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He doesn’t answer, just goes back to his experiment with complete focus.

O-kay.

I drop the bag to my desk and pull out both meals. I could save one of them for later, but that might make the fact I just bought him food like a boyfriend would be more obvious. I eat standing up for a minute, then sit in the chair. I can’t finish both meals and lean back in the chair, my attention going back to Quinn.

“Quinn.”

“Mm.”

“You want to take a break? Watch something? I can shove this stuff—” I nod at the remains of the food, “out of the way. We can set up my laptop.”

“I’m in the middle of a titration.” He doesn’t look up. “If I stop now I have to start over.”

Right. Science first. I knew that. I just thought after a week in my house, and after he stole my hoodie, I had moved up the list at least a tiny bit.

I put the food I can’t finish in the fridge. Then I do the thing I’ve been wanting to do since I walked into the room. I climb onto his bed, careful of the tray, and sit behind him, close enough that my knee touches his hip. I set my hand on his back, ready to rub my palm up and down it until he’s done with what he’s doing.

He shrugs me off.

A clear, practiced shift of his shoulder and back that puts space between us, and it feels like he checked me into the boards on the ice.

I take my hand back. And sit there for a second with my palm tingling like an idiot, waiting for him to notice what he did and take it back. He doesn’t. He writes something in the notebook. The pen scratches across the paper, but the room is very quiet except for that.

“Did I do something?” I ask.

“You’re on my bed.”

What?

“I’ve been on your bed before.”

He still doesn’t look at me. “I need to finish this.”

“Yeah. I got that.” My throat is tight. I shift, trying to get off his bed. I laugh once, and it comes out wrong. “I’m just trying to figure out if this is still about what happened at the pond. Or if maybe it’s just me.”

That gets his attention. Finally. He looks confused, which somehow makes it worse.

“The pond?”

“Yeah. At my parents, when I kissed you?” I say it like he has forgotten the moment I can’t forget. “I thought we were okay, and then we got on the bus and you’ve barely even looked at me in a week. And today, you ate without me. You just—” I gesture at the empty space where my hand was. I know I’m making this worse, but I can’t stop myself, I feel like an unhinged boyfriend. And this is why I don’t date. Shit. “You don’t want me touching you, Quinn. I think that says everything.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” I almost shout.

He blinks behind his glasses, that little frown he gets when the results aren’t making sense for a lab. “I’m working. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” I repeat. I can hear myself going somewhere I shouldn’t go and I can’t stop it. “Or maybe that’s just the nice version. Maybe you just don’t want this with me. The dating thing. You’ve been pretty clear we aren’t dating. I keep forgetting. I keep acting like maybe if I’m good enough at the other parts you’ll change your mind, and that’s not fair to you. It’s probably not even what you’d pick, huh? I’m a hockey player who struggles to pass a science class I need and sleeps with people when I get scared. You’re not going to look at that and think, yep, boyfriend material. Besides, you’re not gay, right?”

Word vomit, that’s what this is.

“Daniel—”

“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. “You don’t have to explain. I finally get it.”

“I don’t think you do.” He sets the pen down, still frowning. “I didn’t say I don’t want⁠—”

“You don’t have to say it.” I move further across the room before I do something worse and beg him to pick me. My chest hurts. I grab my jacket. “Maybe friends with benefits isn’t working for me.”