{"id":2694,"date":"2014-09-24T17:11:15","date_gmt":"2014-09-24T17:11:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/?p=2694"},"modified":"2014-09-26T18:23:45","modified_gmt":"2014-09-26T18:23:45","slug":"chapter-one-two-dirty-rowdy-thing","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/2014\/09\/chapter-one-two-dirty-rowdy-thing\/","title":{"rendered":"Chapter One – DIRTY ROWDY THING"},"content":{"rendered":"

YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!! Barely a week after we started our DIRTY ROWDY THING<\/a> preorder campaign<\/a> in earnest, we hit Milestone 1<\/strong>! We can’t thank you enough!! But we’d like to at least try<\/em>: we are sharing Chapter 1 today and Chapter 2 is now live here<\/a>! Help us push preorders, because the higher we go, the more chapters Gallery will let us put up on our site! Seriously, we appreciate you all so much and just adore you for joining us on this adventure leading up to the release of the book on November 4th. And now, ::drumroll:: . . .<\/p>\n

DIRTY ROWDY THING
\nChapter ONE<\/strong><\/p>\n

Harlow<\/strong><\/p>\n

I BURST THROUGH THE doors of this random Starbucks in this random neighborhood in the hopes of forgetting the second-worst lay of my life. Toby Amsler: Fantastically flirty, hot, and with the added bonus of being on the UCSD water polo team\u2014he had all the makings for a night of world-class, toe-curling fun.<\/p>\n

False advertising at its finest.<\/p>\n

You see, when it comes to potential love interests, guys typically fall into three basic categories: the manwhore, the misunderstood, and the mama\u2019s boy. The manwhore, <\/em>in my experience, comes in any number of shapes and sizes: dirty rock star, muscled quarterback, even the occasional irresistible hot nerd. Their strength in bed? Generally, dirty talk and endurance, both of which I\u2019m a fan. Sadly, this doesn\u2019t always translate into skill.<\/p>\n

The misunderstood <\/em>often takes the shape of an artist, a quiet surfer, or a soulful musician. These boys rarely know what the hell to do, but at least they\u2019re willing to try for hours.<\/p>\n

The mama\u2019s boy <\/em>is the easiest to spot. Here in La Jolla, he usually drives his mom\u2019s hand-me-down Lexus and keeps it in pristine condition. This type takes his shoes off as soon as he walks indoors and always maintains eye contact while speaking. In bed, the mama\u2019s boy offers few benefits, but at least they tend to be tidy.<\/p>\n

Toby Amsler turned out to be the rare combination of mama\u2019s boy an<\/em>d <\/em>manwhore, which somehow made him exponentially worse in bed. The only thing more awkward than his vacuum-suction oral skills was being woken by his mother bringing him tea and Cheerios\u2014without knocking\u2014at six in the morning. Not my finest wake-up call.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not sure why I\u2019m surprised. Despite what film and music would have women believe, these guys are all <\/em>hopeless when it comes to the female orgasm. They learn how to offer cheap phone sex<\/a> from watching porn, where giving the camera a good view is the goal and no one really cares if it works for the girl, because she\u2019ll pretend it\u2019s awesome regardless. Sex happens up close, and inside, <\/em>not at camera\u2019s length. Guys seem to forget that.<\/p>\n

My heart rate has yet to return to normal, and the couple in front of me is ordering at a snail\u2019s pace. He wants to know, \u201cWhat\u2019s good for someone who doesn\u2019t like coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n

Probably not a coffee shop, <\/em>I want to snap. But I don\u2019t, and remind myself that it\u2019s not this particular man\u2019s fault that all<\/em> men are clueless, that I\u2019m frustrated and cranky.<\/p>\n

I swear I\u2019m not usually prone to dramatics. I\u2019m just having a bad morning, and I need to breathe.<\/p>\n

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. There. Better.<\/p>\n

I step away and scowl at the pastry case while contemplating my choices. And then I stop, blinking twice before narrowing my eyes and peering more closely at the case. Or, rather, at the reflection in the glass.<\/p>\n

Is that . . . no . . . <\/em>Finn Roberts . . . standing behind me?<\/em><\/p>\n

Leaning forward, I can see that visible beside my own reflection, and in line just behind me is, indeed . . . Finn. My brain does the immediate mental pat-down. Why isn\u2019t he in Canada? Where am I <\/em>? Am I awake? Am I having a Finn Rob- erts nightmare in Toby Amsler\u2019s twin-sized water bed?<\/p>\n

