Finally Finn (Los Rancheros #4) by Brandace Morrow Page B

tracking the kids.
“The angel?” I nod. “Huh. I always thought he was a widow or
something.”
    “Yeah, me too. We had a little heart to heart
the other night.”
    “Oh, I bet he loved that. He seems as tough
as nails,” she says with a smile. I shrug with a grin.
    “I have my ways.” Ali throws her red hair
back and laughs loudly, flashing her tongue ring, before holding
out a ringed hand to high five.
    “You’re my kind of girl, Sadie. There’s just
one question: Why don’t you have any ink?” I swallow and mess with
the ends of my hair.
    “I haven’t found anything yet.” It sounds
like more of a question than a statement.
    “Well, if you ever find a big enough reason
to do it, come see me in L.A. I’d love to mess with some virgin
skin.”
    “Isn’t your shop called skin something?” I
ask to veer the topic away from needles in my body.
    “Shell Distortion. A lot of people find it
relaxing. Kind of therapeutic in a way.”
    “Hmm.” I can’t imagine that. It just seems
like it would feel like fifty needles burying ink into your body.
“If I ever need a tattoo, you’ll be the first to know.”
    “Sweet. Now tell me about this new project
you’re doing. Fandy seems excited about it.”
    “Well . . .”
    And that’s how I became friends with Ali, my
first friend. Ever.

Chapter 11
    FaceTime with Batty, phone calls, and we
still haven’t discussed my slip with the L word. I know I’m a
chicken shit, but I never even knew the thought was in my head
before the words were slipping from my mouth. My damn filter was
MIA. Hell of a time, too.
    I don’t even really know what I’m doing
anymore. I thought I wanted it to be just physical, but then the
girls happened. His house in suburbia happened. The whole package
that I thought was Finnigan Brennick shattered one lake at a
time.
    Now I care. I care about those kids and I
know about his past. I can’t unknow, and the craziest part is I
don’t want to. I want to know what he eats for breakfast and which
chipped mug is his favorite in that old house.
    Do I want to take on two kids and a man at
the age of twenty-two? No freaking clue. Now that I know the story
behind his angel, a story I thought would seal the fate of me
walking away, I want to pick up his pieces and hot glue them back
together like a damn PTA project.
    Batty used to be the image of cold, callous
and hot. Finn is caring, has a heart and, well, still fucking
hot.
    “The press is two seconds away from putting
it together that you’re watching my kids. It’s not going to improve
your image to be connected to me right now,” I hear through the
phone and push it harder between my shoulder and ear as I get
frustrated.
    “What the fuck do you want me to do,
Finnigan? You don’t want to be seen with me now. No, you know I get
that. I can—”
    “Will you shut up for two seconds? I never
said that. Don’t put words in my fucking mouth, Sadie.”
    “Finn, listen. You’re on the cover of TIME and I’m in Star for drug abuse. So—”
    My heart stops. I’m running and fumbling with
the dropping phone as Finn yells in alarm, but the twenty foot hall
takes three years off of my life before I burst into the living
room. The girls are screaming so loud my eardrums just vibrate in
pain, not registering an octave at all.
    “WHAT’S WRONG?!” My eyes scan their bodies as
I yell over them, not seeing anything on their bodies, no blood,
bones, tears, and no predators in the room. My body sways and I
don’t know whether to jump over the couch or if I have time to run
around the stacks of folded clothes I haven’t put away yet.
    “Oh my gosh, Aunt Sadie—”
    “You’re on TV!”
    “We saw you on the TV!”
    “You were singing and so pretty—”
    “Do you sing? Can you sing for us?”
    They keep going, but I collapse behind the
sectional, in between the couch and dining room chair. Lying on my
back, one hand on my heart, I bring the phone to my ear with the
other.
    “What the