Page 55 of What We Got Wrong

And Quinn tried not to stress as the end of semester approached, as the holidays conspired to separate them. She tried not to think about anyone Liv might be sharing a zip code with for the holidays…

She tried not to worry that maybe things would change, that it might get weird or different between them once they were outside of their bubble.

So, if she went a little harder on the weekend before finals: if she took a little more time with Liv, mapping the contours of her body, exploring her peaks and valleys with her mouth; if she fucked her with her fingers, pressing deep inside her, until she moaned Quinn’s name far louder than was acceptable in the dorm; if she drew out their night together for as long as she possibly could…

So be it.

To be fair, though, it seemed like Liv was doing the same with her, nibbling and tonguing and sucking at Quinn’s neck while she gripped at her hips, Quinn’s body enthusiastically grinding into Liv’s, each working the other up until they found release.

They passed out together, twisted sheets and tangled limbs.

When Quinn’s alarm went off the next morning, Liv loudly groaned into her shoulder, snuggling in closer.

“It’s Sunday,” she whined.

Quinn chuckled. “I’m meeting Emma to work out.”

“It’s supposed to be your day off!”

“Training isn’t running the full week because of finals,” Quinn replied with a slight shrug. “It’s not a mandatory day off.”

“What is wrong with you weirdos,” Liv huffed, and Quinn chuckled again.

She climbed out of bed, Liv groaning again as the bed shook, and got dressed, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a tank before donning a hoodie. She walked over to Liv’s mirror and was pulling up her hair when she let out a horrible gasp.

“You gave me a hickey,” Quinn exclaimed.

“I did not,” Liv replied, but when Quinn turned to show the mark blooming beside her throat, Liv didn’t look apologetic; she was positively smug. “Oops.”

“Oops? That’s all you have to say?” She had to admit that she was mostly charmed by the pride splashed across Liv’s face, although… “I’m supposed to meet Emma in the gym in like ten minutes.”

“Do you want me to help you cover it up?” Liv asked. She was sitting up in bed now, and Quinn wasn’t sure if Liv was trying to distract her with her chest, but it was working. She waited, allowing Quinn several moments to get her fill of the image. “Quinn?”

“Sorry,” Quinn replied. “Yes, please. Although I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow, when we’re back in the pool.”

Liv giggled, standing from Quinn’s bed and wrapping herself in a sheet. She made her way to her desk, pulling her makeup bag from the shelf over top of it, and then gestured for Quinn to sit before she pulled out several different vials.

Quinn tried not to be drawn in by the feel of Liv’s fingers pressing and rubbing at her neck, carefully applying creams, massaging some into her skin and dabbing others with a brush.

“It’s…not perfect,” Liv admitted, scrunching her face. She held the mirror up and Quinn saw that, though it was quite a bit less obvious than before, the coloring was definitely a little off.

It was Quinn’s turn to huff, and she pulled her hair out of the ponytail. “Hopefully, she doesn’t notice, because she will not let it go if she does.”

Liv shrugged. “I mean, if she figures it out, she figures it out.”

Quinn gawked at her. “Lady, you’re the one with the rules? You said you wanted to keep it in the room with us.”

“To be fair, Emma is often in this room with us,” Liv replied simply. Quinn wiggled her eyebrows at that, silently calling out the suggestive note in what Liv had said, and Liv gasped, swatting at her arm. “Not like that!”

“I’m sorry, my brain glitched for just a second,” Quinn joked.

“I’m trying to be serious,” Liv told her, and Quinn steeled herself, holding Liv’s gaze. “If Emma were to find out, that would be okay with me.”

Quinn didn’t know what to say. Liv was so clear on what she wanted, on what her rules were—for them and their situation, sure, but also for herself, for her plan for her life. But did it imply something that she’d be willing to share this with their friend? And if so, what did they want it to signify?

Quinn stopped herself. Not everything had to mean something.

She pulled at her hair, running her fingers to flatten it, tugging it forward, trying to make sure that the spot was covered, before muttering, “Maybe she won’t notice.”