Page 5 of Licks

“I was thinking more pissed-off wasted.” Insane wasted. Furious wasted.

If I hadn’t been so pathetically insecure during high school, I could be getting giddy wasted with August, instead of shooting the shit with his brother. The horrible choice to cut August off was a wake-up call if I’d ever heard one. Never again would I let a missed opportunity slip by. I wouldn’t coast through life, cowering at challenges, afraid to rock the boat. I would scare myself. I would push my boundaries. I would make life my bitch.

Finch nodded sagely. “If pissed-off wasted is your mission, then stick with the nasty Jäger.”

I almost did just that, but drinking more would dull this painful ache. I deserved to suffer every jab and twinge, each unforgiving pang. This was my fault. I should have admitted my feelings to August years ago.

Instead of walking the easy road of inebriation and oblivion, I ordered a Red Bull.

An insane amount of sugar-laced caffeine later, I stood in the crowded bar feeling more alone than when I’d been at home. The string of Red Bulls had done their job. I was painfully sober, and my revved brain kept reliving every different decision that could have resulted in a different outcome. Not this crappy outcome.

I was angry at myself. I was angry at August. And Finch was here for the entire show, doing his Finch thing, teasing my surly scowl and telling god-awful knock-knock jokes until I cracked a smile. Some song about booties blared. Two chicks acted out the lyrics, putting on a show for the bar. August barely glanced at them.

Dammit. Finch. Finch, Finch, Finch.

I kept doing that—thinking, wishing he was his brother.

Finch and his easy grin were facing me, like they had been all night. His chest rubbed my arm as he yelled in my ear about his summer backpacking plans, his voice battling against the loud tunes. I nodded automatically, barely hearing him.

Warriors jersey dude, who hadn’t passed out yet, danced suggestively while ogling the bootie girls. The giant waste of space tripped into me again, sending my clutched Red Bull to the ground. Finch glared at him. Frustrated, I bent down to retrieve the fallen can being kicked to-and-fro like a pinball. Finch had the same instinct. At the same time.

Our heads smacked together.

“Fuck.” I pressed my palm to my forehead.

“I’m not sure it’ll help with the headache, but we could try.”

We could…what-the-what?

Finch and I were crouched inches from a sticky floor covered in spilled beer and pretzel bits, a forest of legs surrounding our shoulders, and he was eyeing me like he wanted a closer inspection of my black bra.

What the hell?

I was strung out on Red Bull, my heart pounding a mile a minute, and my vision turned hazy. Blurred with sadness. I found myself craving more contact. Touch. Comfort in someone’s arms. No matter how hard I looked at Finch, he didn’t become August—the only person I wanted to fill that role. Did it matter?

Finch was nice, fun. He was the only one with me on my birthday, and he wasn’t hurting in the handsome department, clearly. If August didn’t want me, why not have fun with his twin?

Because August might find out and be upset, my unhelpful conscience whispered.

If August had really pined for me in high school, the way he’d sort of admitted, he’d have confided in Finch back then, when they’d been close. He might be pissed if Finch and I hooked up. But August had a girlfriend with a promise ring. A life that didn’t involve me.

My decisions weren’t his concern.

Tired of my lame wallowing, I grinned at Finch, returning his flirtations. I turned my brain to silent as we walked to my apartment. I moved on autopilot as I fitted my key into the door and dragged Finch inside. I closed my eyes when our shirts hit the floor, his bare chest pressed to mine.

His lips searched for purchase. “So long,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted you so long.”

My belly cramped at those needy words. Passionate words. Words I longed to whisper to August. I’ve wanted you so long. He wasn’t here, though, and I was lonely. So, so lonely. Finch was undressing me, showering me with kisses. I tried pretending it was another man’s mouth on my skin. August. My August. If I couldn’t have the man I wanted on my birthday, I would steal a moment of abandon from his twin. Pretend. Dream. Live the lie.

It was a wasted effort.

The sex was mechanical, motions gone through, our bodies fitting together, my mind somewhere else. My faked orgasm sped the whole affair along. Finch, however, whispered endearments, hips relentless in pursuit of his pleasure. I was glad when it was over. And sad. Guilt returned as Finch kissed me gently and went to deal with the condom.

Did he have a thing for me? Had he been crushing on me the whole time I’d been crushing on his brother? Did August know? It was likely why Finch had been so attentive this year, and here I was, only wanting a mindless night. God, what a mess.

Letting him down after this would be another painful blow.

A knock at the door cut through my worry, and I groaned. Last thing I wanted was a witness to this sham, but Clean Your Damn Area Claire must have forgotten her key again. That emo girl would lose her black fingernails if they weren’t attached.