I convince myself it\u2019s a trick of the light. Maybe my brain has finally shorted out on the one morning I\u2019d give my left arm for an orgasm\u2014of course that would make me think of<\/em> Finn, right<\/em>?<\/p>\n

Finn Roberts, the only <\/em>guy who ever managed to dodge my convenient guy-category strategy\u2014Finn Roberts, the notorious ex-husband-of-twelve-drunken-hours-in-Vegas, who was good with hands, lips, an<\/em>d <\/em>body, and who made me come so many times he told me he thought I passed out.<\/p>\n

Finn Roberts, who turned out to be an asshole, too. Trick of the light. It can\u2019t be him.<\/p>\n

But when I chance a tiny glimpse over my shoulder, I realize it really is <\/em>him. On his head is a faded blue Mariners cap pulled low over hazel eyes lined with the longest, thickest lashes I\u2019ve ever seen. He\u2019s wearing the same hunter green T-shirt with his family company\u2019s white fishing logo as when I surprised him in his hometown only a little over a month ago. His arms are tanned, muscled, and crossed over his wide chest.<\/p>\n

Finn is here. Fuck. Finn is here<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I close my eyes and groan. My body gives in to a horrifying reflex: Immediately, I feel soft and warm, my spine arches as if he\u2019s pressing up behind me. I remember the first moment I knew we would hook up, in Vegas. Drunk, I\u2019d pointed to him and dropped out loud to everyone, Probably gonna<\/em> fuck him tonight.<\/em><\/p>\n

To which he\u2019d leaned over and said directly into my ear, That\u2019s sweet. But I like to be the one doing the fucking<\/em>.<\/p>\n

And I know if I heard his voice right now\u2014deep, calm as still water, and a little gravelly by nature\u2014as keyed up as I am, I\u2019d probably have an orgasm in the middle of this coffee shop.<\/p>\n

I knew <\/em>I should have just waited and driven over to Pannikin for my usual morning fix. I stay silent, counting to ten. One of my best friends, Mia, jokes that I\u2019m only quiet if I\u2019m surprised or pissed. Right now, I\u2019m both.<\/p>\n

The skinny barista kid catches my eye by leaning forward. \u201cWould you like to try our pumpkin spice mocha?\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod blankly.<\/p>\n

W<\/em>ait<\/em>, what? No, that sounds disgusting! <\/em>A tiny, still-functioning corner of my brain yells at my mouth to order my usual: large coffee, black, no room. But I\u2019m frozen in my stunned silence while the Starbucks barista squeaks out my order with a black Sharpie. In a daze, I hand over the money and shove my wallet back into my purse.<\/p>\n

I steady myself and when I turn to go wait for my coffee, Finn catches my eye and smiles. \u201cHey, Ginger Snap.\u201d<\/p>\n

Without turning to face him, I make a show of studying him over my shoulder. He hasn\u2019t shaved this morning, and his dark stubble cuts a dangerous shadow on his jaw. His neck is deeply tanned from working on the wide-open ocean all summer. I let my eyes travel lower, because\u2014let\u2019s be real\u2014I\u2019d be a fool to not drink in the sight of this man before telling him to go fuck himself.<\/p>\n

Finn is built like one of Lola\u2019s comic book superheroes\u2014 all broad chest and narrow waist, thick forearms, muscled legs. He gives off the appearance of impenetrability, as if that golden skin of his covers titanium. I mean, sweet Jesus, the man works with his hands, sweats when he works, fucks like it\u2019s his vocation, and was raised by a father who expects, above anything else, that his sons are capable fishermen. I can\u2019t imagine any of the guys I know standing next to him and looking anything other than snack-sized.<\/p>\n

His smile slowly straightens and he tilts his head a little. \u201cHarlow?\u201d<\/p>\n

Although the shadow of his hat partially hides his eyes, I can tell they widen slightly when I lift my attention from his neck. And now I remember how his gaze feels like a hook. I close my eyes and shake my head once, trying to clear it. I don\u2019t mind swooning if the situation calls for it, but I hate the feeling when it tries to shove aside my very well-deserved, righteous indignation.<\/p>\n

