Page 4 of Cabin Fever

I force myself to drag in a full breath before walking closer to retrieve my suitcase. I yank it onto the second bed and unzip it, realizing that Past Harper, who packed for a week of rooming alone or with a cousin who has seen me in a retainer, packed accordingly.

Two tank tops. The gray sweats with the bleach stain. A pair of shorts I would not describe as flattering. No robe. No matching anything. Nothing a person wears when there is a Finn Gallagher sleeping across six inches of carpet.

I take the least faded tank top, the gray sweats, and my toiletry bag into the bathroom. The last thing I want is another rendezvous in the Hobbit door, so I change, wash my face, and brush my teeth. When I come out, Finn's⁠—

I almost miss the step down to the floor. Finn’s standing by his bed in his boxer briefs, looking at some tri-fold pamphlet. The fabric is tight on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination.

Cursing him out in my head, yet painfully aware of the mirror situation in this room, I keep my head down and round my bed. I pull my book from my backpack, flop onto the bed, open said book, and focus very hard on the sentences blurring in front of me. I’m sure they’re excellent words, but I couldn’t tell you a single one of them, because in the amber lamplight Finn is bending over to push his suitcase under his bed.

The long line of his back takes up all of my peripheral vision, and I’m fifteen again, staring at him through my bedroom window. He knew I could see him in there—Dahlia joked about it plenty of times—but he never shut his curtains. Even when he had Melanie Fisher over the night after he first kissed me by the creek.

I break out into a cold sweat, my throat so thick I think I might choke. Or sound like I’m choking, which might be worse under these circumstances.

Finn stands, blowing out a breath. “Want me to do yours?” He turns, his crotch directly in front of my face.

I burn a hole through the page of my book, trying to make sense of that question. Want me to do—? It takes me a second, but I finally connect the dots and realize he’s talking about my suitcase.

“I haven’t unpacked yet,” I mumble. “I’ll do it in the morning.”

Finn doesn’t move, and finally, I can’t help myself. I snap my head toward him, gesturing at his very obvious bulge. “Can you please do something with this?”

His eyes widen, and before I can replay my words in my head, he says, “Yeah, I can do a lot with⁠—”

I make a gagging noise and slam my book to the mattress. “Finn, we’re sharing a room. The least you could do is put on some clothes.”

He blows out a puff of air, shifting on his feet. “That’s what I did!”

“Excuse me?” I glare at him.

He laughs, looking down. “I usually don’t— I thought this was considerate.”

“You usually don’t what?”

“I sleep naked. Have since college. But it's your room too, so—” A shrug that moves those broad shoulders again. “I kept these on. You're welcome. Just tell me if you'd rather I do what I do at home, and I'll⁠—”

I groan and pull my legs up, tearing down the bed covers so I can slide underneath them. I turn away from him, curling into the bed. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Goodnight.”

I close my eyes, but my head is spinning so fast, it feels like I’m staring directly into the sun.

“You wear sweatpants to bed?”

“No, Finn,” I snap. “I didn’t bring pajamas because I wasn’t planning on having a male roommate.”

“You sleep in pajamas at home?”

“It’s none of your business what I sleep in at home.”

He makes a small noise and pads toward the bathroom. It’s almost a laugh, but a little too judgmental to be good-natured.

Annoyance flares. “What?”

Finn turns back to look at me but doesn’t answer.

I swallow. Hard. “That noise. What’s that supposed to mean?”

He wets his lips. “I don’t know. You’ve changed.”

“Obviously.”