20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Finley

O n the morning of my birthday, I almost trip over a neatly wrapped present outside my bedroom door.

The hall is empty as I rip into the package. I've always loved getting gifts. Maybe because there were so few of them growing up. Jess did the best she could after our mom died, but there was never much extra to spend on superfluous things.

Pulling off the lid, I find a brand new acrylic paint set. My favorite brand too. I search the box for a card or some sign of who it's from. There's nothing.

As the only other person in the house, Cyrus must have put it here, but that doesn't mean it's from him.

I tuck the precious paints under my arm and pad downstairs to put them away. I don't make it to the studio, because there's another, much larger, present at the bottom of the stairs.

It's wrapped in the same paper, and again, no card.

A pottery wheel! Who the fuck knew I've always wanted one? I've only mentioned it to old classmates and maybe Sora. With as much as I move, it never seemed practical to get one for myself.

"I noticed you didn't have one," Cyrus says from behind me. "You have almost every other artistic medium possible, and I thought…"

"You got me these?" I nod to the pottery wheel and hold the box of paints to my heart, staring slack-jawed at the enigmatic man before me.

"And this." He pulls another box from behind his back.

My fingers brush his as I take it, and the slight contact sets off a chain reaction that has me clenching my thighs. I try to ignore the electricity between us so I can focus on the gift, but my head is a little fuzzy when he steps close, hovering over me as my shaking fingers wrestle with the precise wrapping. He smells like smoked chocolate and bad decisions. I blink and sway towards him involuntarily.

His hand lands on my elbow, steadying me. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just a little overwhelmed. You didn't have to do this. Did Jess put you up to it? She has this crazy idea that twenty-three is important, kind of like someone else I know."

"It is important," Cyrus says.

"Why?"

He leans in, lips tickling my ear. "Because today's the day I make you mine."

"Like you really want that," I huff, shaking out of his hold and rolling my eyes.

"I do want that." He steps forward, encroaching on my retreat, and backing me deeper the living room. "I want you to be mine more than I've ever wanted anything else in the world. Didn't you feel it when I kissed you? When I had my hands on you? My tongue inside you?"

I shake my head, trying to clear the images. I spent most of the night chastising myself for giving in to Cyrus. And I won't do it again.

"It doesn't matter what I felt when you were… doing those things. It matters what I felt the moment someone else was around, and all those times you pushed me away when there was absolutely no reason."

"There was a reason." He takes another step forward as I take another step back. My thighs bump the back of the couch. "I told you I couldn't be with you until your birthday."

"And I'm supposed to just believe that you're going to be all in now, after being hot and cold for weeks." I shake my head. "I won't let you toy with me, Cyrus. Not today. Not ever again."

"I'm not playing, Finley." He leans closer, and I arch my back over the couch to keep some space between us. His eyes spark. "I'm not holding back anymore. You're of legal age now, and I'm not letting you go ever again."

"I think your math is off there, asshole." I raise my eyebrows and shove his chest. He doesn't budge. "I've been of legal age for a good long time."

"Not for us."

The same bullshit reason he gave before. "What us? Who? Why?!"

Before he can answer, the doorbell rings. Cyrus takes the excuse to evade my questions about how weird they're all being about this twenty-three thing and goes to the door. Feet stomping in frustration, I take the paints into my studio.

"…take Finley to breakfast? Like hell you are!" Cyrus's voice is loud enough to carry through the lower level of the apartment and he doesn't sound happy .

"Crap." I hurry to the front door and stop a foot behind Cyrus. I won't make the mistake of touching him again.

He grips the door like he's ready to slam it in the poor guy's face.

"Hi, I'm Finley." I awkwardly wave as I duck under Cyrus's arm and step in front of him, still careful not to touch him.

The man, whose name I still haven't gotten, gives me an appreciative appraisal, and Cyrus makes a rumbling noise that's so much like a growl I jump.

"Go home, Aeson. Before I pound your face in."

Cyrus is giving off some seriously aggressive energy, despite the fact that he seems to know this guy. I'm a little impressed that Aeson holds his ground.

"I promised our Ra'a I would take her sister to breakfast today."

"She doesn't want to go."

" She is right here and would very much like to go to breakfast with a handsome man."

"You're already having breakfast with a handsome man." Cyrus's arm loops my waist, pulling me into his body so my back is against his chest.

The possessiveness shouldn't be doing it for me. It's too little, too late. And it's obnoxious that he has no problem claiming me in front of this guy and not in front of Jethro. If he's only going to want me when someone else does, that's not going to work for me.

I spin around, put my hands on his chest, and push. A miscalculation, because he doesn't budge and now my palms are on his chest and his are on my waist. My bare waist. Why did I think it was a good idea to wear a crop top? I let go and push myself back out of his hold.

"Look, pretty boy, I told my sister I would do this. We can have breakfast another day."

His expression is the same as an artist who's just gotten a critical review. His whole face falls. But he steps back and doesn't argue.

"Hold on Aeson," I say. "Let me just grab my shoes and purse."

I duck back around Cyrus and hurry to my room to grab my things, doing a quick check in the mirror to make sure I look okay. Jess wasn't lying. This guy is seriously hot. Not as hot as Cyrus. But unarguably attractive. Maybe this will be a good distraction from the man I won't let myself have.

When I get back to the front door, Cyrus is still blocking it, and Aeson is still standing in the hall. They're talking in low tones, and all I catch are the last few lines.

"Take it up with the Ra'a. I'm just doing what was commanded."

"Right, like it's such a hardship to go out with a gorgeous Ra'ia."

Aeson's eyes flick over Cyrus's shoulder, meeting mine, and their conversation immediately stops. Cyrus grits his teeth as I pass. He stays in the doorway, watching us as we wait for the elevator.

When we finally step inside, and the elevator doors slide shut, we both let out a sigh and awkward laughter fills the space.

"That was intense," Aeson says, running a hand through his hair.

"Don't mind him." I turn to face Aeson, leaning against the elevator wall as I study him. "Cyrus is just being an overprotective… big brother type."

The words are bitter and taste wrong. I definitely don't think of Cyrus as a big brother, and I know he doesn't think of me that way either. But I don't want Aeson to think something's going on that isn't.

He raises one eyebrow pointedly. "That's not how it seemed."

"There's nothing going on with Cyrus." I might wish there was, but there's not. "I'm excited about this. Where are we going?"

"There's a little cafe I like in the village called Chime Time. They've got incredible—"

"Cinnamon rolls." My smile is genuine and so is his. "That's one of my favorite places for brunch."

The elevator opens, and he places his hand on the small of my back. Pleasant, but not tingly.

When we step outside, his gaze shoots upward. He swallows thickly, then drops his hand away from me. There's a car waiting, and I wonder if all of Jess's friends are rich. None of them seem to ever take the subway.

During the drive, we fall into easy conversation, chatting about our favorite artists and musicians. We don't have much in common, but he's a good conversationalist, and I feel comfortable with him.

But the whole time, there's an odd feeling in my chest… like a homesickness I can't shake.