\u201cHold. I\u2019m contemplating my response.\u201d<\/p>\n

His brows pull together in confusion . . . at least I think <\/em>it\u2019s confusion. I suspect on Finn that emotion looks the same as impatience, frustration, and concentration. He\u2019s not exactly an open book. \u201cOkay . . . ?\u201d<\/p>\n

Okay, here\u2019s the problem: After our matrimonial adventures in Vegas, I flew up to see him. I showed up on Vancouver Island of all places, wearing nothing but a coat. Surprise!<\/em> We had sex for nearly ten hours straight\u2014rowdy sex, loud, on-every-flat-surface sex\u2014and when I told him I had to head to the airport, he just smiled, leaned over to slide his phone off the nightstand, and called me a cab. He\u2019d just come all over my tits, and he called a cab <\/em>to drive me to the airport. In fact, it pulled up at the curb behind Finn\u2019s brand-new, cherry-red Ford F-150. (If the mention of tits has got you a little rowdy too, Continue to www.tubev.sex to see big bust videos<\/a>.)<\/p>\n

I\u2019d concluded, calmly, actually, that we weren\u2019t a good fit, even for the occasional border-crossing booty call, and called it a day.<\/p>\n

So why am I so angry he\u2019s here?<\/p>\n

The barista offers the same drink special to Finn, but he makes a mildly disgusted face before declining and ordering two large, black coffees.<\/p>\n

This makes me even more irritated. His reasonable reaction should have been mine<\/em>. \u201cWhat the hell are you doing at my coffee shop?\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes go wide, mouth forming a few different words before any actually come out. \u201cYou own <\/em>this place?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you high, Finn? It\u2019s a Starbucks<\/em>. I just mean it\u2019s my town.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes fall closed and he laughs, and the way the light catches the angle of his jaw, and the way I know exactly how that stubble would feel on my skin . . . argh.<\/em><\/p>\n

I tilt my head, staring at him. \u201cWhat\u2019s funny?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was a real possibility in my mind that you could <\/em>own this Starbucks.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a little eye-roll, I reach for my drink and march out of the store.<\/p>\n

Walking to my car, I stretch my neck, roll my shoulders.<\/p>\n

Why am I so annoyed?<\/em><\/p>\n

It isn\u2019t like I expected a carriage to be at my disposal when I showed up unannounced at his little seaside house. I\u2019d already slept with him in Vegas, so I knew the no-strings- attached arrangement. Clearly I was there because I wanted good sex. Actually, I wanted\u2014no, I needed<\/em>\u2014confirmation that the sex was as good as I\u2019d remembered.<\/p>\n

It was so <\/em>much better.<\/p>\n

So obviously it\u2019s the bad-Toby-Amsler-sex hangover that\u2019s killing my calm. This chance meeting with Finn would have gone very differently if I hadn\u2019t jus<\/em>t <\/em>left the bed of the first guy I slept with after him\u2014the first guy I\u2019d been with in two months\u2014and if that experience hadn\u2019t been so unsatisfying.<\/p>\n

Footsteps slap the asphalt behind me and I start to turn just before a powerful hand curls around my bicep. Finn grabs me harder than I think he\u2019s intended, and the result is that my pumpkin coffee monstrosity tilts and spills onto the ground, barely missing my shoes.<\/p>\n

I give him an exasperated look and toss my empty cup into a trash can near the curb.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, come on,\u201d he says with a little smile. He hands me the one cup he had balancing on top of the other. \u201cIt\u2019s not as if you were going to drink that. You wouldn\u2019t touch the instant vanilla spice stuff I had at my place.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taking the coffee he\u2019s offering, I mumble my thanks and look to the side. I\u2019m acting exactly like the kind of woman I never want to be: jilted, martyred, put out.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you pissed?\u201d he asks quietly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just preoccupied.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ignoring this, he says, \u201cIs it because you came all the way up to Vancouver Island, showed up at my house wearing only a trench coat in the middle of July, and I banged you hoarse?\u201d The smirk in his voice tells me he thinks I couldn\u2019t possibly be pissed about that<\/em>.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d be right.<\/p>\n

I pause, looking up to study him for a beat. \u201cYou mean the day you couldn\u2019t even be bothered to put on some clothes to take me to the airport<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

He blinks, his head jerking back slightly. \u201cI skipped an entire shift when you showed up. I never <\/em>do that. I left for work about a minute after the cab showed.\u201d<\/p>\n

