Liv rubbed her eyes, trying to erase all traces of the images from the dream. “I’m sorry I woke you and scared everyone.”
Finn’s expression darkened as he shrugged on the robe and belted it. “Don’t apologize. Not your fault. Stuff happens.”
Sure. But most people’s “stuff” didn’t wake up half a hotel and get a door busted in. They didn’t require a freaking intervention. She pointed to her open suitcase on the floor. “Can you throw me those shorts I have sitting on top? I’m feeling a little underdressed here.”
His gaze briefly jumped to the sheets that covered her, something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah. Sure.”
She caught them when he tossed them her way.
“I’m just gonna…” He jabbed a thumb to the left and stepped into the bathroom to give her some privacy.
Her face heated. Leave it to her to figure out a way to make things even more awkward with Finn. Throwing herself at him on the porch had apparently only been the opening act. She got up, wiggled into the shorts, and then snagged the bra she’d left on the floor so she could slip it on beneath her shirt. She needed all the armor she could get. “I’m dressed.”
Finn came back out and handed her a cup of water, somehow looking businesslike and official despite wearing a hotel robe. Maybe it was a cop thing. All business all the time.
“Thanks.” She accepted the water, sat back down on the bed, and took a long gulp.
He didn’t move away. “Sounded like a pretty rough nightmare.”
She eyed him over the rim of the cup. “Alcohol and being away from home do weird things to my brain, I guess.”
“Want to talk about it?” His voice was quiet, but his eyes were shrewd. “Sometimes describing the dream gets it out of your head so it won’t come back.”
The first part of the dream flickered through her mind, and her face went hot again as the images filled out in full color. The kissing. The roaming hands. His fingers… “Not even a little bit.”
God. Leave it to her to have a sex nightmare. Was that even a thing? Apparently her mind was going to invent new ways to torture her. Hey, here’s a nice little sexy dream, a bit of X-rated fun—nope, just kidding! Demented, gory shit on the way! She shivered and set the cup on the nightstand.
“You still look flushed.” He sat on the edge of the bed, the springs squeaking, and pushed a lock of damp hair away from her face. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Just peachy.” She gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Can we go now?”
He tilted his head, giving her the not-buying-it face. “It was a nightmare about the shooting.”
She looked away. “I didn’t say that.”
“Come on, don’t bullshit me,” he said, no ire in his voice. “You looked at me like I was a ghost and seemed relieved to see my scar. You’re obviously shaken up. I just want to make sure you’re all right. Tell me what happened.”
Great. So they were going to talk about this. Yay. She pulled a pillow onto her lap, needing some kind of buffer between them. “Fine. It was about that night, but I’m okay. It’s just something that happens sometimes.”
He nodded in a go on fashion and scooted back a little, not letting her get away with a pat answer but giving her some space.
Ugh. She hated this, hated having these conversations, hated anyone seeing this fragile side. Especially Finn.
“I used to get them all the time. Sometimes nightmares. Other times flashbacks. Wasn’t pretty and made college super fun, but I’ve learned what to avoid. Being here just set me off.”
“Understandable. Today’s been…difficult.” His eyes scanned her, a line appearing between his brows. “Any tricks you have for calming down afterward? You’re still shaking.”
She glanced down at her hands, the slight tremor visible against the pillow. She grunted in frustration and flexed her fingers, trying to will them to cooperate. “Not really. It’s kind of a suck-it-up-buttercup thing once it’s passed. I have to let the adrenaline burn out and distract myself. Take a shower. Watch some TV. Read. Not go back to sleep—like I’m a character in a Nightmare on Elm Street movie.” She smirked. “It’ll pass. Just ignore the crazy lady over here.”
There. She’d said it. I used to be messed up. Still am sometimes. Now you know. She braced herself for the oh-you-poor-thing face.
“I used to run.”
She looked up. “What?”
He shrugged. “You’re not crazy. Or if you are, I guess I am, too. I’ve been there. Had the nightmares. The panic attacks. For a while, anything that sounded like a gunshot or even the click of a gun being cocked would set me off. I’d freak out and then go running afterward to shake the feeling. Even if it was the middle of the night.” He raked his hand through his messy hair. “I’d run until I physically couldn’t anymore, until my legs would just give out. It made me feel nuts. So, I get it.”
She stared at him, caught off guard b