***
‘I’m still coming over.’
I checked the time. It was past eight already, and I’d finished my classes at three. I thought he’d been bluffing.
‘That wasn’t just for show?’
I lay on my bed, staring at my phone, hoping, wishing, that he was going to reply with an ‘I’m kidding’ message. It beeped, and my stomach bottomed out.
‘Nope. Josh is out doing his thing, and for some reason, you missed a lot in class. You need to study, and amazingly, so do I.’
‘What about Layton?’
The three dots appeared right away, and I lifted my hand to my mouth, finding myself chewing on my thumbnail.
‘Busy, too. I’ll be there in ten.’
Not even five minutes had gone by when I heard the familiar rumble of his motorcycle. I jumped off my bed and ran to my window, overlooking the street. I threw back the pastel green curtains, only to see him coming up the driveway and parking next to my car.
My mom’s gonna crucify me. No, she’s gonna skin me alive. No, it’s going to be much, much worse, she’s—
I didn’t get to finish my thoughts of torture at the hands of my mother when the doorbell rang. I couldn’t move fast enough. My bare feet flew over the gray carpet, out of my room, and almost fell down the stairs.
My mom beat me to the door.
“Quinn, hi,” she said with that tone I could only describe as sweet, laced with deadly poison. “What are you doing here?”
“Kinny didn’t tell you?” he asked, his eyes lifting to me on the stairs. The way he looked at me had me gripping the rail so tight it burned my palm, the darkness dilating his pupils, his irises a thin ring around the black center.
“Kinny?” my mom asked, her voice almost a whisper, she turned back to me, a questioning look in her expression.
“I thought you might’ve had other plans,” I said to Quinn as I hopped down the last couple of steps.
He had the balls to shake his head slowly and smiled sweetly as I threw daggers his way. “Not at all.” He patted the black strap over his shoulder. “I’ve got my books.”
My mom opened the door wider to let him in. “Studying. Of course,” she drew out, her pleasant demeanor scaring the shit out of me. “Come on in, Quinn.” She glared at me as he walked by her, his height dwarfing the pair of us, and his frame…He filled the hallway so much I’d have to side-step to get past. She closed the door and pointed to the kitchen. “How about a drink?”
When she went ahead, I grabbed his arm. “My mom will dissect you while you’re still breathing,” I whispered, checking that she wasn’t listening in.
“Nah, she’s cool,” he said, his grin widening.
“No,” I shook my head and waved my other hand while closing my eyes. “Don’t do that. You can’t flash me those teeth and expect me to be okay with this.”
“Sure I can,” he replied. “Watch.”
And like the idiot I was, I fucking did. He ran his tongue over the bite of his teeth, making sure to give a little extra time for the canines. “I hate you.”
He sighed. “I know, but you like that part of me, so I can’t complain.” He pulled away from me and followed my mom into the kitchen, where she sat at the center island, sipping her coffee. Two bottles of water sat in front of her.
When I walked in, she was eyeing us over the rim of her cup.
“So, studying,” she said. “What subject?”
I froze, unable to answer because I had no clue what the hell to say.
“English,” Quinn spoke up, then opened his backpack. “Catcher in The Rye. I’m completely useless at dissecting novels. We have a paper due next week, and I don’t even know where to begin.”
I didn’t miss his sly dig at me.
“Huh.” My mom’s eyes narrowed, considering his answer.
“Kinny,” Quinn said, holding the back of his hand next to his mouth conspiratorially. “I’m guessing your mom thinks we’re going to be fu—”
“Finish that word, and I’ll end you,” I growled, jamming my finger against his chest. His rock-solid chest that I’d been pressed against.
“Kinsley,” she said, grabbing my attention. “How much of your paper have you done?”
“I-uh-I-well,” I sputtered, then dropped my head to center myself after Quinn had caught me off guard. “I haven’t finished, but I’m over halfway through the book.” Quinn’s expression was indecipherable, a plain mask with no emotion.
“Okay, then,” my mom said, getting up from her seat. She walked over to the sink, rinsed her cup and placed it in the bowl. She stepped toward me, leaned in, and whispered. “You’re a terrible liar, honey. However, Quinn’s ability to think fast is astounding. Bravo.”
“No, no, no.” I waved my hands about. “Nothing is going on here. We’re classmates, just studying for this paper. We don’t like each other that much, I swear.”
I watched his reaction, and my heart dropped when his face hardened, the muscles in his jaw working as he ground his teeth.
My mom’s scrutinizing gaze passed between us, too long for comfort, until her features softened. “Well, okay, then.” She picked up her purse and keys from the counter. “I have a few things to go over at the office, so I’ll be a couple of hours.” With one last glance, she said, “Quinn, if you try anything with my daughter, I’ll kill you. I know how to make it look like an accident.”
My mom left, but I didn’t move. “Are you okay? You look upset.”
“I’m fine.” His hand gripped his bag so tight I thought his knuckles would burst out of his skin.
“No, you’re not, Quinn,” I snapped. “My mom—”
“I said I’m fine. We should go study.” He looked around. “Here?”
I shook my head. “Upstairs in my room. My stuff’s already on my desk.”
“Lead the way, princess.”
His words were biting, cold and hard, just like when we’d first met. They’d softened over the few months I’d been here, but it was as though we were back to square one.
I swiped the bottles and walked out of the kitchen, leading him to my bedroom.
Quinn
Kinsley’s room wasn’t what I expected. The carpet was soft, light gray, and even with my boots on, my feet sank into the deep pile. Long light-green curtains reached the floor, the same ones I saw twitching when I pulled up. When she turned to the left, I saw her plain covered bed straight ahead, silvery covers with white pillowcases, neat and tidy, and no clutter in sight.
I clutched my backpack, my hands not ready to let go. I was afraid to. I wanted to punch something, to drive my fists into the wall, the door, anything solid that would make me feel something. Hurt, pain, everything I needed to get rid of the coil winding inside of me.
“We don’t even like each other that much.”
Words that I wouldn’t have given a shit about if they’d come from anybody else’s mouth. But, for some reason, when they came out of hers, it fucking stung.
“I’ll just move these so you can sit here,” Kinsley said, shifting books, a laptop, and her camera off of the white desk and onto her bed. I stayed put, just staring at the matching chair, the gray cushioned seat slightly imprinted from where Kinsley had probably been sitting before I showed up. “Quinn.”