This . . . is new information. I shift on my feet, unable to maintain eye contact anymore, instead looking past him to the busy street in the distance. \u201cYou didn\u2019t tell me you had to work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did.\u201d<\/p>\n

I feel my jaw tighten with irritation when I blink back up to his face. \u201cDid not.\u201d<\/p>\n

He sighs, pulling his cap off, scratching his crazy bed- head and then putting it back on. \u201cAll right, Harlow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing here, anyway?\u201d I ask him.<\/p>\n

And then it clicks into place: Ansel is in town visiting Mia, and we\u2019re all headed to the grand opening of Oliver\u2019s comic book store, Downtown Graffick, tomorrow. Canadian Finn, Parisian Ansel, and the dry-witted Aussie Oliver: the bride- grooms of Vegas. Although four of us got quick annulments after our wedding shenanigans, Mia and Ansel decided to make a real go at this marriage thing. Lola and Oliver have become friends, bonding over their shared comic and graphic novel love. So, whether we like it or not, Finn and I are expected to be a part of this band of misfit buddies. We have to learn to be civil, with <\/em>our clothes on.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d I mumble. \u201cThe opening is this weekend. You\u2019re here for that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know they won\u2019t be stocking Seventeen <\/em>and Cosmo, <\/em>but you should come by and check it out, anyway,\u201d he says. \u201cThe store looks good.\u201d<\/p>\n

I lift the coffee cup to my nose and sniff. Black, unadulterated coffee. Perfect. \u201cOf course I\u2019ll be there. I like <\/em>Oliver and Ansel.\u201d<\/p>\n

He swipes a palm over his mouth, smiling a little. \u201cSo. You\u2019re pissed about the cab.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not pissed<\/em>. This isn\u2019t a lovers\u2019 spat, and we aren\u2019t having a quarrel<\/em>. I\u2019m just having a bad morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

Narrowing his eyes, he looks me over, from head to toe. He\u2019s so damn observant it makes me blush, and I know as soon as his smile reappears that he\u2019s deduced I didn\u2019t come from home. \u201cYour hair is all crazy, but what\u2019s interesting is you look a little hard up. Like maybe you didn\u2019t quite get what you needed somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBite me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finn steps closer, head tilted slightly to the side with that infuriating half smile. \u201cSay please, and I will.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a laugh, I push him away with my palm flat to his very nice, very hard chest. \u201cGo away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause now you want it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you need a shower.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cListen,\u201d he says, laughing. \u201cI won\u2019t chase you down again if you go running away, but we\u2019re going to see each other from time to time. Let\u2019s try to be grown-ups.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turns without waiting for my reply and I hear his truck alarm chirp as he unlocks the door. I make a bratty little fuck-you <\/em>face and display my middle finger to his retreating form. But then I pause, my heart tripping over itself with an abrupt rush of adrenaline.<\/p>\n

Finn is climbing in the same cherry-red truck that was parked at the curb in front of his house. Only now it\u2019s covered in the dust and grime accumulated from miles and miles of driving.<\/p>\n

Which begs the question, if he\u2019s only visiting for the weekend, then why did he bring his truck all the way here from Vancouver Island?<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t have much time to ponder this because my phone buzzes in my pocket from my mom\u2019s text and I pull it out only to see the words, Will you come to the house right away please, written across my screen.<\/p>\n

~~<\/p>\n

I AM A fixer.<\/p>\n

When I was four and broke my mother\u2019s favorite necklace while trying it on, I spent three hours in my tree house trying to glue it back together. I succeeded only in gluing several fingers together. Senior year when Mia was hit by the truck and nearly paralyzed, I sat by her side every day for the entire summer she spent in a toe-to-waist cast. I knew that if I sat there long enough she would need something and I would be there, ready. I brought her DVDs and ridiculous teen magazines. I painted her nails and went so far as to smuggle the oddest things into her room\u2014wine coolers; her boyfriend, Luke; her cat\u2014just to see her smile. When Lola\u2019s father was sent to Afghanistan\u2014and then when he returned, shaken and different, and Lola\u2019s mom abandoned them both for good\u2014I brought groceries and dinners, anything that would take the tiniest burden off them. And when Ansel was too man- brained to fix things with Mia, I forced my way in there, too.<\/p>\n

