Dirty Rowdy Thing (Wild Seasons, #2)(46)

He nods. “My first, maybe?”

“What was her name?” I can’t help it. The questions are just falling out of my mouth before I have time to think better of them.

He steps a little bit farther away from the table, and I follow. “Emily.”

“But you aren’t sure she liked it?” It’s so weird to be here, at Fred’s and surrounded by our friends who are sitting in the booth only a few feet away and still having the most intimate conversation we’ve ever had.

“Honestly,” he says quietly, “I don’t know. I mean, she was into it, sure, but I would love to know how she remembers that night now, looking back. She moved away after graduation, but we were together a little over a year before that. I just . . .” He blinks away. “The only place we could have any privacy was on my dad’s little rowboat, down at the dock. The third time, we’d stolen beers from her dad. I just played around with her, and the rope, and it was . . .” He stops talking, finally just saying, “Yeah.”

I nod, sipping my water. I think I know what he’s telling me—that seeing his girlfriend like that did something good for him, and shaped what he likes now. But I don’t really need to hear him talking about it anymore.

“That morning I saw you at Starbucks,” he says.

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Yeah? What about it?”

He shrugs, giving me a do-I-need-to-drag-it-from-you look. “I know you hooked up, but you didn’t look like you were particularly relaxed.”

“Ah, right. The mother woke us up,” I tell him. “In person. Second-worst lay of my life the night before.”

He barks out a delighted laugh. “Who was the first?”

“My first. I realize now he was tiny, but it still hurt. I swear I look back on it now and see my virginity being taken by a baby carrot.”

“What are you talking about over here?” Lola asks, appearing out of nowhere and sidling up to me.

Finn is barely recovered from his laughing fit. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Baby carrot,” I tell her with a knowing grin.

Lola nods, smiling at him. “Awesome, right? Poor Jesse Sandoval.”

“Our girl is a poet,” Finn agrees.

Our girl. It eases somewhat the tiny twinge I still feel when I remember Finn told me about the television show because he didn’t want to share it with more permanent members of his life.

Oliver steps out of the booth and joins our little circle. “So we’re standing tonight? Usually Harlow likes to sit and throw things at me across the table.”

I laugh because it’s true. “You just have these creepy Crocodile Dundee reflexes.”

“I’m a ninja.” Oliver pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose in a nerdy gesture that makes us all laugh. “And you know how much I love your limited Australian cultural knowledge.”

“I try.”

Behind him, Not-Joe is still sitting in the booth, high as a kite and dancing in his seat as he stares at a group of coeds out on the floor.

“Oliver, you and Not-Joe should go boogie down with those girls over there.”

“Why not Finn?” Oliver asks with a knowing grin. “He’s also single.”

I shake my head. “He is, but look, he’s all dressed up. It’d be like A Night at the Roxbury and everyone would be embarrassed for him.” Not only will Finn refuse to dance, but if he’s going to be out there, the cavewoman inside tells me he’s going to be there for me and no one else. At least until he leaves.

Suddenly, I feel panic rise in my throat. Is Finn leaving tomorrow? He’s had his meeting with the L.A. crowd; does that mean he’ll go home?

Laughing, Oliver looks over at the dance floor, but not before taking a peek at Lola’s reaction.

“Those Sheilas are tiny.”

“ ‘Tiny’ like young?” I ask, leaning to get a better look. The girls are definitely in their twenties.

“Or short?”

“Very short.”

“But look at you,” Lola says, frowning. “You’re over six three. Statistically speaking that means you’re going to end up with someone under five three.”

“That hurts me in my logic,” Oliver says, smiling down at her.

“If you’re not going to dance, then get me a beer,” I tell him.

“I would but I’m paralyzed from my toes down.”

I shove him playfully. “Take Lola, too. She needs another drink.”

Lola protests that she doesn’t, but follows him anyway, and I watch them as they go. She’s tall, but he still looms over her, and seems to tilt in her direction as he walks, as if they’re magnets. I wonder if Oliver realizes what it means that Lola has seamlessly made him one of Her People. It’s a pretty exclusive club, including me, Mia, Lola’s dad, my parents, and now Oliver.

“He’ll never try it,” Finn says beside me, and when I look at him I realize he means Oliver will never try to make something happen with Lola. “He’s convinced she isn’t interested.”

“I’m not sure she is,” I agree, “but it’s mostly because Lola is clueless about guys, and all she thinks about is work.”

He hums in response.