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I like that my messy, chaotic, unusual life has this one scrap of normalcy—it anchors me to my humanity. It keeps my hope alive that I’ll finally find my normal one day.
Quinn can read my thoughts as he places a tender kiss under my ear. The loving touch sends a shiver down my spine, but Quinn mistakes my pleasure for pain.
“Are you cold?” he asks, rubbing my upper arms.
“I’m okay.” I smile, touched by his concern.
“We should get back inside anyway,” he says after a moment of silence.
He’s right. I don’t even know what time it is or how long we’ve been out here.
We quickly get dressed, and I can’t help but watch the way Quinn puts his clothes on. Something so simple shouldn’t get me hot, but it does.
“Who’s the creeper now?”
I am so busted, but I just shrug in response.
As I’m about to do my laces, Quinn drops to his knees before me and does them for me. “It’ll be okay. I’ll do all the talking.”
“I just feel…weird?” I say, and Quinn chuckles, placing his hands on my upper thighs.
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“I don’t know.”
I feel so stupid for behaving this way, but I don’t want to hurt Tristan. And I know I need to apologize to everyone, but I don’t want to. Polly said some fucked-up things, and I think she should be the one to apologize.
But I’ll be the bigger person because this house is small enough without adding any more uncomfortableness.
“What are you going to say to Tristan?”
Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m pretty sure he knows what happened. I mean, we were gone for a really long time. But I’ll be honest and tell him the truth.”
I nod and wonder if that truth will include telling him about his dad.
“Not yet, Red,” Quinn says, reading my thoughts. “I’m not ready for two ass kickings in one day.”
“Well, three.” I gently run my finger over his bruised lip.
Last night, his injuries were the furthest thing from my mind, but now that I’m not riddled with lust, I can see Tristan got in some good shots. I hope I didn’t hurt him while I was mauling his face, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“I love you,” Quinn says softly, and I gasp. Hearing it for the first time after last night and in the bright light of day makes it real—makes us real.
“I love you,” I reply, running my finger over the cut above his eye.
Quinn rises and reaches for my hands, pulling me into his chest. “Remember, let me do the talking.”
“I’ll be quiet,” I agree, but Quinn smirks.
We walk toward the house and enter through the back door, but when I hear giggling, I arch a questioning brow as I turn to look at Quinn.
He only shrugs.
As we walk into the kitchen, we’re both unprepared for what we see. Quinn and I stop and stare, unsure of what to do as we witness a very shirtless Tristan chasing a very scantily dressed Polly around the kitchen table, the kitchen sink spray in hand.
They haven’t noticed us gawking at them, and Polly giggles. “Stop it. I’m wet enough.”
Her comment has me nearly gagging on my tongue, and I step forward, enraged. “What’s going on?”