When my friends need something, I do it. When some- one I love can\u2019t solve a problem, I find a way. For better or worse, it\u2019s what I do.<\/p>\n

So when I pull into the drive and sit down beside my little sister and across from our parents in our light, airy, happy <\/em>family room\u2014a room that, right now, feels like a tomb\u2014I\u2019m immediately on high alert. On an average day, our family is boisterous. Right now, we are silent. I feel like I should whisper my hellos. The curtains are open, but the thick fog of the marine layer outside makes the room feel gloomy and dark.<\/p>\n

My family is\u2014and has always been\u2014the center of my world. My mom was an actress when my parents got married, and Dad\u2019s career didn\u2019t take off until I hit high school. So when I was little, Dad and I would travel with Mom from one set to the next. Until my sister Bellamy was born when I was six, it was just the three of us most of the time.<\/p>\n

Dad is the emotionally intuitive, nurturing one, all creative energy and passion. Mom is the beautiful, calm centering force in our family, leading the house with a wink behind my father\u2019s broad shoulders. But right now she sits next to him, gripping his hand in both of hers, and I can see from across the gloss white coffee table<\/a> that she\u2019s sweating.<\/p>\n

I have it in my head that they\u2019re going to tell us they\u2019re selling the house. (I would picket in the driveway until they backed down.) That they\u2019re moving to Los Angeles. (I will lose my shit.) That they\u2019re having some trouble and are going to spend some time apart. (This I can\u2019t even fathom.)<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d I ask slowly.<\/p>\n

Mom closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then looks right at us, saying, \u201cI have breast cancer.\u201d<\/p>\n

After these four words, the hundreds that follow sound fuzzy and shapeless. But I understand enough to know that Mom has a tumor that is roughly three centimeters in her breast, and that cancerous cells were found in several lymph nodes. Dad found the mass while they were in the shower one morning\u2014I\u2019m too relieved he found it to be weirded out by this information\u2014and she didn\u2019t want to tell us anything until she knew more. She\u2019s opted for a mastectomy, followed by chemotherapy, and they\u2019ve scheduled surgery for Monday . . . three days from now.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s all somehow moving too fast, and, for a fixer like me, not fast enough. I can rattle off questions as if I\u2019m reading from a book: Have you gotten a second opinion on the pathology? What is the recovery time for the surgery? How soon after can you start chemo? What medications will they give you? But I\u2019m too stunned to know if my rapid-fire questions are an appropriate reaction at all.<\/p>\n

When Dad mentioned he found the lump, Bellamy burst out laughing and then immediately broke down into hysterical sobs. Mom sounded like an automaton for the first time in her entire life as she detailed what the doctor had told her. Dad remained uncharacteristically mute.<\/p>\n

So this is what I\u2019m saying: What i<\/em>s <\/em>an appropriate reaction when the center of your world finds out she\u2019s mortal?<\/p>\n

Once she\u2019s finished telling us everything she knows\u2014and once she\u2019s promised us that she feels strong, and fine just<\/em> fine<\/em>\u2014she tells us she wants to go lie down and be alone for a little while. But I can hardly breathe, and from the look on my father\u2019s face, he\u2019s faring much, much <\/em>worse.<\/p>\n

Bellamy and I sit and watch Clue <\/em>with the volume practically on mute. She\u2019s curled in my lap, and Dad has disappeared down the hall to their bedroom. On my phone\u2019s browser, I read every website I can find on stage-three breast cancer, and with every new piece of information I mentally update the odds of my mother\u2019s survival. The credits are rolling and then the screen goes blank before I realize the movie is over.<\/p>\n

~~<\/p>\n

BUT THERE\u2019S NOTHING I can do now. Mom doesn\u2019t want us to do anything; she doesn\u2019t want me taking care <\/em>of her. She wants us to \u201clive our lives\u201d and \u201cnot let this monopolize our thoughts.\u201d<\/p>\n

Does she not know Dad and me at all?<\/p>\n

Only a few hours after she tells us, this cancer has become a thing, <\/em>a living, breathing entity that takes up just as much space in our house as any of us do. It\u2019s all I can think about, all I see when I look at her. And so I have no idea what to do with myself.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought there was a party at Lola\u2019s new place tonight,\u201d Mom says, and I snap back to the conversation. She looks perfectly normal, if not a little tired, flipping a grilled cheese and glancing at me over her shoulder. You know, making us dinner as if it\u2019s a normal Friday night, nothing different. I can tell all three of us are watching her cook and suppressing our need to suggest she go sit down, relax, let us bring her something to eat.<\/p>\n

