Page 26 of Cabin Fever

“On who?”

“The bridesmaids, obviously.”

This time, I succeed in pushing back far enough to slap his chest with the back of my hand. “You’re the worst, you know that? You’ve already made them fall in love with you. That’s all they were talking about at the pool.”

I prop myself on one forearm and wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“I don’t know why you stopped there.” He smirks.

“What? You want to know what they said?”

“In detail, please.”

I roll my eyes, but he holds tight, and I fall back onto his chest. His face is right there, his eyes moving over my wrecked mascara.

Then, I don’t know how or why or who, but my lips land on Finn’s, and everything inside me sighs like a hot tea kettle. His hand comes up to cradle my jaw as I taste the salt from my tears on his lips.

And as if we’re struck by lightning, we both shoot apart. Me, straightening to my knees. Him, sitting ramrod straight, his back flattened to the wall, acting as his headboard.

“Uh—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“I’m sorry. I don’t⁠—”

“No, it’s⁠—”

“Thank you for⁠—”

“Yeah, no. Of course.”

“I’m going to—” I scramble off of him, spinning in a circle like there are more directional options in this shoebox of a room than across to my bed or to the bathroom. “Bathroom. I’ll get ready for bed.”

“Mhmm.” He holds a pillow over his lap, and I spin before he notices that I noticed.

Holy crap. Holycrapholycrapholycrap. I shut the door to the bathroom and realize I didn’t bring in my pajamas.

I do what I can, starting with my face. I use cleanser twice because the first round barely touches my smeared mascara. When I see myself in the mirror, my stomach flips. My lips are flushed, my cheeks pink.

You kissed Finn Gallagher. I send it through the ether as an accusation, but the woman in the mirror looks wholly unrepentant. I grimace, remembering this isn’t the first time I’ve done this. The last time, I was barely wearing a training bra, and we never spoke of it again.

I brush my teeth. Rinse. Do my full skincare routine since it’s the only thing standing between me and re-entering the room with Finn. When I finish, I lean against the counter.

My sweatpants and tank top are sitting on the end of my bed. I consider my options. I could sleep in this sundress. I could stay in this bathroom until Saturday. Quite tempting, if I’m honest. I could change while Finn uses the bathroom.

I crack the door instead, hoping that a logistical necessity will break the ice. “Hey. Can you⁠—“

A tank top and gray sweats appear through the gap, dangling from one hand. “Figured.”

“Thank you.” I snatch them. Then, because I'm me and my mouth has a compliance problem, I say, “Were you standing there holding my pajamas?”

“I was going to knock.”

I shut the door on him and catch myself in the mirror, smiling like a lunatic.

When I come out, the main light's off and Finn’s back in his bed, shirtless, covers to the waist, an arm behind his head, eyes on his phone.

I go to hang my dress up in the closet and bash my shin on the desk chair.

“Didn’t know you used words like that, Quinn.” Finn looks at me, hunched over, rubbing my leg.