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Seven
Zoe burst through the sliding glass doors, and Ian followed along behind her, his heart in his throat.
It was impossible—beyond impossible—that Quinn would have come back here. But as he got closer to the front door, there was no denying the way the knob twisted and turned like someone was opening it with a key from the outside. Zoe stood at the edge of the door, waiting for it to open. At last, the lock hitched and the door creaked, and there, with the glow of the moon in her hair, stood his mother.
"Mom," he said, and the grin on Zoe's face faltered for a moment before she affixed it again.
"Hey," Zoe said. "So nice to see you again."
His mother grinned. "Oh, I'm not staying. Just dropping off Ian's phone. You left it at the house." She dug in the pocket of her faded jeans and held the tiny square out to him.
Grateful, he took it and thanked her.
"All right, well, I'll let you kids get back to your night." She nodded and showed herself out. Ian stared after her, looking from the now-closed door to Zoe's crestfallen expression.
The charged energy that had snapped in the air between them like electricity was gone now, and he would have done anything to get it back, to distract her from the pain and disappointment she must have been feeling now.
"Listen, Zoe—" he started, but she shook her head.
"I, um, I need to go shower." Her hair was obviously still wet from her last one, but he didn't argue. Instead, he watched as she climbed the stairs, and when she disappeared into her room, he trudged back to the patio and considered his options.
There was no doubting something had happened here tonight. He could still feel the heat of her lips on his skin, could still imagine her long limbs winding around his body and pulling him closer, begging him for more.
He could go up there, knock on her door, and see if she still felt the way he did. If she felt the change… and liked it.
Swallowing hard, he thumbed his phone, wishing he could have called Quinn to get her advice. Instead, he found himself staring at a bright screen with the words "One Voicemail" emblazoned across the screen.
Heart heavy, he slid his thumb across the glass and held the phone to his ear.
A breathy, familiar sound floated over the line, and his heart really did stop beating.
"Ian, hey. So, I'm guessing you know everything that happened by now. I was just… well, you know. You were right, I think. I was just calling to let you know that I'm safe, and that I stopped at your place on the way to my aunt's house. I'm gonna lay low there for a couple days, but I was hoping you could do me a favor." Quinn let out a little sigh. "Could you let Zoe know I'm all right? She's probably freaking out right now, and I feel pretty guilty, but I know if I called her, she'd just try to convince me to come home. Well, you understand. You've met her. Anyway, I just can't face that right now. So, you know, thank you. For everything. I owe you."
The line clicked off, and Ian stared at the screen, waiting for Quinn's voice to magically return.
When it didn't, he knew he had a choice to make. He could go upstairs and tell Zoe what Quinn had said, or he could keep it from her and let Quinn have the space she said she needed.
An image of Zoe's stricken face flashed through his mind, and even now he wanted to pull her close and soothe her disappointment.
After everything Zoe had been through, after everything she'd done for Quinn…
Well, Quinn had had two days. Wasn't it about time that Zoe knew the truth?
She wasn't sure what a panic attack felt like, but this was probably one of them.
If her phone wasn't dead, she would have been able to check Web MD, and the weird, fluttering beat of her heart would be explained away by cancer or some other source of her inevitable death. Which, arguably, would be more comforting than the idea of having feelings for Ian Prescott.
It felt like every five seconds she was walking to the door, on the edge of opening it, and then pacing back across the room, thinking over everything he'd said, the way his lips had felt against her skin, the way just that woodsy, manly scent of his could make her entire body sing.
"Fuck," she murmured. "What's so bad? There are people starving. There are people with terrible diseases. What's so wrong with me? What so wrong about…?"
About having the hots for her sister's best friend?
After all, he was less of a player than she'd thought. He wasn't in love with Quinn, not like that anyway.
He w
as impulsive, yes, but he was hardworking, too.