She would kill us.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere is <\/em>. . .\u201d I hedge and steal a few shreds of cheese from her bowl. \u201cBut I\u2019m staying here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you\u2019re not.\u201d Mom turns and gives me her best don\u2019t-argue-with-me face. \u201cOliver\u2019s store opens tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re going out, and you\u2019re staying at your place tonight,\u201d Dad insists. \u201cI\u2019m taking Mom to a movie and then I\u2019m bringing her home and\u201d\u2014he does a slick little dance move behind her\u2014\u201cyou won\u2019t want to be home for what comes next.\u201d<\/p>\n

Oh God. <\/em>I press my hands over my ears as Bellamy ducks and pretends to hide under the breakfast bar.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou win,\u201d I tell him, trying to keep my tone light and shove down the panic I feel welling up inside of me. I don\u2019t want to be away from my mom. \u201cBut tomorrow we\u2019re doing something with all four of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dad nods and smiles bravely at me. I\u2019ve never seen him look so shaken.<\/p>\n

~~<\/p>\n

IT\u2019S ACTUALLY GOOD to get out, if I\u2019m being honest. The worst thing we could do for Mom is sit around and watch every move she makes with our worried, woeful expressions. Dad assured me my role will come in the next few weeks and months. I can work with that. Bellamy is sweet, but she\u2019s only eighteen and also oddly incapable. Every small errand stresses her out. It makes her good for the role of Stay Positive! <\/em>I\u2019m the daughter who gets shit done. I\u2019ll be the daughter who drives Mom to appointments, asks too many questions, takes care of her when Dad needs to work, and will probably drive her crazy.<\/p>\n

But right now, I feel awful.<\/p>\n

And if there is anyone I want to see other than my family tonight, it\u2019s my girls.<\/p>\n

Lola\u2019s new apartment is a huge <\/em>step up from the dorms. I expected her to move in with me when we graduated, but she wanted to be downtown, and every time I visit I can\u2019t really blame her. It\u2019s situated just north of the Gaslamp Quarter in a new, giant-windowed high-rise with wide-open rooms, a view of the harbor, and a location only blocks away from the Donut Bar. Lucky woman.<\/p>\n

\u201cHarlowwwww!\u201d My name is shouted across the large living room and quickly I\u2019m surrounded by four arms. Two are Lola\u2019s, and two belong to London, Lola\u2019s new roommate and the most adorable all-American girl you can imagine: sandy blond hair, freckles, dimples and a constant smile. She cools it down perfectly with her hot nerd girl glasses and wild clothes. Tonight, for example, I see she\u2019s wearing a blue Tardis T-shirt, a polka-dot green and yellow skirt, and black- and-white\u2013striped kneesocks. With Lola\u2019s retro black dress and sleek Bettie Page thing going on, they make the rest of us look tragically unhip.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi Lola-London,\u201d I say, pressing my face into Lola\u2019s neck. I needed this.<\/em><\/p>\n

Lola\u2019s voice is muffled against my hair. \u201cThat sounds like a stripper name.\u201d<\/p>\n

London laughs, extracting herself from the tangle. \u201cOr the name of a drink?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOne Lola-London on the rocks,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d London says, pointing to the cooler on the kitchen floor. \u201cWe can try inventing it tonight. I swear I bought everything. Mixers and booze and beer and nuts and\u2014\u201d She closes her eyes, raises her right hand in a rocker salute, and belts out, \u201cFritos!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

She turns running off to answer the door and I give Lola my nod of approval. \u201cI like that girl.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone told me there is a fiesta in this casa<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n

I turn to the sound of Ansel\u2019s deep, accented voice, and every sound in the apartment dips for a beat before applause and laughter break out. He\u2019s wearing a sombrero filled with tortilla chips. Because he\u2019s an adorable idiot.<\/p>\n

Mia breaks away from him, making a beeline to me, and wraps her arms around my shoulders. \u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

I called Lola and Mia earlier, gave them both the truncated update, and they know me well enough to anticipate the magnitude of my panic.<\/p>\n

I blink away from the delightful spectacle of Ansel doing some weird little bullfighter dance. \u201cEh. You know.\u201d<\/p>\n

