Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

13. Finley

13

Finley

Zach and I stop avoiding each other when Matt leaves. We didn’t talk about hiding our friendship from him, but we both kept our distance.

Sitting beside Zach eases the ache of his absence the last several days. But my desire to nuzzle into his side, press my face into his neck, breathe him in during our movie marathon complicates this friendship.

He shifts in his seat as the main characters undress each other on screen. The movie had been building to this for more than an hour, so I’m not surprised the moment lingers, the characters desperate for each other but wanting to make it last, to commit every second to memory.

I’d do the same with Zach.

I glance over at him, and when our eyes meet, he shifts his attention back to the screen. An involuntary sigh escapes my lips as I remember the intensity of his stare two years ago when I was on my knees for him. I try to ignore the flutter in my gut and focus on the movie. But when the man dips his mouth to the woman’s boob, Zach takes an unmistakable gulp, and I can’t take the tension any longer.

I turn toward him, shifting my legs into a pretzel and nodding toward the TV. “You ever do that?”

Zach’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “What?”

“Sex,” I clarify, forging ahead.

“Yeah, Finley, I’ve had sex before.”

“It’s not that weird of a question.” I attempt to ignore the warmth spreading through my body at the idea of intimacy with Zach. “There’s no standard timeline. How old were you when you did it the first time?”

The tense lines of his body slacken, and he sinks into the couch, his body tilting toward me. “Eighteen. What about you?”

“Sixteen. And it was terrible. I’m surprised I gave it another shot, honestly.”

Zach snorts. “I hope Melinda Hamilton doesn’t say that about me.”

“Melinda Hamilton,” I repeat with a laugh. “She sounds absolutely dignified.”

“As opposed to what? Finley Harris? Which sounds…”

“Kicky,” I finish his sentence with a grin.

Zach reaches for his beer bottle and raises it to his lips, then pauses. “What was so bad about it?” He takes a swig before lowering the bottle. “Quick off the mark?”

He doesn’t hesitate, no stumbling, mumbling, or second-guessing. Interesting . Maybe it’s the alcohol. His intense eye contact with that question intensifies the pounding between my legs. A crackle in the air surrounds us again, and I so want it to ignite.

“I mean, obviously, yeah. He was a teenage boy. But that wasn’t it.” I grab a cracker from the plate on the coffee table and pop it into my mouth. The drumbeat of my heart sounds in my ears. “I didn’t feel connected to him. None of it felt like it was about me, you know?”

Zach clears his throat, shifting his gaze back to the screen. He’s quiet for a long moment, mulling over his response. “Is that why you bolted from me?”

Zach Briggs knocks me off guard once again. He’s had three weeks to ask about our hookup, the one I cut short because my mind was a mess. When he didn’t, I decided it hadn’t been as big of a deal to him as it was to me. I can’t imagine the DMs waiting for him every time he opens a social media app. Some girl blowing him at a wedding is probably just another Friday night.

“I didn’t expect anything—I’d never expect anything—but you led me into the locker room. I thought you… liked me. Then you ran off. Did I do something? Because you could’ve told me… I would’ve—”

My spine snaps ramrod straight. Is this what he’s thought all this time?

“It wasn’t you. I swear, Zach.”

He holds up his hand. “You don’t have to say that—”

“I still think about that night.”

The words rush out, passing every warning sign, ignoring the implications of confessing to him, because I can’t stand that I made Zach doubt himself. I’ll give him a sliver of truth to reassure him, even if I’m playing with fire by flirting with him under my brother’s—his captain’s—roof.

His head jerks back. “You do?”

“Why are you surprised?”

“You didn’t…” He shakes his head, looking away from me again.

My hand dances, featherlight, across his forearm. He watches, but I don’t pull away. “I didn’t what?”

“You left after I…” Zach trails off again, his ears turning pink.

I take mercy on him and finish his sentence. “Got off?”

He lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never struggled to find words. The opposite, actually. He word vomits every thought in his mind. But I see the gears turning as he mentally debates his responses. I’m not sure what to make of this deliberate, careful side to Zach. The people in his life have given me the impression he doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. Maybe they don’t know him as well as they think they do.

He runs a hand through his unruly hair. “Didn’t you want… anything from me?”

“I got what I wanted from you,” I reply with a smirk. It’s a deflection from the information I can’t tell him, and it’s flirty enough, I expect him to joke back. Instead, Zach’s expression shutters, delivering a punch to my gut. The sick feeling causes me to offer him an explanation. “I wasn’t myself that night. I hadn’t been myself for a while.”

Zach’s brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“I was going through something.” I try to explain with the scantest of details.

The gymnastics world thinks I tore my Achilles heel and hung up the sport. Because letting people think I tore a vulnerable part of my body is better than the truth. My parent’s decision to conceal my condition has made me afraid to talk about my bipolar disorder with anyone unless medically necessary, for fear it will taint how people view me.

