In the courtyard, she tied Thor’s leash to a bench, kissed him right between his adorable brown eyes and dashed through the open doors of the pub. Breathless, she scanned for Finn, but couldn’t find him.
Sean flashed her a smile. “Hey, Trouble.” He gestured to her face. “You’ve got some glitter—”
His smile widened. “Okay then, what can I get you?”
“Finn,” she said, and then blushed when he just kept grinning. “I mean, I need to see him. Is he in his office?”
“Nope, boss man isn’t in.”
She’d never been here when Finn hadn’t. “But he’s always here.”
Sean laughed. “Almost always,” he agreed. “But right now, he’s . . . well, let’s just say he’s pissed off at me, so we decided he’d work from the house office so I could live to see another day.”
He didn’t seem all too worried by this. “I need a favor,” she said.
He leaned over the bar, eyes warm. “Name it.”
“I need his address.”
Sean went brows up. “His address.”
“You going to show him a good time?” he asked. “Because darlin’, he sure could use it.”
“I’m on it,” she said and then realized what he’d meant, which was not what she’d meant. “Wait, that’s not—”
“Oh, it’s way too late,” Sean said, laughing his ass off.
“I just need to talk to him,” she said, trying to regain some dignity.
“Whatever you say.” Grabbing a cocktail napkin, he pulled a pen from behind his ear, scrawled an address down, and handed it over to her. “We share a house in Pacific Heights. Less than a mile from here. Go do your thing.”
“Which is talking,” she said.
“If that’s what you kids are calling it these days,” he said. “Good luck, Trouble.”
Not sure why she’d need good luck, she grabbed Thor and headed back out.
Finn lived straight up Divisadero Street, a steep hill that had Thor sitting down and refusing to go another step about a hundred yards in.
Which was a hundred yards past when Pru had wanted to sit down as well. But she scooped the dog up and determinedly kept going, making a quick stop along the way for a spur-of-the-moment gag gift that she sincerely hoped Finn found funny.
By the time she arrived at his house near the top of the hill, she was huffing some serious air. She looked back at the view and was reminded of why she loved this city so much. She could see all of Cow Hollow and the marina, and beyond that, the gorgeous blue of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge as well.
Worth every second of the walk. Almost. Finn’s house was a Victorian-style, narrow row house. The garage was on the bottom floor, two stories above that, with steps leading up to the front door and down to a short driveway—on which sat a ’66 Chevelle.
The sexy muscle car’s hood was up and a very sexy jeans-covered tush was all Pru could see sticking out of it. She recognized the perfect glutes as Finn’s—clearly a sign she’d been ogling said perfect glutes too much. Not that she was repentant in the slightest about this, mind you. In any case, his long denim-covered legs were spread for balance, his T-shirt stretching taut over his flexing shoulder and back muscles and riding up enough to expose a strip of navy boxers and a few inches of some skin.
She tried not to stare and failed. “Hi,” she said.
Nothing. He just kept doing whatever it was he was doing under the hood, which involved some serious straining of those biceps.
She moved a little closer. “Finn?”
More nothing, but now she could hear the tinny sound of music and caught sight of the cord from his earbuds.
He was listening to something. Loudly. Classic rock by the sounds of it.
She stared at him, at the streaks of grease on his jeans and over one arm, at the damp spot at the small of his back making his shirt cling to him . . . It was the kind of thing that in the movies would be accompanied by a montage of him moving in slow motion to music, the camera moving in and focusing on that lean, hard body.
Giving herself a mental shake, Pru set Thor down, and holding his leash, shifted even closer to Finn before reaching out to tap him. But at the last minute she hesitated because once again she couldn’t figure out where to touch him. Her first choice wasn’t exactly appropriate. Neither was her second.
So she settled for his shoulder.