She pulls back and studies my face before deciding, accurately, that I\u2019m here for distraction and not to discuss my mom. We all turn to watch Ansel as he offers sombrero chips to someone. Seriously, his inner child is definitely alive and kicking.<\/p>\n

I draw a circle in the air around my head. \u201cWhat is with the\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo idea.\u201d Mia cuts me off. \u201cHe and Finn went out for beers earlier and back he comes with it. He hasn\u2019t taken it off in hours, but ha<\/em>s <\/em>refilled it three times. Stand back ladies\u201d\u2014she bends, digging a beer out of the cooler\u2014\u201che\u2019s all mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

And at the mention of his name, I catch sight of Finn across the room. He must have come in with them. My stomach does an annoying clench-warm-flip move when he laughs over something Ansel says and lifts his arm to adjust his baseball hat. His bicep flexes and my stomach ignites. I chug half my beer to make the feeling go away, imagining the hiss and steam as the metaphorical flames are put out.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know Finn was coming tonight.\u201d But what was I thinking? That they would leave him at home alone? Finn is just one more complication my already frazzled brain can\u2019t quite handle right now.<\/p>\n

Mia twists the cap off her beer and watches me, a little smile in her eyes. \u201cIs that okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

Civil. Band of misfit buddies, <\/em>I remind myself. \u201cYou know it\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs long as it doesn\u2019t try to speak, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughing, I nod. \u201cRight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lola rubs my back and then tilts her head, indicating she\u2019s going to join the people gathering to play cards. \u201cYou good here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d I tell her. \u201cI\u2019ll probably just hang back and watch you guys be awesome.\u201d<\/p>\n

After making sure I don\u2019t need company, Mia follows her, and I\u2019m left alone in the brightly lit kitchen, watching the small group around the dining table. Ansel licks his thumb and then begins dealing cards, tossing them expertly across the table to each player. I feel a little lost, like I shouldn\u2019t be here but unable to go home, either. I\u2019m too tight in my skin, too warm in this apartment.<\/p>\n

A shadow dips past me and when I turn, I find a bleached-blond mohawked guy bending to pull a wine cooler out of the fridge.<\/p>\n

\u201cInteresting beverage choice,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cPassion punch!\u201d He turns and laughs, nodding in total agreement. He\u2019s gorgeous, if not a little dirty, but his smile showcases a mouthful of perfect, white teeth\u2014a La Jolla hippie boy. Of course. \u201cHave you ever had these? They taste like juice<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n

The cheap wine cooler is a newfound, amusing novelty? Definitely a La Jolla hippie boy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Harlow,\u201d I say, extending my hand. \u201cAnd if you want juice, why don\u2019t you just drink juice?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shakes it. \u201cThere is very little trouble to be had in juice,\u201d he says, before pointing the bottle at his chest and adding, \u201cNot-Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Nacho\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Not<\/em>. Joe. <\/em>Oliver, my new boss? Calls me Joey. I think he\u2019s fucking with me, like a kangaroo thing because he\u2019s Australian? But it isn\u2019t my name.\u201d<\/p>\n

I wait for him to give me his real name\u2014obviously he can\u2019t have known Oliver long enough for him to be called Not-Joe more than a few months\u2014but he doesn\u2019t. \u201cSo you go by Not-Joe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll the time?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, okay then, it\u2019s nice to meet you.\u201d Despite the fact that I fear Not-Joe is a few synapses short of an invertebrate, I look him over and instantly like him, anyway. He\u2019s wearing board shorts and a T-shirt and clearly has absolutely nothing but earnest giddiness to be right here, doing exactly this. \u201cSo you\u2019re going to work at the store?\u201d<\/p>\n

When he nods, gulping down half his wine cooler in a single swallow, I add, \u201cTomorrow should be pretty exciting for you guys.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s gonna be good. Oliver is the best boss. Or, I can tell he\u2019s going to be. He\u2019s just so laid-back.\u201d<\/p>\n

I look across the room at where Oliver is concentrating so hard on the cards in his hand I fear they might incinerate. Unlike Finn, who doesn\u2019t seem to worry much about his appearance, but tilts the odds in his favor by keeping his hair cut short, his face usually clean-shaven, Oliver is hot in an accidental sort of way. I haven\u2019t really decided if he\u2019s as oblivious about it as he seems, but I do know he\u2019s a pretty intense guy, and given that he\u2019s only thirty and opening a high-profile comic store in the hippest area of San Diego, I don\u2019t think he\u2019s quite as laid-back <\/em>as Not-Joe is hoping.<\/p>\n