“You finding me in that closet was the first time I’d felt anything in so long, and I didn’t want to let go of it. I thought I was ready for more, and when I realized I wasn’t, I left. I hate that you thought you did something wrong because you were exactly what I needed.”

You’re exactly what I need . A voice in the back of my mind shoves to the forefront. I want to follow the voice’s lead, but Zach doesn’t need to be burdened with my brand of baggage. I also don’t want to complicate his relationship with my brother or mess with his career.

“If you want safe, you should stay away from me,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“It’s what you said that night. Is it how you still feel?”

I run my hands over my arms, trying to ease a chill. “It’s the truth.”

“And you think it’s a bad thing?" His hand lands on my knee, a comforting gesture that manages to light every nerve ending in my body. “Safe is boring, Finley. You’re one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met.”

I huff out a self-conscious laugh. “That’s because you don’t know me.”

I launch off the couch, needing a breather from this conversation. Zach won't understand unless I crack myself open and let him see all of me. Besides Veronica, he’s the only real connection I’ve made since my diagnosis.

I don’t think I could bear losing the way he looks at me, like he thinks I’m worth his time.

I busy myself at the kitchen sink, opting to clean dishes instead of facing this conversation, but Zach follows me.

“I want to know you,” he says behind me.

When I turn, he’s leaning on the counter, any apprehension long gone. Maybe all he needed was a sign this attraction between us—this interest of his—isn’t one-sided.

I roll my eyes. “Trust me, you don’t.”

“Maybe you can let me decide? You might be used to hiding from the people in your life, but I don’t want you to hide from me.” He breathes in deeply after blurting the words at his usual quick clip. “I want to know you,” he repeats, striding toward me.

I refocus on the sink, flicking the faucet on and rinsing a dish. “You’re just bored, Zach.”

His body wedges between me and the dishwasher, bringing a heat I crave. I miss the press of another person against my skin, the anticipation in my belly during the downshift right before my heart kicks into high gear.

I haven’t wanted anyone this close to me before. It scares the shit out of me how much I want to wrap myself around the man next to me. I’m acutely aware of how badly a relationship between us could end.

He breaks the silence. “Loading the dishwasher is on our list.”

My arm brushes his as I finish scrubbing the plate. I step to the side, my hands sliding to my hips. It slips my mind that they’re still wet from scrubbing dishes, all because I’m staring into the eyes of the guy who makes me question whether I need to hide my heart. I withdraw my hands, reaching for a towel by the sink to sop up the water on my pants and the floor.

“I didn’t mean to do that.” My face burns, like it’s been hit with a wave of four-hundred-degree heat from an oven. There’s no way a rare-for-me blush doesn’t illuminate my skin.

To his credit, Zach bites his lip, half smothering the amused tilt. I’m embarrassed by the way I lose control around him, that I can’t stop wanting to be around him despite the discomfort.

He gestures in the air between us. “Is this the first lesson?”

“Stop,” I warn in mock outrage, “or you’ll talk yourself out of a lesson.”

He mimes zippering his mouth before motioning toward the sink.

I can do this. It’s just showing him how to wash dishes, for fuck’s sake.

“The first step is finding the right playlist,” I say, sliding my hands into my back pocket to grab my phone. I choose a playlist aptly named Hype Cleaning Mix and the sound of a door opening bursts through the air followed by Olivia Rodrigo’s voice and an influx of percussion. “Upbeat songs are a good distraction.”

Zach nods appreciatively. “I like it. Much better than the shit they play in the locker room.”

“Oh, that would throw me off if I had to listen to a bunch of songs I hate before I compete.”

His mouth stretches into a smile that pops his cheeks. “I have selective hearing.”

I bump my shoulder into his arm. “Me too. I never heard my family tell me to stay away from gymnastics. What’s the biggest thing you’ve filtered out?”

“That I’d never make the NHL.”

“People told you that?”

He shrugs. “No one important. But yeah, a lot of people thought I was too small for the league, worried I’d be pushed around. If I wasted even a second on the doubts, it’d be too much. That’s how much of a long shot my dream was. Yours too, eh?”

“It’s more likely I’ll be struck by lightning or win an Oscar. Something mean girls in high school loved to tell me.”

Zach grins. “Good thing you have selective hearing.”

I hold up a finger. “I’m not repeating myself, so you better elect to hear what I say, or you’ll have no idea what to do.”

“I can take direction,” Zach says, his voice deeper than usual.

Goosebumps spread across my skin. I imagine that tone in my ear while he’s inside me, and heat settles low in my belly.

“I’ve been told I’m very coachable, Finley.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I give myself a moment to internally scream before focusing on the task at hand, moving dishes from the counter to the sink.

I swallow hard, then clear my throat. “Okay. So your first serious lesson is the importance of a good rinse.”

Zach nods overdramatically, his face furrowed with concentration.

I elbow him in the side. “This was your idea.”

“What?” he asks with an exaggerated shrug. “This is the face of serious Zach Briggs.”

I roll my eyes. “Knock it off and pay attention.”

