Learning Curve

Finn

Scottie’s hair feels like silk against my face as I nuzzle into the crook of her neck, the scent of wild flowers and rose hips overwhelming me. It’s different from how she normally smells, but I think it might be her shampoo.

Besides the sounds of our slowly calming breaths, silence cloaks the room.

I feel like I’m on top of the world. The pleasure is secondary to the intimacy, and I think, if she lets me, I’ll spend the rest of the night soaking it in.

I’m no choirboy, but I’m not impervious to the responsibility of what she just gave me either. It’s more than the physical, too—it’s a level of trust I honestly never saw myself being worthy of.

But fuck, Scottie is everything I don’t deserve but everything I want.

Throughout my life, I’ve never felt the kind of peace I’m feeling right now. I’ve never felt so content. Never felt so…happy.

I look down at where our naked bodies are intertwined with each other and see the way her fingers dance delicately against the skin of my chest. The caress of her hands on me feels unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s affirming and powerful, and I can’t get enough.

Scottie leans her head back, and our eyes lock. Everything inside me melts. All the pretense and toughness and stubbornness. Whatever gentle version of myself it takes to stay here, I want to be it.

She starts to open her mouth, maybe to say something, but I take it as an invitation to kiss her.

I’ve never felt like I could spend hours kissing a girl without a single ulterior motive of moving things further, but kissing Scottie is the appetizer, the entrée, and the fucking dessert.

I’d be content to stay here for hours just doing that—it’s all I expected to happen when we came back to her room tonight.

I’m so lost in the kiss that I almost don’t feel when she starts to push me away with her hands at my biceps.

“Finn,” she whispers. I have to work for it, but I manage to open my eyes and pull myself out of my aroused stupor.

Her eyes are sad—much sadder than I expect—and a bolt of unease runs through me. Did I do something while we were having sex that hurt her?

I push up onto an elbow immediately, reaching behind her bed to turn on her lamp so I can see her face completely.

“Are you okay?” I ask, gently cupping the line of her jaw. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She shakes her head, but that only eases my anxiety slightly. The corners of her mouth are turned down, and moisture shimmers in the corners of her eyes. Something is still wrong.

“What is it, Scottie?”

“I have to tell you something,” she whispers again, her voice breaking this time.

Desperation sits heavy in my chest, the need to fix whatever this is overwhelming. I know I’ve left her wondering and unsure in the past, but I’m determined not to do that to her again. Whatever she needs, I’ll be it.

“What is it, baby?”

She takes a shaky breath, her lips pursing as one tear breaks free and falls to the pillow. “I…I took the paper you left on Professor Winslow’s desk on Tuesday.”

I blink what feels like a hundred times, trying to make sense of the words. It’s not only not what I’m expecting, it’s…unfathomable. I feel like I can’t breathe. Carefully, I sit up beside her. “What did you just say?”

“I’m sorry, Finn.”

I swing my legs over to the floor and scrub my hands into my eyes. “You…you took the paper?”

She scrambles to sitting too, pulling the loose sheet up and over her bare chest. Her face is a shattered mess of its normal beauty. I stare at her, unable to say or do anything else until she nods.

“You took it? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m sorry.” She reaches out to grab my hand, but I yank it away. “You were just so upset, and I wanted to know what was going on with you, and I care about you so—”

“Did you read it?”

“What?”

“You heard me, Scottie,” I grit out, ice water in my veins making my whole body feel like it’s under attack. “Did. You. Read. It?”

She swallows hard, and I know the answer.

Frustrated, I jump off the bed, scrubbing my hands down my face, and turn around to smash my fist into a lone armchair that’s covered with her clothes.

When I spin back toward her, she scrambles back on the bed until her back hits the wall. She’s scared. Of me. It’s my worst fucking nightmare. With everything my mom, my siblings, and I have lived through with my dad, I’ve never, ever wanted someone to think I would hurt them unless they were actively hurting me.

Which, in a way, I guess she is.

“Where is it?” I demand, shaking with the effort it takes to make my voice calm.

“In my desk drawer,” she whispers and slowly crawls off the bed. I watch, unmoving, as she drags the sheet over to her desk and pulls open a drawer, grabbing the sheet of paper and holding it out to me. When I reach for it, she yanks it back. Red-hot anger makes my eyes burn.

“Where did you get this, Finn?” she asks as she clutches it against her naked chest. “It sounds like it was written by Professor Winslow’s father.”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Finn, I swear you can tell me, and I won’t judge you. I would never judge you. I promise,” she pleads frantically, tears falling unchecked from her eyes now.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” I say, my hands in my hair. “You took my fucking property, hid it from me, and then what? Fucked me to distract me?”

“No!” she cries immediately, lunging toward me to try to take my hand. I pull myself away. She gathers herself in the sheet again, her voice as quiet as I’ve ever heard it. “It’s not like that. The timing is terrible, I know, and the guilt was eating me alive, but I slept with you because…because I love you.”

“Scottie, give me the fucking paper.”

“No.” She shakes her head, clutching my father’s stupid words to her chest tighter. “Not until you tell me where you got it.”

My jaw ticks, and my mind swirls. Why is she doing this?

“You know what, Scottie?” I say, my voice louder than I’d like it to be but completely out of my control. “I don’t know shit about love, but this…isn’t it.”