Dirty Rowdy Thing (Wild Seasons, #2)(82)

“What do you want, Finn?”

What do I want? I want her. I want her to open the door wider, let me in. I want to pull the tie open at her waist, pull off her robe, kiss her. I want to get back together and make it last longer than twelve hours.

But first . . . “I want you to wash the mask off so it doesn’t look like your face is breaking.”

With a sigh, she slams the door in my face.

The hall extends down for what feels like a mile and I wonder how many men have had doors slammed in their faces here. It’s a pretty fancy f*cking hotel. I’m going to guess a lot.

I lift my fist, knocking again.

It takes a long time for her to answer, as if she’s walked away, and is considering leaving the door closed.

But then it swings open, and Harlow is immediately walking away toward the bathroom.

“Come in. Sit anywhere but on the bed. Don’t look cute, don’t get undressed, and don’t touch my underwear.”

I move to the chair in the corner, biting back a laugh.

“I’m rinsing it off because it’s time, not because you told me to. If it didn’t feel like it was breaking my face I would leave it on for the extent of your short visit just to piss you off, you enormous f*ckwit.” She walks into the bathroom, closes the door, and I hear the sound of running water as she starts the shower.

Holy shit.

I think she’s going to forgive me.

Harlow emerges about ten minutes later, again wrapped in the robe but her hair is wet and loose and her face is scrubbed clean of the mask. I feel like I can’t properly inhale, like the sight of her has short-circuited my most basic instincts: breathing, blinking, swallowing. She looks unbelievable.

“Did you touch my underwear?” she asks, walking to her suitcase.

With effort, I close my mouth, inhale, and swallow so I can speak. “Yeah. Rubbed it all over my sweaty chest.”

She snorts and throws me a dirty look. “Don’t flirt. I’m mad at you.”

My smile vanishes without effort. “I know.”

Reaching for a brush in her bag, she pulls it through her hair, watching me. “It’s hard to stay mad at you when you come in here looking like that, though.”

“That’s . . . good, right?” I look down at my faded UW T-shirt, my old 501s, my favorite old red Chucks. I don’t see anything special, but the way she’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m wearing a tux. The knot in my chest loosens.

“Is this easier?” she asks quietly, adding, “Seeing me here in a fancy restaurant, or fancy hotel wearing a masque with a q-u-e, rather than trying to fit in down by your boat?”

The knot tightens again. “I was mad, Harlow. It made me act like a dick.”

“I know. I’m just an insta-forgiver. If someone I care about says they’re sorry, it’s done.”

“I’m not like that,” I admit. “You’d already left by the time I decided you were forgiven.”

She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and sucks it, eyes wide and vulnerable. I know she has no idea she’s looking at me this way, and it makes me want to open up my chest, let her see how fast my heart is beating.

I lean forward, looking around the room. “You know I’ve never stayed overnight in a hotel except for that Vegas trip?”

She stills, breath catching. “Not even for Bike and Build?”

“No. Some people did, but we stayed with host families or camped.”

“Wow . . . that’s . . .”

“That’s been my life. Aside from the two years I spent in college, I was always here. I sounded like a dick when I said you looked out of place, but I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t like seeing you there. I just meant my world doesn’t look like this. Doesn’t look like you.”

She puts the brush down and turns to rest back against the desk.

“I don’t go out drinking every Thursday night and buy Starbucks every morning,” I tell her. “I don’t go on vacations and I couldn’t call up a producer friend to come drop a ton of money on fixing my boat.”

“You could now, probably,” she says. “Your life is going to change completely.”

“I know,” I say, bending to rest my elbows on my knees. “I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

“That you’re scared?”

I laugh, turning my attention down to the carpet. “Maybe not scared, really, just stepping into an unknown. It takes trust.”

“You don’t have to navigate this all on your own. I know I screwed up with you and Sal, but do you trust me?”

I look up at her and nod. “I do.” She watches me, eyes softening and I repeat, “I absolutely do.”

“All right. Then I’m getting dressed and you’re taking me to a lumberjack bar.”

My heart stalls, and then revs back to life as I sit up straight. “Just like that we’re done fixing this?”

She nods. “Just like that.” Swallowing, she adds, “I love you. We don’t need to rehash. I messed up, you messed up. I’m sure we’ll mess up again, it will just look different next time.”

She grabs jeans and a sweater, underwear, and a bra from her bag and turns as if she’s going to leave to change in the bathroom. Before I know it, I’m on my feet and moving across the room.