He grins, and his eyes light with pure glee. “You always have all of my attention, Finley.”

“As I should,” I quip, ignoring the swell of emotion his words bring on. Because I can’t help but think Zach means them. Literally.

He listens intently as I show him what constitutes a rinsed plate and how to load the dishwasher. Zach’s gaze lingers on me through the entire demonstration, its weight branding my skin. But I make it through, grateful to have something other than our feelings to focus on.

“All right, time to put your knowledge to the test.” I move to the side to give Zach a clear path to the sink. “Go ahead, show me what you got.”

Music continues to blast from a portable speaker as Zach works. Ten minutes later, I stop him after he stacks bowls on top of each other.

“They trap the water in, Finley, so they get a good rinse.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” I sputter between laughs. “The water can’t get in if they’re too close like that.”

“Maybe I need to watch you again,” Zach says.

He grasps my hand, and a flutter of butterflies lets loose in my stomach. He pulls me toward him and spins me until I face the sink, but he doesn’t step away. Zach might be considered short in hockey, but he towers over me. Our bodies press together, sending a shiver up my spine. We’re not skin-to-skin, but for the way my body reacts, he might as well be touching me beneath my clothes.

“What are you doing?” I murmur.

Zach smells the way he did the first night we met—spicy and musky and cold, like that aisle of men’s deodorant and cologne I walk down every time I visit the store.

He drops his head until it hovers over my left shoulder. “Shadowing you. It’s the way I learn best.”

“Yeah?” My voice comes out hoarse as ideas spring to mind. “Then stay close.”

Zach hums low as he inches even closer to me. My voice falters while I explain the importance of avoiding obstructions that prevent dishes from getting fully clean. His hands cup my elbows, and I think this must be it. This is the moment Zach Briggs makes his move.

I let my breath out in an audible rush.

One of Zach’s hands grazes mine, calloused skin tentatively making connection. When I don’t pull away, he threads our fingers. My entire body alights at this simple touch. I’ve never experienced it before, and I want to again, over and over. With him.

“Finley, I—” Zach starts to say, but his words cut off when the music ends abruptly.

Both of us whip around. Gemma stands on the other side of the counter beside Kennedy and two friends, Deandra and Brenna. I don’t know what Zach was about to say, but I can guarantee it’s nothing I want them to hear.

“Well, what do we have here?” Gemma drawls, tossing her purse over the backrest of a counter stool. Her eyes twinkle with mischief as a slow wide smile extends across her face.

“What does it look like?” I say, praying for my jackhammering heart to calm. The beat is in my ears, an insistent thump thump thump, continuing to remind me what would’ve happened if they hadn’t barged into the room. “I’m teaching Zach how to do dishes.”

A version of the truth works best.

Kennedy smirks. “Interesting. You never cared to learn when we lived together, Briggsy.”

Zach’s shoulders go rigid, but I’m not sure if it’s the reminder of his perceived ineptitude or the implication he’s chosen to learn from me. He responds like he doesn’t have a care in the world though. “The days of me not having any clue what to do are over. Besides, Finley’s more patient than you.”

“I bet she is,” Deandra mutters under her breath, her bright red lips curled in a smirk. I know her the least well of Gemma’s friends since she’s got some important job working for Kennedy’s dad. She intimidates me with that blunt haircut, severe eye makeup, and fierce stare.

Brenna—my boss at the café—tucks a strand of caramel blond hair behind her ear. “Why don’t we let them be?” she says softly, covertly winking at me. I’ve never liked her more than this moment.

Kennedy turns the speaker back on, and music flares to life. “We’ll be outside if you need us.”

“Don’t forget about the cameras,” Gemma says with a smile before leading the group outside.

I’m frozen to the spot. Zach’s fingers hook mine, and my breath hitches at the unexpected contact.

“You okay?” he asks.

I shrug one shoulder, reluctant to move my other arm in case it breaks the spell and Zach pulls away. But then, the realization of what we were almost caught doing hits me, and I step back.

Zach snags me by the wrist to keep me in place. “Finley?”

Our gazes lock, and my heart pounds harder with every extension of silence. My mind flashes to the weight of Zach’s legs pressed against me, the heat of his body as he crowded mine.

His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers. “Do you want to finish loading the dishwasher?”

I can’t want this. I’m finding a balance between training, school, and work. My gymnastics improves every single day. All of it is too important to take my eye off my goals, to make room for anything else. I said I’d never date another hockey player. Ever. Not even if my childhood crush, Sidney Crosby, showed up on my doorstep, begging for a date.

And yet, I find myself wanting to surrender to him, to say yes.

“I should do some homework,” I say instead. “Big paper due next week.”

“Oh.” Zach’s face sheds every bit of levity, and I curse myself for being the one to do that to him. “Yeah. I get it.”

I paste on a smile. “Besides, I think you’ve got this. You don’t need me.”

“Right. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, although I have every intention of hiding in my room until I get my emotions under control.