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Vanessa pokes me in the chest. “If you know what’s good for you, Quinn McLannister, you’ll not call me that, like ever.”
I let out an exasperated sigh and purse my lips. “Party pooper.”
“Vanessa!” Kiara yells.
“Coming!” She rolls her eyes. “Promise me.”
“Fine, I promise.”
* * *
VANESSA
“So, you and Quinn?” Grace asks, slipping into a chair next to me. “I didn’t see that one coming.”
I place my half-eaten burger on the plate. After the guys were done with their volleyball game, they got out and grilled some steaks for dinner. I tried to offer my help, but Grace and Tracy, another girlfriend, reassured me they had it covered and that I should enjoy it. I grab my napkin and tap at the corner of my mouth, trying to come up with a plausible answer. “I mean, it’s not…”
“Hey, no need to explain yourself to me. I’m just glad to see you both so happy.”
I look up, surprised at her words. “You don’t think it’s strange?”
Grace pulls her brows together. “What?”
“That we’re…” I wave my hand, unsure how to explain what we’re doing exactly.
At least I have a girlfriend.
Girlfriend. A shiver runs down my spine at that one word. It shouldn’t. After all, Quinn probably used it only in the heat of the moment, not because he actually considers me his girlfriend. Not that I wanted him to. This was just a summer fling—nothing more, nothing less.
“Together?” Grace offers.
“More like hanging out?” The answer comes out more like a question. “After all, he’s working in the community center, and I’m older than him?”
“Volunteering,” Grace corrects. “It’s not like you’re paying him, so the field isn’t even.” Tilting her head to the side, she gives me an assessing look. “Besides, you can’t be that much older.”
“I’ll be thirty in a few weeks.”
I was trying not to think too much about it, but with every day that passed, it was harder not to. It’s like I have a clock ticking in the back of my head, reminding me that I am running out of time.
“What?!”
My head snaps to a gaping Quinn. “It’s your birthday soon? When?”
“Yeah,” I shrug. “August 6th, but it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s your birthday. Of course, it’s a big deal!” Quinn protests, a scowl between his brows.
“It’s whose birthday?” Nate asks, running his fingers through his shaggy wet hair. That boy needs a serious haircut.
Quinn gives me a pointed look. “Vanessa’s.”
“No shit,” Nate shifts his attention to me. “When’s the party, neighbor?”
“I’m not celebrating.”
“What?” By the way Nate’s mouth falls open, you’d think I just told him that Santa isn’t real. “You can’t not celebrate!”
“Well, I don’t.”
