Dirty Rowdy Thing (Wild Seasons, #2)(22)

“Communications.”

“Communications, ah. What is that, like majoring in Twitter and Facebook?”

She purses her lips playfully studying me. “You’ve heard of Twitter?”

I consider flipping her off for this.

“What are you doing downtown, anyway?” she asks, slipping her fancy silver laptop into her even fancier bag. “Is your mysterious business here?”

“Grabbing lunch and then making a few calls,” I say, scanning the menu. “Why? Got some other ideas on how to pass the time? I’m sure I could think of a few.”

“Well, since we are at Basic and you’re already here, I feel it’s my duty as a San Diegan to make you stay and eat. The food is good and they have beer.”

“Beer would definitely make it easier to have lunch with you.”

I hear her playful gasp but fail to dodge her fist connecting with my shoulder.

IT TURNS OUT, Harlow was right.

“Did I really just eat mashed potatoes on pizza?” I ask, reaching for my beer.

“Yep, and wasn’t it the best pizza ever?”

It was pretty close, I think, but I’m not telling her that. I finished off half a mozzarella, mashed potato, and bacon pizza by myself. Harlow wasn’t that far behind. “It was good.”

“ ‘Good,’ ” she repeats, shaking her head. “Don’t hurt yourself with the enthusiasm there, Finn.”

“I can give plenty of compliments when the situation warrants.”

“Example?”

“I seem to remember telling you how good your * feels.”

Her eyes go wide from across the table and there, that’s what I’ve been waiting for. There’s something about eliciting a reaction from Harlow—whether it be shock or abandon or rage—that tugs at a baser instinct in my chest. I know that makes me some sort of a caveman-*, but it feels good and gets both of us off. I’m really not interested in psychoanalyzing it.

“Speaking of which, why did you leave so abruptly on Saturday? I give great back rubs.”

I can tell she’s not prepared for more of this blunt-force honesty because she blinks at me a few times, speechless, but she recovers. “Because it was intense. And I just wanted to get laid.”

I hum into a small remaining bite of pizza crust. “What are you going to do about that libido when I leave town?”

Shrugging, she says, “Masturbate more,” and then takes a huge bite of her own slice.

I laugh. I do really like being around her. “So you majored in communications and your dad is a big-shot cinematographer. What else should I know about you?”

“Finn, don’t you remember our arrangement? You should know I like orgasms. Don’t strain yourself.”

“Come on, Ginger Snap.”

“Fine.” She wipes her hands on a napkin and then tosses it down on the table. “I have a sister, Bellamy.”

“Is she cute?”

Harlow looks at me with disgust. “She’s eighteen, you predator.”

“I mean for my brother Levi. Jesus, trigger finger.”

Laughing she shrugs. “She’s gorgeous but totally crazy.”

I raise an eyebrow, saying, “Genetics are a bitch, huh?”

“Har. ”

“Is she in school around here?”

Shrugging, she says, “She’s doing an art school thing I’m pretty sure is just a front for a giant pot operation.”

“Seriously?” I feel my eyes go wide. I’d heard stories about California, but . . .

“No. I’m kidding, settle down Canadian DEA. But it seems like a pretty flaky program. I’m sure her degree will make her only marginally more employable at Burger King.”

“And you live at home still?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m twenty-two, Finn.”

“But your parents are here and you’re an unpaid intern working twelve hours a week fetching coffee. Pardon my harebrained assumption that you may rely on them for shelter.”

“I have a trust fund.” She shakes her head, pointing her pizza at me. “Don’t make that face like you’re surprised.”

“I’m only surprised you admitted it.”

“Because I should feel bad my parents were responsible with money and that I, in turn, was responsible by investing in California real estate and own my condo?”

“Should I congratulate you for knowing how to properly spend your parents’ money?” I ask through a laugh.

She leans forward. “It’s cute you think I’m a rich airhead, but I’m no more an airhead than you are a dumb lumberjack.”

“Fisherman.”

“What?”

“I’m a fisherman, Harlow.”

She licks her lips before growling, “Same. Fucking. Thing. My job might not be very glamorous but I am damn good at it. Best f*cking coffee fetcher out there.”

I burst out laughing. “You’re a trip.”

“You’re a hot piece of ass.”

I lean my chair back, balancing on two legs, watching her watching me. She’s hands down the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen. Surprisingly, she may also be the smartest. “Yeah. I know.”