“Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping we could have a little time alone before everyone got here.” He looks genuinely bummed that he doesn’t get to see Sybil, which makes the worry I’m feeling for Sybil bleed into irritation that she’s pulled this disappearing act. She has a guy who is crazy about her, and she’s about to throw it all away like it’s nothing.
“Well, I’ll tell her you were looking for her. Maybe y’all can get together this afternoon?”
“Thanks, Emma. See you.” He heads into the main clubhouse of the resort, and I head toward the presidential suites.
Room number 455 or 456… I have a fifty-fifty shot. One’s facing the mountains and one is overlooking the ocean. I take a guess and start banging on the door facing the ocean. “Finnegan Michael Hughes!Open this door right now!”
The door swings open, and I plow through only realizing after the fact that my arm brushes against warm, wet skin, not cool cotton. Droplets of water glitter from Finn’s black hair, and a clump of suds slides down his neck and settles on his shoulder. He readjusts his towel, and tucks it firmly against sculpted abs.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m—yes, I’m okay.” I amnotokay seeing Finn in nothing but a towel. It’s been just under five years since I last saw him half-naked, and somehow he seems to have grown even more chiseled in that time. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Emma, what? Is Sybil okay?”
I pull my eyes up to his face. “Sybil could be dead in a ditch.”
“Oh my god.” He whips open the duffel bag and grabs a T-shirt and pants. The movement dislodges the soapsuds, and they begin to travel down his chest. “Wait here.”
He’s halfway to the bathroom. “I mean, I don’t think she is. She said she went to San Diego for some lymphatic drainage, and right now she’s too puffy to make any type of public appearance.”
He turns back to me, and the suds slip from his chest to his stomach. I’ve never really had opinions on men’s chest hair, but watching the bubbles catch in Finn’s, I decide that I could definitely argue the “pro” side of that debate. “Drainage?” Finn asks. “Is that serious? Something’s wrong with her lymph nodes?”
“I—no.” I finish weakly, “It’s just a type of massage.”
His eyes narrow. “You nearly dented my hotel room door and dragged me out of the shower because Sybil went to get a massage?”
“A massage inSan Diego.”
“That’s just a couple hours away, Emma. She’ll be fine.”
I straighten my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter how far away she is. It matters that she’s not here.”
“Sybil’s an adult, Emma. You need to start treating her like one.”
The suds continue down his stomach. I imagine my fingers following the trail of foam, and my hand twitches. A large bubble pops just above his belly button, and I remember why I’m here. “You told her not to get married!”
“I told her she owed it to herself and Jamie to be absolutely sure this is what she wants. Marriage is forever.”
That’s twice Finn has been wrong in the last thirty seconds. Marriage isnotforever. Or, at least, forever isn’t guaranteed. He heads back into the bathroom and comes out with another towel, wiping away the bubbles left on his skin. I can admit Finn’s body is somewhat… attractive, but it’s unfortunately attached to Finn’s brain and mouth. In that moment, I make the mistake of looking at his mouth, with its full bottom lip and Cupid’s bow top, and amend my thought. It really is just the brain that’s the deal killer here.
“I need to borrow your car.”
“Emma, there is no way I am letting you take my car. You almost destroyed Mr. Rain’s Porsche junior year—”
“Almostbeing the key word. I would never have let something happen to a 959.”
“And you drive like a psychopath.”
“I donot!”
“You almost threw Willow out of the golf cart last night.”
“It’s not my fault one hundred percent of torque is immediately available in electric vehicles! And those tires are bald. I won’t be held accountable for this hotel’s poor vehicle maintenance.”
He cocks his head at me as if I’m a cat that has just started explaining algebra. “Wow, your car obsession is on another level, you know that? It’s kind of adorable,” he says.
I cringe at his use ofadorable. It’s the word people have used to describe me my entire life. Sybil is always ethereal and enigmatic. Willow is sexy and striking. Nikki is gorgeous and all-American. But at five foot two with bright auburn hairand a spray of freckles across my nose, I get to be adorable. “Just give me the keys.”
