Page 89 of Game Plan

Finn just put an engagement ring on my finger.

“What do you think?” he asks.

I wrap my fingers around his before he can pull them away. “It’s …” I lift my gaze to him. “Is there a word for this? I’m searching and coming up blank.”

He grins. “I hope that means you like it.”

“Like it?” I raise my brows, giggling. “It’s stunning. And I hate that word. It’s so … trite. But I can’t think of another one that comes close.”

“Good. I was afraid you’d have wished you got the other one.”

I rest my head against his shoulder. “Maybe if I were a princess. But, no, this one feels most … like me.”

He kisses the top of my head, his thumb rubbing my palm, while I admire the rock that he just gave me.

This engagement isn’t even real, yet somehow, it’s more special than my first one. I hate comparing Finn to Jordan. It isn’t fair to Finn, and there’s really no comparison anyway. But I can’t help remembering what it felt like to wear Jordan’s ring. I don’t know how he looked at me when he put it on my finger. I do know, however, that I didn’t feel like this.

I wait for the discomfort to settle in—the panic. The feeling of being suffocated by a piece of gold and my freedom being whittled away. But Finn sits beside me, gently stroking my palm, his breathing steady. He doesn’t ask me anything or press me for a reaction. He just gives me room to feel whatever I need to feel.

And the panic never comes.

Almost from the moment Jordan placed a ring on my finger, I wanted it off. I thought it was itchy or that I was allergic to the metal. In reality, I think I just knew it shouldn’t be there. But the idea of removing this ring delivers the panic I was waiting on moments ago and I realize something.

I’m not afraid of wearing Finn’s ring.

I’m afraid of taking it off.

A slow shiver dances its way down my spine.

“You didn’t ask me to marry you,” I say, letting go of his hand.

He chuckles. “I didn’t want to push my luck.”

I glance up at him, taking in his simple smile and honest eyes, and I reach for him. Not to avoid my feelings, but because of them.

To get closer to them.

To get closer to him.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Poppy

“Kiss me,” I say softly, lifting my lips to his.

He meets me in the middle, cupping my face as I grip his shoulders.

I’ve kissed Finn Miller countless times over the years. We’ve kissed in bedrooms, kitchens, and cars. At barbecues, by the lake, and in the rain at a Beau McCrae concert. I’ve kissed him because I was happy, turned on, and to shut him up when he was being annoying.

But I’ve never kissed him quite like this.

His lips brush against mine once, then twice. A shiver races through me, and suddenly it’s not enough.

I want more of his affection, and the thought makes it hard to breathe. The need that would usually feel gross feels natural. Perfect, even.

When he pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes are shining.