Page 56 of What We Got Wrong

Not likely, Quinn admitted to herself, when the first thing Emma said when she walked into the gym was, “You’re wearing your hair down.”

She seemed suspicious, and Quinn realized that she was subconsciously reaching for her neck. She stopped herself, forcing her arm back to her side, and didn’t respond to what Emma had said.

“Good morning,” Quinn said simply.

“Morning,” Emma replied, her eyebrows raised. And maybe Quinn should have acknowledged the hair comment, because it was weirder, wasn’t it, to not say anything? “Rowing race today?”

“Sounds good,” Quinn said. This was a simple, regular workout of theirs on an easy day, when they didn’t need to be in the pool: just 8,000 meters of rowing, followed by at least thirty minutes of stretching.

There were five rowing machines in the gym, but it was such a regular part of their routine that they had their favorite machines. But Quinn realized, as they walked over, that if she used the one she normally picked, Emma would be on the side she was trying to keep from her, much more likely to see the mark on Quinn’s neck.

“You’re on my rower,” Emma said when Quinn sat down.

“I want this one today,” Quinn replied, shrugging. She knew she was being weird but couldn’t think of a specific excuse.

“Is this because I beat you last time?” Emma asked teasingly. “I promise that’s not the machine. It’s just me and my superiority.”

Quinn appreciated the out she gave her. “Then you shouldn’t be concerned about switching?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Eight K?”

Quinn nodded, and they began the race. Quinn loved to row, the mix of cardio and resistance strength training combined to provide an efficient exercise, working her core, arms, and legs all at once. Plus, she had a significant height advantage over Emma, though she knew she couldn’t rely on that. Her friend was stronger than she looked, and one of the most competitive people she’d ever met.

It didn’t matter that day, though, as Quinn pulled for 8,000 meters a full minute before Emma, slowing her rower to a stop and reaching to guzzle her water bottle.

“Maybe that machine is faster,” Emma grumbled, sounding exhausted, while Quinn gloated.

Emma sprayed and wiped down both of their machines as a penalty for losing their race before grabbing a towel for herself and tossing Quinn one. It wasn’t until they started wiping themselves down that Quinn realized her error, as she pulled the towel away to see it was no longer white.

“Are you wearing makeup?” Emma asked, sounding surprised.

This time, Quinn couldn’t stop her hand from slapping over her neck, and she had the pleasure, because of the floor to ceiling mirrors lining the room, to watch the blush creep from her chest, up her neck, to her face.

“Do you have a hickey?” Emma questioned, gasping. “Who have you been kissing, you dirty, dirty slut?”

“Are we shaming?” Quinn asked. But she knew Emma wasn’t. She figured she would even be a fan of this. Probably.

“Of course not,” Emma responded. “Please, I want you to live your best, sluttiest, gayest life and then, and this part is absolutely critical, I want you to tell me all about it.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely not doing that,” Quinn replied.

“Will you at least confirm that it wasn’t Scarlet?” Emma demanded.

Honestly, her ex-girlfriend hadn’t been on her mind at all, other than when she occasionally checked in with Liv to ensure that the two of them hadn’t had any more encounters. Which, thankfully, Scarlet had kept her distance, and they only had the final exam before the class that they shared was over.

“Of course it wasn’t Scarlet,” Quinn scoffed.

“Very high and mighty over there for someone who let that relationship go on much longer than it needed to,” Emma replied. Which…fair.

“It wasn’t Scarlet,” Quinn said again, managing her tone this time.

“So, are you dating someone new?” Emma asked.

“I am not dating anyone,” Quinn answered automatically. “Maybe it’s not even a hickey, did you think of that?”

“You should have tried that at the beginning of this conversation, if you honestly thought it would work,” Emma told her, an incredulous expression on her face. “Is it someone else on the team?”

“I don’t date my teammates,” Quinn reminded her. This was true. It was a rule she’d had since high school, when she’d watched too many of the couples from her team tank meets because they were too distracted by relationship drama to focus on swimming.