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“Uh-oh,” Shannon said, an evil grin quirking her lip, “I wouldn’t insult his comic stuff. He’s quite the sensitive man-boy when it comes to them.”
“Comic stuff, Shannon? Really?” Quinn folded him arms and pouted.
“See what I mean?” she said, brushing a blue strand of hair from her eyes.
I looked from Quinn to Shannon. They were such good friends and so . . . close. If I’d focused on finding friends instead of working non-stop, would I have had a friendship like this by now? Would it have made me a better writer for the party page? Would I have known Jack and Jill were such dicks?
Quinn said, “Our Liam here is thinking, Shan. You can tell by the clicking.”
I dropped the pen I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding, and drew my hand out of my pocket.
“What are you thinking about?” Shannon asked, and before I could stumble over an answer, she moved out of the room carrying a potted Aloe Vera.
If I hadn’t peeked at Quinn, I might not have had to answer at all. But his not-so-subtle eyebrow raise forced me to answer.
“I . . .” I grabbed another comic and slipped it onto the correct shelf. “Who’s your favorite character?” I asked him.
“I like Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent. I like them most without their costumes on.”
“That’s a bit too much information.”
Quinn flushed. “I meant their superhero costumes. I like them with their clothes on.”
I nodded and pushed up my glasses. “It’s okay, Quinn. I’m not going to freak out, remember?” I picked up a comic and flipped through it. “I’ve never read comics much, but maybe I could take one to look at?”
“You can take as many as you like. Even”—Quinn plucked out a comic sealed in a Ziploc bag—“my most prized.” He held it out, but when I reached for it, he pulled it back a fraction. “Just, please, no food or drink around it.”
I jerked my head up. “Ohh, I like you.”
Quinn’s brow rose, and his gaze sparkled with a repressed laugh. “That’s the reason you like me?”
“Books should never be disrespected.”
A comic featuring Booster Gold caught my eye. “This guy sort of looks like you. I think I have to read this one too.”
“He gets shirtless in that issue quite a bit.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder and said, just before he pushed away to find Shannon, “You’ll like it. There’s a lot to . . . observe.”
Chapter 7
Tuesday evening, I came home to the delicious smell of stew and Quinn draped over the couch chatting with Shannon over the phone. He wagged his eyebrows in hello and pointed to the stove. “Help yourself,” he mouthed. He switched the phone to his other hand. Into the mouthpiece, he said, “No shit? Seriously?”
I peeled off my parka—
Wait. What was with the bandage peeking out from under Quinn’s sleeve? I tried to get a better look as I shuffled into the kitchen, but I banged into the corner of the bar.
“Ouch,” I yelped, quickly steering around the sharp corner and into the actual kitchen.
“Got to go, Shan. Lunch tomorrow? . . . Sweet.”
I rubbed my side and took one of the clean bowls from the dish rack.
“You all right?” Quinn asked, coming up to the stove and stirring the stew with a ladle.
“Swell.”
With a snort, Quinn grabbed my bowl and filled it with stew. “Eat up.”
I took it to the table, grabbed a spoon and dug in. The hot, meaty gravy hit my tongue with an explosion of flavor and comfort. Quinn was perched on the end of the table, fiddling his thumbs.
I pointed my spoon toward him. “What happened to your wrist?”
Quinn yanked his sleeve further down. “Nothing much. Light sprain is all. Happens teaching self-defense sometimes. It’ll be fine in a day or so.” He slid off the table, grabbed his laptop from the glass coffee table in front of the couch and settled on the couch to work.
As soon as I’d licked my bowl clean, I rinsed it and quietly snuck into my bedroom. It was strange constantly sharing the same space with someone, and I wasn’t yet sure where the line was drawn when it came to encroaching on Quinn’s privacy.
I tucked myself into bed with my laptop and emailed a student named Garret, who’d been rescued by The Raven last year. After that, I sent Mom a quick update on my roommate, and then I swapped the laptop for my English Literature readings.
Alone in my room was fine. It was normal, and it . . . well, there was something comforting about knowing there was someone in the next room.
Dum-da-da-dum-dum came a knock at my door.
I straightened. “Yes?”
Quinn opened the door and let himself in, swinging his arms into a clap. “See, the thing is,” he said and jumped onto the bed, pinning one of my feet. I wedged it free. “You don’t have a TV.”
