Page 90 of Unmanageable

She’s looking up through her wet eyelashes, her hands tucked back into the sleeves of my sweatshirt. She’s smiling, trying to make it sound like another one of her jokes—another way to push the reality of us away by framing it as a mismatch.

“Well,” I say. “Maybe I don’t want that girl. Maybe I only want you.”

Her breath hitches, the playful, defensive look on her face evaporating in a split second.

“Cash,” she rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” I say. “Tell you the truth? I don’t give a shit about hiking sneakers , Scottie. And I don’t want someone who’s comfortable out here. I like the girl who’s currently screaming at bears in my sweatshirt.”

Her mouth opens slightly, her lips parted, her gaze dropping to my mouth for a long, agonizing second before she forces herself to look back up.

She lets out a tiny, shaky breath, her forehead dropping forward until it rests against my collarbone, her whole body going soft against mine.

“You are an incredibly difficult—truly unmanageable—client, O’Connell.”

“I’m the best client you’ve got, Sharky.”

I slide an arm around her shoulders and tug her in, holding her close for a warm, stubborn ten seconds. Long enough for her to melt a little, even if she’ll deny it later.

“Come on. Let’s go find that van before your toes actually fall off.”

She nods, not saying anything else, but her hand stays tucked firmly into the crook of my elbow as we step off the rocky ridge and continue down the slope.

Ten minutes later, the dense trees give way to an open, gravel clearing.

The square, boxy silhouette of our van appears through the mist like a beautiful, industrial mirage, sitting exactly where we left it in the dirt turnout.

The access road is empty, the gravel dark and wet from the storm, but it’s the most beautiful piece of municipal infrastructure I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Oh my god,” Scottie breathes. “Pavement. Real, engineered pavement.”

She breaks away from my arm, trying to jog toward the van, but because she’s still wearing my massive sneakers, her left foot catches on a wet root and she stumbles violently, her arms flailing as she nearly face-plants into the gravel.

I catch her from behind, hoisting her back up onto her feet before she can hit the ground. She lets out a loud, frustrated groan, turning around in my grip, and before I can even ask if she’s okay, she throws her arms around my neck.

She pulls herself up against me, burying her face into the crook of my neck, her wet hair cold against my skin. She’s hugging me so hard her knuckles are digging into my shoulder blades, her whole body shaking with a mix of leftover adrenaline and pure exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters into my neck. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch up there. I’m sorry I yelled at you about the concrete lobby and the 5th Ward Alderman and the bears. I was just really terrified that I was going to lose you in the woods.”

I stand there in the pouring rain, the keys to the van clicking against my fingers, and let out a long, quiet laugh as I wrap my arms around her waist, lifting her completely off her feet for a second to hold her tight.

“You’re fine,” I say into her hair, my face breaking into a massive, unstoppable smile. “You did great.”

She pulls back, her hands resting on my shoulders, her eyes clear and bright as she looks down at me.

“Unlock the door, Finny,” she says, her mouth twisting into a familiar, sharp smirk. “The Boston Glacier needs to turn on the heat before I fire you for real.”

***

8:39 PM

Ivy: How’s Scottie doing?

Me: pretending she doesn’t like me

Ivy: So, normal.

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