On Saturday, Finn waited in the car park for Brody. He wiped his palms on his jeans for the fifth time, and rebuttoned his top button on his shirt, only to unbutton it seconds later. The shirt was new and fit him well enough that he didn’t look like superman about to burst out of his civilian clothes. The jeans he bought were dark and didn’t dig uncomfortably into his gut. The squirm in his stomach was purely from nerves.
Finn startled at the tap to the passenger window and pressed his palm to his thumping heart. Brody opened the door and climbed inside. He wore a green T-shirt, and the same denim waist coat and shark tooth necklace he had worn at the club. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes were bright and mischievous. He looked good, and Finn wanted to tell him so, but the words got stu
