Harlow looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I can tell she’s amused. A smile lingers in her eyes, even if her brows are pulled together disapprovingly. “You can’t sing to save your life.”

Wiping a hand across my mouth, I say, “That’s nothing. You should hear me play the piano.”

She narrows her eyes further. “Did you just quote the Smiths?”

“I’m surprised you got that. It wasn’t from a song eventually sampled by P. Diddy.”

Laughing, she says, “You have a pretty fantastic impression of me.”

“I really do.” The tequila slips into my bloodstream, warming me from my chest outward. I lean closer so I can get a good whiff of her. She always smells warm, somehow, and a little earthy and sweet. Like the beach, and sunscreen and honeysuckle. I’ve said more nonsex words to Harlow in the past five minutes than I did the entire time she was in Canada, but I’m surprised to find that not only is she easy to talk to, she’s fun. “And, my impression of you is ever evolving, now that you aren’t just a pretty face in my lap.”

“You’re one classy motherfucker, Finn.”

“This speaking thing does wonders for expanding our horizons.”

She takes her shot, swallows, and winces before saying, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sunshine. I like our arrangement.”

“We have an arrangement?”

Nodding, she turns to pour us each another shot. “We fight, or we bang. I think I prefer the banging part.”

“Well, then I would have to agree.”

When she hands me the second shot—on top of the three beers I’ve already had with Ansel—I ask, “Why did you come up my way anyway? I never got around to asking you that because you were sitting on my face most of the time. The visit was... unexpected.”

“But awesome?” she asks, brows raised as if she knows I’d never deny it.

“Sure.”

She licks the side of her hand, shakes some salt on it this time, and studies it, thinking. “Honestly? I guess I wasn’t sure I could trust my memory from Vegas.”

“You mean your memory that the sex was so good?”

“Yeah.”

“It was,” I assure her.

“I know that now.” She licks the salt, takes the shot, and grabs a slice of lime from the counter, sucking it briefly before murmuring through wet, puckered lips, “Too bad the man attached to the penis is such an epic loser.”

I nod sympathetically. “True.”

“You’re fun,” she tells me, pulling back a little as if she’s only really looking at me now. “You’re fun in this sort of easy, unexpected way.”

“You’re drunk.”

She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “That must be it. The tequila I’ve had is making you fun.”