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Unfortunately, my phone buzzes again.

It’s Quinn and she’s sent me a selfie of herself posing in front of the mirror, looking so adorable and pretty, I can’t help the wide smile that spread across my face.

Jordan slowly lowers the water bottle from his mouth.

“Oh, he’s fucked.”

“I’m not fucked.”

Cole grins. “You get laid?”

“No.”

The answer comes out automatically.

And apparently that’s the wrong one.

Cole looks genuinely confused. “Then why the hell are you so happy?”

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because I don't have a locker-room answer for that.

I didn't get laid.

I didn't even get off.

I sat on Quinn's couch with her tucked against me while she trusted me with something she'd never trusted anyone else with.

And somehow that was better.

Which is fucking inconvenient.

I expected last night to be hot. Of course I did. I'm not dead.

What I didn't expect was the way she'd looked at me when she admitted she didn't know what to do. Nervous. Embarrassed. Trusting me anyway.

Or the way something in my chest had pulled tight when she finally relaxed against me.

Or how fucking good it felt afterward when she stayed there, boneless against my chest, and laughed like she'd just discovered some huge secret the rest of the world had been keeping from her.

None of that is information I'm sharing with these assholes.

“None of your business.”

Cole's eyebrows go up.

Jordan stops halfway through tying his skate.

Easton looks at me.

That's the worst one.

Because the fucker doesn't look amused anymore. He looks like he knows something. I’m pretty sure he’s all filled in from Riley.

I ignore everyone and type a quick message to Quinn.