look that could shred bane 740x not ahused. Not even close
Trybu ever qe me a chance, Lila,” Casper slurs, you’ll definitely find me better than those two.”
Someone mercifully jogs up to the podam–maybe a friend, maybe a groomsman playing damage control–and throws an arm around Casper’s shoulders with a forced laugh.
Alright, buddy, I think that’s your cue”
Casper tries to hold on to the mic, slurring out something unintelligible, but the guy wrestles it from his grip and steers him off the stage like a drunk uncle at Thanksgiving. Nervous chuckles ripple through the room, followed by the sound of glasses clinking and someone awkwardly clearing their throat over the speakers, trying to transition to the next toast like nothing just happened.
“Who the fuck was that?” I ask.
Finn’s still not smiling. “Someone from high school. Annoying little shit.”
glance at Knox again. He looks relieved. The frown from earlier is gone, replaced now by a softer look.
Across the room, Hunter doesn’t seem fazed either. He’s all wide smiles and flushed cheeks, clearly tipsy, throwing back the last of his champagne while keeping one arm locked possessively around Delilah’s waist. She’s not smiling, though. Her pasture’s stift, and while everyone else is laughing, her expression is caught somewhere between forced politeness and complete misery.
“Why is my mom staring at you? Finn asks out of the blue.
“What?”
can’t explain it, but every time I look over there, she’s either looking at you or Knox is. I just need to know why she’s suddenly interested in your face. Knox, I get. But my mom? That’s weird.”
I take my drink up from the table, raise it to my lips, and sip. Then I peek from above the rim.
Sure enough, Victoria Hartley is staring straight at me.
And so is Knox. It’s probably true that she’s been looking at me all along, but I was too distracted to notice.
“You still haven’t told me what you two talked about,” Finn says.
“It was about you. What else?”
“We?”
“Just let it go, Finn. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Mostly because Knox is now licking a spoon.
He tries to make it seem casual, eyes on the emcee as he swallows whatever’s on his plate, but the movement–the gentle sweep of his tongue along the metal–it’s anything but innocent.
My face heats. I turn away.
Finn is watching me.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. But I know that look. He’s angry.
How about he just focus on Delilah and leave me be? His nosiness is beginning to piss me off. For someone who claims to be in love with the host of this event, he sure is looking at his plus one more than the host.
Hold on….
is he doing that thing he mentioned before?
The jealousy stunt?
My stomach knots.
never agreed to that. I figured it was one of those wild things he’d say and forget. Not something he’d actually try to pull in the middle of a goddamn rehearsal dinner.
But then, right on cue, Finn’s arm snakes around my shoulders and pulls me against him in one fluid motion.
Fin? 3 say, my voice sharper than I intend.
22
CHAPTER 025 Just Breathe, Sloane
*Just smile and act natural, Sloane.”
My head is pressed to his chest now, and I can hear the rhythmic thud of his heart–not frantic, just steady. I, on the other hand, am seconds away from clawing my way out of his grasp.
I lift my head instinctively, and there it is.
Knox.
Watching.
The spoon he’d been using to torture me just moments ago is discarded on his plate. His mouth is no longer curled in amusement. There’s no teasing glint in his eyes. Just stillness. Focus.
Finn must sense it, too, because he pulls me in tighter.
*Jeez, you’re squeezing me,” I mutter under my breath. “Delilah isn’t even looking. Save your drama for when she is.” But he doesn’t ease up.
He doesn’t even glance at her.
And then it hits me–he’s not doing this for Delilah’s benefit.
He’s doing it for Knox’s.
I tense, a cold shiver creeping up my spine.
“Umm… Finn?” I say slowly, cautiously. “What the hell is going on right now?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares ahead.
“The only thing going on,” he finally says, “is that you’re not smiling.”
I pull back slightly, enough to look up at him. “Why would I be smiling when my head is trapped on your shoulder?” He shifts, placing his free hand on my bare thigh.
“Just breathe, Sloane. You’ve got this.”
“Got what?”
His fingers move–up, over the curve of my coat, brushing the edge of my neckline. Then, without warning, he curls those fingers into my collar and tugs me toward him.
I only have a split second to process the look in his eyes before he kisses me.
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