I look back to the hippie boy. \u201cWhat are you going to be doing there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSelling comics and stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laugh. This guy unsupervised must be a sight to behold. \u201cOh, you mean working the front?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYep. Working the front. And sometimes the back.\u201d He laughs to himself. \u201cThe re-gis-ter,\u201d he sings.<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly how high are you, Not-Joe?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stops moving and seems to do a lengthy mental inspection. \u201cPretty high.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWant to do some shots?\u201d<\/p>\n

Because really, there\u2019s no way I\u2019m ever having sex with Not-Joe, but my second favorite thing to do with guys is watch them get drunk.<\/p>\n

We line up a couple and toss them back, just as I see Finn stand from the table. He tosses down his cards, clearly folding as he pulls off his cap, scratches his head with the same hand, and then slips it back on again. I hate that I find the maneuver so completely sexy. When he looks up and sees me in the kitchen with Not-Joe, he narrows his eyes for a beat and then starts to walk toward us.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, shit,\u201d I mumble under my breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes the Hulk belong to you?\u201d Not-Joe asks, tilting his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot even a little.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStill. Look at the intensity in his eyes<\/em>,\u201d he whispers drunkenly. \u201cThe lion prowls.\u201d With a little shiver, he seems to clear his trance and chirps, \u201cI\u2019m headed to the little boys\u2019 room.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks,\u201d I grumble to his retreating back, as Finn slides between me and the counter, leaning a hip against it.<\/p>\n

Tonight I\u2019m missing my usual armor\u2014my social enthusiasm, my confidence, and the ease that comes with knowing life is okay for everyone I love. A tiny alarm in my brain signals that talking to Finn right now might be a terrible idea. We will either end up fighting or fucking, and Finn does neither with any sort of tenderness. But I refuse to step back and can feel the heat coming off his chest. His hat is pulled low over his eyes, so I have to rely on the curve of his mouth to interpret his mood. So far, he seems . . . bored, angry, pensive, or asleep.<\/p>\n

\u201cFancy meeting you here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFinn.\u201d I acknowledge him with a little nod.<\/p>\n

His smile starts at one corner and twists across his lips. Damn him and his amazingly flirty mouth. \u201cHarlow.\u201d<\/p>\n

I saw my teeth over my bottom lip as I consider him. Mindless chatter won\u2019t work here, but I\u2019m not entirely sure I can handle his rough edges tonight when I\u2019m feeling so threadbare myself. Finn doesn\u2019t fit into any of my easily pre- determined boy-categories, and maybe there\u2019s a challenge in that.<\/p>\n

He is hard to read, easy to look at, and no matter how bad an idea it may be, it\u2019s nearly impossible to resist pulling him closer.<\/p>\n

Fighting or fucking.<\/p>\n

Both of those options are starting to sound pretty good.<\/p>\n

~~<\/p>\n

YAY for Chapter One!! Want more? Help us push the preorder campaign! CHAPTER TWO IS NOW LIVE<\/a>, and when we hit Gallery’s sales milestones we can share even more chapters! Trust us, Chapter Three is VERY SPICY INDEED.
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

Target<\/a><\/p>\n

Barnes and Noble<\/a><\/p>\n

Amazon<\/a><\/p>\n

Chapters Indigo<\/a><\/p>\n

Books-a-Million<\/a><\/p>\n

Indiebound<\/a><\/p>\n

Audible<\/a><\/p>\n

xoxoxo!<\/p>\n

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YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!! Barely a week after we started our DIRTY ROWDY THING preorder campaign in earnest, we hit Milestone 1! We can’t thank you enough!! But we’d …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[457],"tags":[426,239,433,449,450,459,458,460,461,446],"class_list":["post-2694","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-extras","tag-ansel","tag-contest-2","tag-dirty-rowdy-thing","tag-finn","tag-harlow","tag-mia","tag-preorder-campaign","tag-we-love-you-guys","tag-who-brought-the-cookies","tag-wild-seasons"],"acf":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2694","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2694"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2694\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2694"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2694"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/christinalaurenbooks.com\/Clo2\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2694"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}